body devoted to the advancement of art and literature, whose
sincerity and discernment it has learned to respect, and admission into
whose ranks will, I hope, be considered a distinction to be sought for by
good work. The fashion of the day is rarely the judgment of posterity.
You will recall what Byron wrote to Coleridge: "I trust you do not permit
yourself to be depressed by the temporary partiality of what is called
'the public' for the favorites of the moment; all experience is against
the permanency of such impressions. You must have lived to see many of
these pass away, and will survive many more."

The chief concern of the National Institute is with the production of
works of art and of literature, and with their distribution. In the
remarks following I shall confine myself to the production and
distribution of literature. In the limits of this brief address I can
only in outline speak of certain tendencies and practices which are
affecting this production and this distribution. The interests involved
are, first, those of the author; second, those of the publisher; third,
those of the public. As to all good literature, the interests of these
three are identical if the relations of the three are on the proper
basis. For the author, a good book is of more pecuniary value than a poor
one, setting aside the question of fame; to the publisher, the right of
publishing a good book is solid capital,--an established house, in the
long run, makes more money on "Standards" than on "Catchpennies"; and to
the public the possession of the best literature is the breath of life,
as that of the bad and mediocre is moral and intellectual decadence. But
in practice the interests of the three do not harmonize. The author, even
supposing his efforts are stimulated by the highest aspirations for
excellence and not by any commercial instinct, is compelled by his
circumstances to get the best price for his production; the publisher
wishes to get the utmost return for his capital and his energy; and the
public wants the best going for the least money.

Consider first the author, and I mean the author, and not the mere
craftsman who manufactures books for a recognized market. His sole
capital is his talent. His brain may be likened to a mine, gold, silver,
copper, iron, or tin, which looks like silver when new. Whatever it is,
the vein of valuable ore is limited, in most cases it is slight. When it
is worked out, the man is at the end of