perceptions are relatively coarse; our perceptions are relatively
subtle. We try to make him understand, to make him see, and if he is
aware of his inferiority we may have some success. But if he is not
aware of his inferiority, we soon hold our tongues and leave him alone
in his self-satisfaction, convinced that there is nothing to be done
with him. Every one of us has been through this experience with a
mental inferior, for there is always a mental inferior handy, just
as there is always a being more unhappy than we are. In approaching a
classic, the true wisdom is to place ourselves in the position of the
mental inferior, aware of mental inferiority, humbly stripping off all
conceit, anxious to rise out of that inferiority. Recollect that
we always regard as quite hopeless the mental inferior who does
not suspect his own inferiority. Our attitude towards Lamb must be:
"Charles Lamb was a greater man than I am, cleverer, sharper, subtler,
finer, intellectually more powerful, and with keener eyes for beauty.
I must brace myself to follow his lead." Our attitude must resemble
that of one who cocks his ear and listens with all his soul for a
distant sound.

To catch the sound we really must listen. That is to say, we must read
carefully, with our faculties on the watch. We must read slowly and
perseveringly. A classic has to be wooed and is worth the wooing.
Further, we must disdain no assistance. I am not in favour of studying
criticism of classics before the classics themselves. My notion is to
study the work and the biography of a classical writer together, and
then to read criticism afterwards. I think that in reprints of the
classics the customary "critical introduction" ought to be put at
the end, and not at the beginning, of the book. The classic should
be allowed to make his own impression, however faint, on the virginal
mind of the reader. But afterwards let explanatory criticism be read