nd an excess of faith in the estimates of others, when we
resolve to read only those books which come to us in the splendor of a
recognized intellectual royalty. We read either to gain information, to
have good thinking suggested to us, or to have our imagination
stimulated. In the way of knowledge the best authors are always the most
recent, so that Bacon could not suffice. In the way of thinking, our
methods have gained in precision since Milton's time, and we are helped
by a larger experience than his. The one thing which Shakespeare and
Milton can do for us quite perfectly still, is to fill our imagination
richly, and give it a fine stimulus. But modern writers can render us
the same service.

Is there not a little jealousy of contemporaries in the persistence with
which some authors avoid them, and even engage others to avoid them? May
not there be a shade of another feeling than jealousy, a feeling more
subtle in operation, the undefined apprehension that we may find, even
amongst our more obscure contemporaries, merit equal to our own? So long
as we restrict our reading to old books of great fame we are safe from
this apprehension, for if we find admirable qualities, we know
beforehand that the world has handsomely acknowledged them, and we
indulge in the hope that our own admirable qualities will be recognized
by posterity with equal liberality. But it creates an unpleasant feeling
of uneasiness to see quantities of obscure contemporary work, done in a
plain way to earn a living by men of third or fourth-rate reputation, or
of no reputation at all, which in many respects would fairly sustain a
comparison with our own. It is clear that an author ought to be the last
person to advise the public not to read contemporary literature, since
he is himself a maker of contemporary literature; and there is a direct
contradiction between the invitation to read his book, which he
circulates by the act of publishing, and the advice which the book
contains. Emerson is more safe from this obvious rejoinder when he
suggests to us to transfer our reading day by day from the newspaper to
the standard authors. But are these suggestions anything more than the
reaction of an intellectual man against the too prevalent customs of
the world? The reading practised by most people, by all who do not set
before themselves intellectual culture as one of the definite aims of
life, is remarkable for the regularity with which it neglects all th