I would further point out to you that while there is no ground in experience for supposing that a keen interest in those facts which Mr. Harrison describes as “merely curious” has any stupefying effect upon the mind, or has any tendency to render it insensible to the higher things of literature and art, there is positive evidence that many of those who have most deeply felt the charm of these higher things have been consumed by that omnivorous appetite for knowledge which excites Mr. Harrison’s especial indignation.  Dr. Johnson, for instance, though deaf to some of the most delicate harmonies of verse, was without question a very great critic.  Yet in Dr. Johnson’s opinion, literary history, which is for the most part composed of facts which Mr. Harrison would regard as insignificant, about authors whom he would regard as pernicious, was the most delightful of studies.  Again, consider the case of Lord Macaulay.  Lord Macaulay did everything Mr. Harrison says he ought not to have done.  From youth to age he was continuously occupied in “gorging and enfeebling” his intellect, by the unlimited consumption of every species of literature, from the masterpieces of the age of Pericles to the latest rubbish from the circulating library.  It is not told of him that his intellect suffered by the process; and though it will hardly be claimed for him that he was a great critic, none will deny that he possessed the keenest susceptibilities for literary excellence in many languages and in every form.  If Englishmen and Scotchmen do not satisfy you, I will take a Frenchman.  The most accomplished critic whom France has produced is, by general admission, Ste.-Beuve.  His capacity for appreciating supreme perfection in literature will be disputed by none; yet the great bulk of his vast literary industry was expended upon the lives and writings of authors whose lives Mr. Harrison would desire us to forget, and whose writings almost wring from him the wish that the art of printing had never been discovered.

I am even bold enough to hazard the conjecture (I trust he will forgive me) that Mr. Harrison’s life may be quoted against Mr. Harrison’s theory.  I entirely decline to believe, without further evidence, that the writings whose vigor of style and of thought have been the delight of us all are the product of his own system.  I hope I do him no wrong, but I cannot help thinking that if we knew the truth, we should find that he followed the practice of those worthy physicians who, after prescribing the most abstemious diet to their patients, may be seen partaking freely, and to all appearances safely, of the most succulent and the most unwholesome of the forbidden dishes.

It has to be noted that Mr. Harrison’s list of the books which deserve perusal would seem to indicate that in his opinion, the pleasures to be derived from literature are chiefly pleasures of the imagination.  Poets, dramatists, and novelists form the chief portion of the somewhat meagre fare which is specifically permitted to his disciples.  Now, though I have already stated that the list is not one of which any person is likely to assert that it contains books which ought to be excluded, yet, even from the point of view of what may be termed aesthetic enjoyment, the field in which we are allowed to take our pleasures seems to me unduly restricted.