SEPTEMBER 7 



that might have been causes of offence. It has for a 

 long time been a favourite theory of mine that, as people 

 generally write books with a vague hope that they may 

 be read, it is wise to consult a small number of people 

 typical of the public, and to be guided, without too much 

 self-esteem, by the opinions of these selected few. Of 

 course, this opens up the further discussion whether, as I 

 saw it well put the other day in the 'Spectator,' 'Suc- 

 cess with the multitude is in itself desirable, or if it is 

 not rather the hall-mark of a commonplace inferiority. 

 Who pleases foolish readers must himself be a fool. If 

 the general reader is, after all, quite such a fool as the 

 superior junta think him, is another question altogether. 

 But he has the marked advantage of holding the verdict 

 in his hands.' The only raison d'etre of ephemeral 

 literature is that it should be read. The writer of genius 

 comes under a different category. He stands on a moun- 

 tain-top and breathes a rarer atmosphere, and often can 

 only be understood from a distance. ' Bethia Hardacre ' 

 exactly expresses this in verse: 



I pray to fail, if to succeed 

 Means faithlessness unto my creed. 



Lady Eastlake says on this point : ' Genius, with its 

 divine inspirations, may be left to find its way to the 

 admiration of the few and in the end to the acknowledg- 

 ment of all.' Many will remember when Mr. Quaritch 

 brought out Fitzgerald's translation of 'Omar Khayyam,' 

 disgusted at its complete failure, he threw the whole edi- 

 tion into a 'penny box.' Dante Eossetti found them, 

 and we all know the rest. 



Some people said that what really pleased them most 

 in the book were the little bits of poetry. Considering 

 that not one of these was mine, the remark by way of 

 compliment was rather humorous. Another curious vein 



