men has daily increased, and I esteem myself happy in being convinced from the bottom of my heart that they merit the immortality which they have won.
Let anyone who has accustomed himself to read the ancients on this principle turn to the moderns! Not only will he find nothing to occupy him, but he will also very often feel a secret annoyance when he sees what a reputation these people have gained, and that anyone who publicly ventured to dispute the fact would be accused of a lack of understanding. But I say to myself: There, let them be! Certain it is that they will never pass through that fine sieve with which Time sifts our works to eternity. No book can descend to posterity which is unable to stand the test of the sensible and experienced man of the world. Even the farce and the amusing story must appeal to such a man (and they can do so), if they are meant for eternity. Should they now and then happen to endure without possessing any true merit, this is rather to be ascribed to the brazen clasps which bind them. In regard to the fame of a work the applause of undergraduates and newspaper writers, no less than their censure, is but a drop in the ocean. The rock of oblivion, always ready to roll over every miserable production, will overwhelm their just censure together with the work itself; and with unjust criticism they can as little bar the way to immortality as they can fan back the rising tide with a piece of paper. They can indeed harm the author ; they can kill the body; but they cannot kill the soul.
