is　precisely　the　feeling　of　strain；　of　difficulty；　of　a　task　which　one　part　of　you
  is　anxious　to　achieve　and　another　part　of　you　is　anxious　to　shirk；　and　that　f
  eeling　cannot　be　got　in　facing　a　novel。　　You　do　not　set　your　teeth　in　order　to
  read　〃Anna　Karenina。〃　　Therefore；　though　you　should　read　novels；　you　should
  not　read　them　in　those　ninety　minutes。
  Imaginative　poetry　produces　a　far　greater　mental　strain　than　novels。　　It
  produces　probably　the　severest　strain　of　any　form　of　literature。　　It　is　the
  highest　form　of　literature。　　It　yields　the　highest　form　of　pleasure；　and
  teaches　the　highest　form　of　wisdom。　　In　a　word；　there　is　nothing　to
  compare　with　it。　　I　say　this　with　sad　consciousness　of　the　fact　that　the
  majority　of　people　do　not　read　poetry。
  I　am　persuaded　that　many　excellent　persons；　if　they　were　confronted
  with　the　alternatives　of　reading　〃Paradise　Lost〃　and　going　round
  Trafalgar　Square　at　noonday　on　their　knees　in　sack…cloth；　would
  choose　the　ordeal　of　public　ridicule。　　Still；　I　will　never　cease　advising
  my　friends　and　enemies　to　read　poetry　before　anything。
  If　poetry　is　what　is　called　〃a　sealed　book〃　to　you；　begin　by　reading
  Hazlitt's　famous　essay　on　the　nature　of　〃poetry　in　general。〃　　It　is　the
  best　thing　of　its　kind　in　English；　and　no　one　who　has　read　it　can　possibly
  be　under　the　misapprehension　that　poetry　is　a　mediaeval　torture；　or　a
  mad　elephant；　or　a　gun　that　will　go　off　by　itself　and　kill　at　forty　paces。
  Indeed；　it　is　difficult　to　imagine　the　mental　state　of　the　man　who；　after
  reading　Hazlitt's　essay；　is　not　urgently　desirous　of　reading　some　poetry
  before　his　next　meal。　　If　the　essay　so　inspires　you　I　would　suggest　that
  you　make　a　commencement　with　purely　narrative　poetry。
  There　is　an　infinitely　finer　English　novel；　written　by　a　woman；　than
  anything　by　George　Eliot　or　the　Brontes；　or　even　Jane　Austen；　which
  perhaps　you　have　not　read。　　Its　title　is　〃Aurora　Leigh；〃　and　its　author
  E。B。　Browning。　　It　happens　to　be　written　in　verse；　and　to　contain　a
  considerable　amount　of　genuinely　fine　poetry。　　Decide　to　read　that
  book　through；　even　if　you　die　for　it。　　Forget　that　it　is　fine　poetry。
  Read　it　simply　for　the　story　and　the　social　ideas。　　And　when　you
  have　done；　ask　yourself　honestly　whether　you　still　dislike　poetry。
  I　have　known　more　than　one　person　to　whom　〃Aurora　Leigh〃　has
  been　the　means　of　proving　that　in　assuming　they　hated　poetry　they
  were　entirely　mistaken。
  Of　course；　if；　after　Hazlitt；　and　such　an　experiment　made　in　the　light
  of　Hazlitt；　you　are　finally　assured　that　there　is　something　in　you　which
  is　antagonistic　to　poetry；　you　must　be　content　with　history　or　philosophy。
  I　shall　regret　it；　yet　not　inconsolably。　　〃The　Decline　and　Fall〃　is　not　to　be
  named　in　the　same　day　with　〃Paradise　Lost；〃　but　it　is　a　vastly　pretty　thing；
  and　Herbert　Spencer's　〃First　Principles〃　simply　laughs　at　the　claims　of
  poetry　and　refuses　to　be　accepted　as　aught　but　the　most　majestic　product
  of　any　human　mind。　　I　do　not　suggest　that　either　of　these　works　is　suitable
  for　a　tyro　in　mental　strains。　　But　I　see　no　reason　why　any　man　of　average
  intelligence　should　not；　after　a　year　of　continuous　reading；　be　fit　to　assault
  the　supreme　masterpieces　of　history　or　philosophy。　　The　great　convenience
  of　masterpieces　is　that　they　are　so　astonishingly　lucid。
  I　suggest　no　particular　work　as　a　start。　　The　attempt　would　be　futile　in　the
  space　of　my　command。　　But　I　have　two　general　suggestions　of　a　certain
  importance。　　The　first　is　to　define　the　direction　and　scope　of　your　efforts。
  Choose　a　limited　period；　or　a　limited　subject；　or　a　single　author。　　Say　to
  yourself：　　〃I　will　know　something　about　the　French　Revolution；　or　the
  rise　of　railways；　or　the　works　of　John　Keats。〃　　And　during　a　given　period；
  to　be　settled　beforehand；　confine　yourself　to　your　choice。　　There　is　much
  pleasure　to　be　derived　from　being　a　specialist。
  The　second　suggestion　is　to　think　as　well　as　to　read。　　I　know　people　who
  read　and　read；　and　for　all　the　good　it　does　them　they　might　just　as　well
  cut　bread…and…butter。　　They　take　to　reading　as　better　men　take　to　drink。
  They　fly　through　the　shires　of　literature　on　a　motor…car；　their　sole　object
  being　motion。　　They　will　tell　you　how　many　books　they　have　read　in　a　year。
  Unless　you　give　at　least　forty…five　minutes　to　careful；　fatiguing　reflection
  （it　is　an　awful　bore　at　first）　upon　what　you　are　reading；　your　ninety　minutes
  of　a　night　are　chiefly　wasted。　　This　means　that　your　pace　will　be　slow。
  Never　mind。
