l.
Indeed, the literary artist may almost say, as did the Duke of
Wellington when urged to write his memoirs, "I should like to speak the
truth; but if I did, I should be torn in pieces."

Therefore the writer, when he adopts a high aim, must be a law to
himself, bide his time, and take the risk of discovering, at last, that
his life has been a failure. His task is one in which failure is easy,
when he must not only depict the truths of Nature, but must do this with
such verisimilitude as to vindicate its truth to other eyes, And since
this recognition may not even begin till after his death, we can see
what Rivarol meant by his fine saying, that "genius is only great
patience," and Buffon, by his more guarded definition of genius as the
aptitude for patience.

Of all literary qualities, this patience has thus far been rarest in
America. Therefore, there has been in our literature scarcely any quiet
power; if effects are produced, they must, in literature as in painting,
be sensational, and cover acres of canvas. As yet, the mass of our
writers seek originality in mere externals; we think, because we live in
a new country, we are unworthy of ourselves if we do not Americanize the
grammar and spelling-book. In a republic, must the objective case be
governed by a verb? We shall yet learn that it is not new literary forms
we need, but only, fresh inspiration, combined with cultivated taste.
The standard of good art is always much the same; modifications are
trifling. Otherwise we could not enjoy any foreign literature. A fine
phrase in AEschylus or Dante affects us as if we had read it in Emerson.
A structural completeness in a work of art seems the same in the
_Oedipus Tyrannus_ as in "The Scarlet Letter." Art has therefore its
law; and eccentricity, though sometimes promising as a mere trait of
youth, is only a disfigurement to maturer years. It is no discredit to
Walt Whitman that he wrote "Leaves of Grass," only that he did not burn
it afterwards. A young writer must commonly plough in his first crop, as
the farmer does, to enrich the soil. Is it luxuriant, astonishing, the
wonder of the neighborhood; so much the better,--in let it go!

Sydney Smith said, in 1818, "There does not appear to be in America, at
this moment, one man of any considerable talents." Though this might not
now be said, we still stand before the world with something of the Swiss
reputation, as a race of thrifty republicans, patriotic and courage