to the Scorpion; but if you ask him why Venus can never be seen at midnight,
he will tell you that he has not bothered with the scientific details.
He has not learned that names are nothing, and the satisfaction
of the lust of the eye a trifle compared to the imaginative vision
of which scientific "details" are the indispensable basis.


Most reading, I am convinced, is unphilosophical; that is to say,
it lacks the element which more than anything else quickens
the poetry of life. Unless and until a man has formed a scheme of knowledge,
be it a mere skeleton, his reading must necessarily be unphilosophical.
He must have attained to some notion of the inter-relations
of the various branches of knowledge before he can properly comprehend
the branch in which he specialises. If he has not drawn an outline map
upon which he can fill in whatever knowledge comes to him, as it comes,
and on which he can trace the affinity of every part with every other part,
he is assuredly frittering away a large percentage of his efforts.
There are certain philosophical works which, once they are mastered,
seem to have performed an operation for cataract, so that he who was blind,
having read them, henceforward sees cause and effect
working in and out everywhere. To use another figure, they leave
stamped on the brain a chart of the entire province of knowledge.


Such a work is Spencer's *First Principles*. I know that it is
nearly useless to advise people to read *First Principles*.
They are intimidated by the sound of it; and it costs as much
as a dress-circle seat at the theatre. But if they would,
what brilliant stocktakings there might be in a few years!
Why, if they would only read such detached essays as