Self-sufficiency, under one form or another, is the predominant vice of the present age. A disposition to neglect the gathered wisdom of former times, and to deny all reverence to customs and institutions from which our fathers deemed it inseparable, and to go forward rejoicing in _our own_ strength, is becoming more and more apparent. And whether we regard this sentiment as the fool-hardiness resulting from ignorance, and as ‘the pride which goeth before a fall,’ or, which we are more inclined to do, as the exultation of conscious might, and the prelude of more glorious achievements--still it is a vice, and requires the most vigorous exertions to check its further progress. These remarks are most obviously applicable to political matters, but they are not without meaning in reference to _literature_. Even in this department of knowledge, there has become manifest a proneness to circumscribe curiosity and inquiry within the narrow circle of cotemporary writers, to extol our popular authors, as the only ones deserving our attention, and as incontestably superior to all who have gone before them. It is difficult to determine whether this feeling is more unjust to those great lights of learning, who laid the _foundations_ of our literature, by defrauding them of their merited homage, or more unfortunate for ourselves, by depriving us of their illumination. Nor is it less _absurd_, than it is unjust and unfortunate. For if we are indeed at the culminating point, whence beams of light and beauty shall fall on succeeding ages, the closest investigation can but confirm the truth; but if we are _not_, by timely consideration we may be saved from the error of those ancient astronomers, who assumed this little earth to be the center of the universe, and _therefore_, at each supposed advance, plunged deeper in error and perplexity. And those, who, in utter ignorance of our older writers, are ever asserting the preeminence of Byron and Bulwer and Irving, should be careful, lest, with those who have traveled further in the world of letters, they may incur the charge of weakness, no less ridiculous than that of the vain Chinese, who imagine _their_ land, the only radiant point in a world of darkness. Nor would the results of a candid and thorough examination of the early English writers, be really prejudicial to the reputation of cotemporary works; for though we might return from our researches with a less extravagant complacency in the productions of living authors, it would be more strongly established. We should meet with opposite merits and opposite faults. If our current literature is more frivolous, theirs is more prolix; if their thoughts are more sound, and their style more simple, our reasoning is more pointed, and our expression more sparkling--if we are more disgusted here with spurious originality, we are oftener wearied there with staid monotony.