  Forget　the　goal；　think　only　of　the　surrounding　country；　and　after　a　period；
  perhaps　when　you　least　expect　it；　you　will　suddenly　find　yourself　in　a　lovely
  town　on　a　hill。
  XII
  DANGERS　TO　AVOID
  I　cannot　terminate　these　hints；　often；　I　fear；　too　didactic　and　abrupt；　upon
  the　full　use　of　one's　time　to　the　great　end　of　living　（as　distinguished　from
  vegetating）　without　briefly　referring　to　certain　dangers　which　lie　in　wait
  for　the　sincere　aspirant　towards　life。　　The　first　is　the　terrible　danger　of
  becoming　that　most　odious　and　least　supportable　of　personsa　prig。
  Now　a　prig　is　a　pert　fellow　who　gives　himself　airs　of　superior　wisdom。
  A　prig　is　a　pompous　fool　who　has　gone　out　for　a　ceremonial　walk；　and
  without　knowing　it　has　lost　an　important　part　of　his　attire；　namely；　his
  sense　of　humour。　　A　prig　is　a　tedious　individual　who；　having　made　a
  discovery；　is　so　impressed　by　his　discovery　that　he　is　capable　of　being
  gravely　displeased　because　the　entire　world　is　not　also　impressed　by　it。
  Unconsciously　to　become　a　prig　is　an　easy　and　a　fatal　thing。
  Hence；　when　one　sets　forth　on　the　enterprise　of　using　all　one's　time；　it　is
  just　as　well　to　remember　that　one's　own　time；　and　not　other　people's　time；
  is　the　material　with　which　one　has　to　deal；　that　the　earth　rolled　on　pretty
  comfortably　before　one　began　to　balance　a　budget　of　the　hours；　and　that　it
  will　continue　to　roll　on　pretty　comfortably　whether　or　not　one　succeeds　in
  one's　new　role　of　chancellor　of　the　exchequer　of　time。　　It　is　as　well　not　to
  chatter　too　much　about　what　one　is　doing；　and　not　to　betray　a　too…pained
  sadness　at　the　spectacle　of　a　whole　world　deliberately　wasting　so　many
  hours　out　of　every　day；　and　therefore　never　really　living。　　It　will　be　found；
  ultimately；　that　in　taking　care　of　one's　self　one　has　quite　all　one　can　do。
  Another　danger　is　the　danger　of　being　tied　to　a　programme　like　a　slave　to
  a　chariot。　　One's　programme　must　not　be　allowed　to　run　away　with　one。
  It　must　be　respected；　but　it　must　not　be　worshipped　as　a　fetish。　　A　programme
  of　daily　employ　is　not　a　religion。
  This　seems　obvious。　　Yet　I　know　men　whose　lives　are　a　burden　to　themselves
  and　a　distressing　burden　to　their　relatives　and　friends　simply　because　they
  have　failed　to　appreciate　the　obvious。　　〃Oh；　no；〃　I　have　heard　the　martyred
  wife　exclaim；　〃Arthur　always　takes　the　dog　out　for　exercise　at　eight　o'clock
  and　he　always　begins　to　read　at　a　quarter　to　nine。　　So　it's　quite　out　of　the
  question　that　we　should。　。　。〃　etc。；　etc。　　And　the　note　of　absolute　finality　in
  that　plaintive　voice　reveals　the　unsuspected　and　ridiculous　tragedy　of　a　career。
  On　the　other　hand；　a　programme　is　a　programme。　　And　unless　it　is　treated
  with　deference　it　ceases　to　be　anything　but　a　poor　joke。　　To　treat　one's
  programme　with　exactly　the　right　amount　of　deference；　to　live　with　not
  too　much　and　not　too　little　elasticity；　is　scarcely　the　simple　affair　it　may
  appear　to　the　inexperienced。
  And　still　another　danger　is　the　danger　of　developing　a　policy　of　rush；　of
  being　gradually　more　and　more　obsessed　by　what　one　has　to　do　next。　　In
  this　way　one　may　come　to　exist　as　in　a　prison；　and　ones　life　may　cease　to
  be　one's　own。　　One　may　take　the　dog　out　for　a　walk　at　eight　o'clock；　and
  meditate　the　whole　time　on　the　fact　that　one　must　begin　to　read　at　a　quarter
  to　nine；　and　that　one　must　not　be　late。
  And　the　occasional　deliberate　breaking　of　one's　programme　will　not　help
  to　mend　matters。　　The　evil　springs　not　from　persisting　without　elasticity
  in　what　one　has　attempted；　but　from　originally　attempting　too　much；　from
  filling　one's　programme　till　it　runs　over。　　The　only　cure　is　to　reconstitute
  the　programme；　and　to　attempt　less。
  But　the　appetite　for　knowledge　grows　by　what　it　feeds　on；　and　there　are
  men　who　come　to　like　a　constant　breathless　hurry　of　endeavour。　　Of　them
  it　may　be　said　that　a　constant　breathless　hurry　is　better　than　an　eternal　doze。
  In　any　case；　if　the　programme　exhibits　a　tendency　to　be　oppressive；　and
  yet　one　wishes　not　to　modify　it；　an　excellent　palliative　is　to　pass　with
  exaggerated　deliberation　from　one　portion　of　it　to　another；　for　example；
  to　spend　five　minutes　in　perfect　mental　quiescence　between　chaining　up
  the　St。　Bernard　and　opening　the　book；　in　other　words；　to　waste　five
  minutes　with　the　entire　consciousness　of　wasting　them。
  The　last；　and　chiefest　danger　which　I　would　indicate；　is　one　to　which　I
  have　already　referredthe　risk　of　a　failure　at　the　commencement　of　the
  enterprise。
  I　must　insist