“But, sir,” says Horvendile, “do you esteem a scavenger, who does not pretend to specialize in anything save filth, to be the best possible judge of books?”

“He may be an excellent critic if only he indeed belongs to the forthputting Philistine stock:  that proviso is most important, though, for, as I recently declared, we have very dangerous standards domiciled in the midst of us, that are only too quickly raised—­”

Says Horvendile, with a shudder:  “You speak ambiguously.  But still, in criticizing books—­”

“Plainly, young man, you do not appreciate that the essential qualifications for a critic of Philistine literature are,” said this mummy bewilderingly, “to have set off fireworks in July, to have played ball in a vacant lot, and to have repeated what Spartacus said to the gladiators."[3]

[Footnote 3:  It is a gratifying tribute to the permanence of aesthetic canons to record that Dr. Brander Matthews (connected with Columbia University) has, in an article upon “Alien Views of American Literature,” contributed to the New York Times of 14 November, 1920, accepted these three qualifications as the essential groundwork for a literary critic even to-day; although Dr. Matthews is inclined, as a concession to modernism, to add to the list an ability to recite Webster’s Reply to Hayne.  Since Dr. Matthews frankly states that he has been incited to this recital of a critic’s needs by (in his happy wording) “the alien angle” of “standards domiciled in the midst of us,” it is sincerely to be hoped that his requirements may be met forthwith.]

“No, no, the essential thing is not quite that,” observed an attendant lackey, a really clever writer, who wrote, indeed, far more intelligently than he thought.  He was a professor of patriotism, and prior to being embalmed in the academy he had charge of the postgraduate work in atavism and superior sneering.  “No, my test is not quite that, and if you venture to disagree with me about this or anything else you are a ruthless Hun and an impudent Jew.  No, the garbage-man may very well be an excellent judge:  for by my quite infallible test the one thing requisite for a critic of our great Philistine literature is an ability to induce within himself such an internal disturbance as resembles a profound murmur of ancestral voices—­”

“But, oh, dear me!” says Horvendile, embarrassed by such talk.

“—­And to experience a mysterious inflowing,” continued the other, “of national experience—­”

“The function is of national experience undoubtedly,” said Horvendile, “but still—­”

“—­Whenever he meditates,” concluded this lackey bewilderingly, “upon the name of Bradford and six other surnames.[4] At all events, I have turned wearily from your book, you bolshevistic German Jew—­”