from city to city,
and from continent to continent along ocean's oozy depths the lightning
flashes our words, spreading beneath our eyes each morning the whole
world's gossip,--but in the midst of this miraculous transformation, we
ourselves remain small, hard, and narrow, without great thoughts or
great loves or immortal hopes. We are a crowd where the highest and the
best lose individuality, and are swept along as though democracy were a
tyranny of the average man under which superiority of whatever kind is
criminal. Our population increases, our cities grow, our roads are
lengthened, our machinery is made more perfect, the number of our
schools is multiplied, our newspapers are read in ever-widening circles,
the spirit of humanity and of freedom breathes through our life; but the
individual remains common-place and uninteresting. He lacks
intelligence, has no perception of what is excellent, no faith in
ideals, no reverence for genius, no belief in any highest sort of man
who has not shown his worth in winning wealth, position, or notoriety.
We have a thousand poets and no poetry, a thousand orators and no
eloquence, a thousand philosophers and no philosophy. Every city points
to its successful men who have millions, but are themselves poor and
unintelligent; to its writers who, having sold their talent to
newspapers and magazines, sink to the level of those they address,
dealing only with what is of momentary interest, or if the question be
deep, they move on the surface, lest the many-eyed crowd lose sight of
them. The preacher gets an audience and pay on condition that he stoop
to the gossip which centres around new theories, startling events, and
mechanical schemes for the improvement of the country. If to get money
be the end of writing and preaching, then must we seek to please the
multitude who are willing to pay those who entertain and amuse them.
Will not our friends, even, conceive a mean opinion of our ability, if
we fail to gain public recognition?

So we make ourselves "motleys to the view, and sell cheap what is most
dear." We must, perforce, show the endowment which can be brought to
perfection only if it be permitted to grow in secrecy and solitude. The
worst foe of excellence is the desire to appear; for when once we have
made men talk of us, we seem to be doing nothing if they are silent, and
thus the love of notoriety becomes the bane of true work and right
living. To be one of a crowd is not to b