SEPTEMBER 7 



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,' 

 1 Success 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 mountain-top and 

 breathes a rarer atmosphere, and often can only be under- 

 stood 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 

 edition 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 of flattery that ran through dozens of the letters 

 was expressive of the writers' regret that they had not 

 written * Pot-Pourris ' of their own, proving the general 



