New-York tribune., 1868-04-18

fate only Of mediocrity; but the insatiate nav
of Time takes in alike wisdom and absurdty,
force and feebleness the meritorious and the
contemplate. Men change, and human minds
change with them; and who, If he could fore
see the taste or relish of the next age, would
be able to divest himself of the present. and
write for those whose intellectual life VIII
surely be so different from his ownf Who,
save the singular great man, such as we sup
pose Shakespeare to have been, to whom all
times all races, all events, all phases OF human
character, all possible fortunes OF the race, all
vanities of social and Of public vicisstude,
seem to have been revealed in clear vision,
and to have been miraculously grasped by one
intellect of unlimited comprehension 1t is no
discredit to the human mind that individual
works of considerable merit are permitted to
pass into oblivion; for books are like spoken
words which may be freighted with wisdom
and perish with the speaker. Even the thinker
who is patient and ardent and earnest, should
he with the last infrmity of noble minds crave
to link his name with speculations which may
change the whole current of human progress
can never be sure either that his is an exclu-
siye discovery or that he has, without doubt
coupled it with his name. There seems to be
a perverse and fantastic witchery which de-
lights to filch the crown from the true king OF
thought and to bestow it upon pretender.
Then, too, brilliant discoveries pass into the
aggregate Of human resources and lose their
identity, Just as books which are indisputaby
clever and make individual and well-detined
noise enough in their own time are gradually
| fused into the conglomerate mass Of literature,
and may even contribute to its vitality with
out revealing their presence. 1t is hard in con-
l.sidering effects always to determine upon
causes and who knows but Rabelais himself
may have been powerful promoter OF the
pilgrimage to Plymouth
If there be something depressing in the
thought that many are called and few chosen
in the world Of letters, it Is consolation to
consider that most great works have been writ
ten for their own sake and with no conscious
eye to futurity. The world supposes that the
man of genius is forever thinking OF present
praise and of future celebrity but the encOur-
aging truth is that a great mind cares very
sparingly either for the one or the other. 1t Is
only the second-rate writers who are always
dreaming of what will be said of them now or
hereafter The true workers interest Is in his
work, in the exercise of hand and Of eye, in
actually doing well that which has been under
taken. Fame may follow; Immortality may be
secured, or failure may be at hand ana ob-
livion, but simple minded and earnest writer
can calmly trust the future while he is working
well to-day for worthy ends. To such man
broad rumor, without corresponding insight
of his purpose or just appreciation OF his
plan, is of little value, and the appreciation OF
the judicious few, as he knows, will come un-
sought if there be anything in his performance
to attract it.
We think that we live in an age of un-
precedented book production, but Goldsmith, in
his "Citizen of the World saysi Il have
"reckoned not less than twenty.three new
books published In one day; which, upon
computation, makes 1896 in one year" This
was written a little less than q century ago;
and how many Of these 5000 volumes are now
known even to our bibliomaniacs-th gentle
men who Judge every book solely by the
standard of rarityf 1t may be well enough
for those young persons who are continually
sending us manuscripts to consider this state
ment, and to remember that the chances are
million to one against their writing anything
which will be remembered for thirty days.
Harper may plant, and The North american
Reuiew may water, but there never will be
forest of oaks destined to grow greener and
greater through the ages. Happy those which
are not instantly cut down and cast into the fire