Something perhaps like what I have suggested in my first paragraph, Mr. Reedy might have written, here, had he lived. He had promised to introduce my book. My own note must be a poor substitute.
I am, then, frankly "one of Mr. Reedy's young men." I belong to the "Reedy school of criticism," which, if often it stresses the perpendicular pronoun, or seems oracular, does so in all sincerity, with considerable gusto, and for the benefit not so much of established reputations as for reputations either yet to be made or that have suffered from neglect. I have only small respect for criticism as it is generally practiced, and make no pretence of being a critic in any official sense. It is to be noted that the essays which follow are essays in literary appreciation.
If often I have talked in capitals, it has been because I have felt keenly the injustice done distinguished men and important work by the silence which preceded my shouting—a silence which, save for my own clamor, in a number of instances, it must be admitted, has continued unbroken. In other instances, however, I am happy to know, my shoutings have served to call to the admiring attention of others in number, books and writers of high significance. And if such a statement seem to lack plausibility in the light of
