THE Library at Windygates was the largest and the handsomest room in
the house. The two grand divisions under which Literature is usually
arranged in these days occupied the customary places in it. On the
shelves which ran round the walls were the books which humanity in
general respects--and does not read. On the tables distributed over
the floor were the books which humanity in general reads--and does not
respect. In the first class, the works of the wise ancients; and
the Histories, Biographies, and Essays of writers of more modern
times--otherwise the Solid Literature, which is universally respected,
and occasionally read. In the second class, the Novels of our own
day--otherwise the Light Literature, which is universally read, and
occasionally respected. At Windygates, as elsewhere, we believed History
to be high literature, because it assumed to be true to Authorities
(of which we knew little)--and Fiction to be low literature, because it
attempted to be true to Nature (of which we knew less). At Windygates as
elsewhere, we were always more or less satisfied with ourselves, if
we were publicly discovered consulting our History--and more or less
ashamed of ourselves, if we were publicly discovered devouring our
Fiction.
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