read a mesh of wire to intercept them and
seize their message?

The hardy inquirer demanded: Then if so, why despise the literature of
the new reading public? Why despise the new reading public, anyway?

The philosopher responded that he despised nothing, not even a thing so
unphilosophical as modern science. He merely wished his interpellant to
observe again that the unification of the literary spirit and the
scientific spirit was degrading the literary man to the level of the
scientific man. He thought this was bad for the small remnant of
mankind, who in default of their former idolatry might take to the
worship of themselves. Now, however bad a writer might be, it was always
well for the reader to believe him better than himself. If we had not
been brought up in this superstition, what would have become of the
classics of all tongues? But for this, what was to prevent the present
company from making a clearance of three-fourths of the surrounding
shelves and feeding that dying flame on the hearth?

At this the host, who had been keeping himself in a modest abeyance,
came forward and put some sticks on the fire. He said he would like to
see any one touch his bindings; which seemed to be his notion of books.
Nobody minded him; but one of those dutyolators, who abound in a certain
sex, asked the philosopher what he thought we ought to do for the
maintenance of author-worship among us.

He answered, he had not thought of that; his mind had been fixed upon
the fact of its decay. But perhaps something could be done by looking up
the author whose book had sold least during the season, and asking him
candidly whether he would not like to be paid the divine honors now
going begging from one big seller to another; for the decay of
author-worship must be as much from the indifference of the authors as
from the irreverence of the readers. If such a low-selling author did
not seem to regard it as rather invidious, then pay him the divine
honors; it might be a wholesome and stimulating example; but perhaps we
should afterward have the demigod on our hands. Something might be
safelier done by writing, as with the present company, and inquiring
into "the present condition of polite learning." This would keep the
sacred flame alive, and give us the comfort of refined association in an
exquisite moment of joy from the sense of our superiority to other
people. That, after all, was the great thing.

The company drew a little close