one reads. Or
one may construct anthologies of passages which have made an
individual and particular appeal to one's tastes. Anthology
construction is one of the pleasantest hobbies that a person who is
not mad about golf and bridge--that is to say, a thinking person--can
possibly have; and I recommend it to those who, discreetly mistrusting
their power to keep up a fast pace from start to finish, are anxious
to begin their intellectual course gently and mildly. In any event,
writing--the act of writing--is vital to almost any scheme. I would
say it was vital to every scheme, without exception, were I not sure
that some kind correspondent would instantly point out a scheme to
which writing was obviously not vital.

After writing comes thinking. (The sequence may be considered odd, but
I adhere to it.) In this connexion I cannot do better than quote an
admirable letter which I have received from a correspondent who wishes
to be known only as "An Oxford Lecturer." The italics (except the
last) are mine, not his. He says: "Till a man has got his physical
brain completely under his control--_suppressing its too-great
receptivity, its tendencies to reproduce idly the thoughts of others,
and to be swayed by every passing gust of emotion_--I hold that he
cannot do a tenth part of the work that he would then be able to
perform with little or no effort. Moreover, work apart, he has not
entered upon his kingdom, and unlimited possibilities of future
development are barred to him. Mental efficiency can be gained by
constant practice in meditation--i.e., by concentrating the mind, say,
for but ten minutes daily, but with absolute regularity, on some of
the highest thoughts of which it is capable. Failures will be
frequent, but they must be regarded with simple indifference and
dogged perseverance in the path chosen. If that path be followed
_without intermission_ even for a few weeks the results will speak for
themselves." I thoroughly agree with what this correspondent says, and
am obliged to him for having so ably stated the case. But I regard
such a practice of meditation as he indicates as being rather an
"advanced" exercise for a beginner. After the beginner has got under
way, and gained a little confidence in his strength of purpose, and
acquired the skill to define his thoughts sufficiently to write them
down--then it would be time enough, in my view, to undertake what "An
Oxford Lecturer" suggests. By the way, he highly re