Every form of imitation (imitating of course
only the faults of a favourite writer) is to be recommended.
Imitation does a double service, it secures the failure of the imitator
and also aids that of the unlucky author who is imitated. As soon as a
new thing appears in literature, many people hurry off to attempt
something of the same sort. It may be a particular trait and accent in
poetry, and the public, weary of the mimicries, begin to dislike the
original.
"Most can grow the flowers now,
For all have got the seed;
And once again the people
Call it but a weed."
In fiction, if somebody brings in a curious kind of murder, or a study of
religious problems, or a treasure hunt, or what you will, others imitate
till the world is weary of murders, or theological flirtations, or the
search for buried specie, and the original authors themselves will fail,
unless they fish out something new, to be vulgarised afresh. Therefore,
imitation is distinctly to be urged on the young author.
As a rule, his method is this, he reads very little, but all that he
reads is _bad_. The feeblest articles in the weakliest magazines, the
very mildest and most conventional novels appear to be the only studies
of the majority.
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