and sometimes on another, and hurried on in things which required both
time and thought, he saw too clearly the fatal tendency of such a life,
and exclaimed, with ill-suppressed bitterness, "If I stay long in this
country, I shall turn dauber like the rest here." The great artist
abruptly returned to Rome to regain the possession of his own thoughts.

[Footnote A: _Quarterly Review_, vol. viii. p. 538.]

It has been a question with some, more indeed abroad than at home, whether
the art of instructing mankind by the press would not be less suspicious
in its character, were it less interested in one of its prevalent motives?
Some noble self-denials of this kind are recorded. The principle of
emolument will produce the industry which furnishes works for popular
demand; but it is only the principle of honour which can produce the
lasting works of genius. BOILEAU seems to censure Racine for having
accepted money for one of his dramas, while he, who was not rich, gave
away his polished poems to the public. He seems desirous of raising the
art of writing to a more disinterested profession than any other,
requiring no fees for the professors. OLIVET presented his elaborate
edition of Cicero to the world, requiring no other remuneration than
its glory. MILTON did not compose his immortal work for his trivial
copyright;[A] and LINNAEUS sold his labours for a single ducat. The Abbe
MABLY, the author of many political and moral works, lived on little, and
would accept only a few presentation copies from the booksellers. But,
since we have become a nation of book-collectors, and since there exists,
as Mr. Coleridge describes it, "a reading public," this principle of
honour is altered. Wealthy and even noble authors are proud to receive the
largest tribute to their genius, because this tribute is the certain
evidence of the number who pay it. The property of a book, therefore,
represents to the literary candidate the collective force of the thousands
of voters on whose favour his claims can only exist. This change in the
affairs of the literary republic in our country was felt by GIBBON, who
has fixed on "the patronage of booksellers" as the standard of public
opinion: "the measure of their liberality," he says, "is the least
ambiguous test of our common success." The philosopher accepted it as a
substitute for that "friendship or favour of princes, of which he could
not boast." The same opinion was held by JOHNSON. Yet, looking on t