to them; nevertheless, it has a residuum of mulishness which the
land has not, and does sometimes dispossess its tenants. It is in this
residuum that those who fight place their hope and trust.

Or perhaps AEschylus squared the leading critics of his time. When one
comes to think of it, he must have done so, for how is it conceivable
that such plays should have had such runs if he had not? I met a lady
one year in Switzerland who had some parrots that always travelled with
her and were the idols of her life. These parrots would not let any one
read aloud in their presence, unless they heard their own names
introduced from time to time. If these were freely interpolated into the
text they would remain as still as stones, for they thought the reading
was about themselves. If it was not about them it could not be allowed.
The leaders of literature are like these parrots; they do not look at
what a man writes, nor if they did would they understand it much better
than the parrots do; but they like the sound of their own names, and if
these are freely interpolated in a tone they take as friendly, they may
even give ear to an outsider. Otherwise they will scream him off if they
can.

I should not advise any one with ordinary independence of mind to attempt
the public ear unless he is confident that he can out-lung and out-last
his own generation; for if he has any force, people will and ought to be
on their guard against him, inasmuch as there is no knowing where he may
not take them. Besides, they have staked their money on the wrong men so
often without suspecting it, that when there comes one whom they do
suspect it would be madness not to bet against him. True, he may die
before he has out-screamed his opponents, but that has nothing to do with
it. If his scream was well pitched it will sound clearer when he is
dead. We do not know what death is. If we know so little about life
which we have experienced, how shall we know about death which we have
not--and in the nature of things never can? Every one, as I said years
ago in "Alps and Sanctuaries," is an immortal to himself, for he cannot
know that he is dead until he is dead, and when dead how can he know
anything about anything? All we know is, that even the humblest dead may
live long after all trace of the body has disappeared; we see them doing
it in the bodies and memories of those that come after them; and not a
few live so much longer and more effectu