XXII.

Were one to look at the literary journals only, and thereafter judge of the time, it would be easy to persuade oneself that civilization had indeed made great and solid progress, and that the world stood at a very hopeful stage of enlightenment.  Week after week, I glance over these pages of crowded advertisement; I see a great many publishing-houses zealously active in putting forth every kind of book, new and old; I see names innumerable of workers in every branch of literature.  Much that is announced declares itself at once of merely ephemeral import, or even of no import at all; but what masses of print which invite the attention of thoughtful or studious folk!  To the multitude is offered a long succession of classic authors, in beautiful form, at a minimum cost; never were such treasures so cheaply and so gracefully set before all who can prize them.  For the wealthy, there are volumes magnificent; lordly editions; works of art whereon have been lavished care and skill and expense incalculable.  Here is exhibited the learning of the whole world and of all the ages; be a man’s study what it will, in these columns, at one time or another he shall find that which appeals to him.  Here are labours of the erudite, exercised on every subject that falls within learning’s scope.  Science brings forth its newest discoveries in earth and heaven; it speaks to the philosopher in his solitude, and to the crowd in the market-place.  Curious pursuits of the mind at leisure are represented in publications numberless; trifles and oddities of intellectual savour; gatherings from every byway of human interest.  For other moods there are the fabulists; to tell truth, they commonly hold the place of honour in these varied lists.  Who shall count them?  Who shall calculate their readers?  Builders of verse are many; yet the observer will note that contemporary poets have but an inconspicuous standing in this index of the public taste.  Travel, on the other hand, is largely represented; the general appetite for information about lands remote would appear to be only less keen than for the adventures of romance.

With these pages before one’s eyes, must one not needs believe that things of the mind are a prime concern of our day?  Who are the purchasers of these volumes ever pouring from the press?  How is it possible for so great a commerce to flourish save as a consequence of national eagerness in this intellectual domain?  Surely one must take for granted that throughout the land, in town and country, private libraries are growing apace; that by the people at large a great deal of time is devoted to reading; that literary ambition is one of the commonest spurs to effort?

It is the truth.  All this may be said of contemporary England.  But is it enough to set one’s mind at ease regarding the outlook of our civilization?

Two things must be remembered.  However considerable this literary traffic, regarded by itself, it is relatively of small extent.  And, in the second place, literary activity is by no means an invariable proof of that mental attitude which marks the truly civilized man.