renewed popularity, the speculation is sure
to fail. Curious and studious men, it is true, are gratified by the
reproduction; but the general reader would prefer a book of his own
generation, using the former as materials, and separating its immortal
part from its perishing body.

And the general reader, be it remembered, is virtually the age. It is
for him the studious think, the imaginative invent, the tuneful sing:
beyond him there is no appeal but to the future. He is superstitious,
as we have seen, but his gods are few and traditional. He determines
to make a stand somewhere; and it is necessary for him to do so, if he
would not encumber his literary Olympus with a Hindoo-like pantheon of
millions. But how voracious is this general reader in regard to the
effusions of his own day! What will become of the myriads of books
that have passed through our own unworthy hands? How many of them will
survive to the next generation? How many will continue to float still
further down the stream of time? How many will attain the honour of
the apotheosis? And will they coexist in this exalted state with the
old objects of worship? This last is a pregnant question; for each
generation will in all probability furnish its quota of the great
books of the language, and, if so, a reform in the superstition we
have exposed is no longer a matter of mere expedience, but of
necessity. We are aware that all this will be pronounced rank heresy
by those who assume the style of critics, who usually make a
prodigious outcry when a great author is mutilated, even by expunging
a word which modern decency excludes from the vocabulary of social and
family intercourse. This word, however--supposing it to represent the
mortal and perishing part of an author's productions--belongs not to
him, but to his age; not to the intellectual man, but to the external
and fleeting manners of his day and generation. Such critics usually
take credit to themselves for a peculiarly large and liberal spirit;
but there seems to us, on the contrary, to be something mean and
restricted in views that regard the man as an individual, not as a
portion of the genius which belongs to the world. Yet, even as an
individual, the man is safe in his entirety, for there is no project
of cancelling the printed works extant in our libraries, public and
private. The true question simply is: Are great authors to be allowed
to become practically obsolete--and many of them have become s