THE FIELD OF CRITICISM 



and to wonder what made Helen act so. 

 A volume of criticism even greater in 

 proportion to the apparent need, washes 

 hourly across the meadows of current liter- 

 ature. Mr. William Dean Howells has writ- 

 ten many books, but his critics have written 

 five pages to his one. The newspapers are 

 full of talk about Kipling, Barry and Mr. 

 Dooley; and if there is a dinner party any- 

 where in the land where novels, plays and 

 biographies are not discussed the guests 

 must be very stupid, or very interesting, 

 for they are very rare. 



Does all this flood of criticism serve 

 any use? Does it fertilize the soil from 

 which literature springs? or to change the 

 figure, is criticism a mere parasitic growth? 

 A good deal of it does, indeed, represent 

 a cheap parasitism, but proper criticism is 

 nevertheless, the very life of literature. 

 Criticism is to literature what the cultivator, 

 the priming knife, and the spray pump are 

 to the apple orchard. Apple-trees will 

 grow without care, but the wild pasture 

 trees never bear fruit of any value. It is 

 only when the trees are set in proper soil, 

 in orderly rows, pruned, fertilized and 

 cleansed, and given continual expert care 



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