Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
A French Novelist Of The Seventeenth Century.
A FRENCH NOVELIST OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY .
BT MISS PAEDOE . IT is at times both pleasant and profitable to fall back upon the " sayings and doings " of bygone literary men ; who , after having obtained an enviable celebrity during then- lives , sink
into perfect Lethe after their demise . Either the period in ivhich they flourished must have been strangely deficient in judgment , and wanting in moral integrity , or posterity must be blamed for an obliquity of mental vision , which renders it unable to appreciate their merits . Which is , in fact , the case ? No doubt we , the after-critics , are inclined to believe oiu-selves the better
judges ; and yet it is a point which , when considered dispassionately , ancl without prejudice , may be occasionally disputed . How many of our so-called " standard" works would live beyond a few months if produced at the present day ? The speculation is an interesting one , since it involves the future fate of many among us who are candidates for what is called Fame , —a term , by the way , which , like that of honesty , is
singularly untangible , and difficult of clear classification . It was with some such feeling as this that , a feiv months ago , I was occupied in a A'ast and gloomy library , lighted only by one deep windoAV at its lower end , —and even that one rendered partially useless from the gloom induced by the coloured panes set in deep leaden frames , ivhereon the armorial bearings of the
family , with their many quarterings , were ostentatiously emblazoned , —in pulling doAvn from the shelves sundry dusky-looking volumes , which had , in all probability , never been disturbed for the last century , unless , indeed , it were for the annual dusting to which they were subjected . I love that old library—and its master . —But I am not about to speak of Mm on this occasion
, although I am proud of his friendship , and jealous of his affection ; my present business is simply with one of the volumes which I dislodged on the day in question ; and if I succeed in the attempt to impart to my readers any portion of the amusement which it afforded to myself , I desire nothing more . "A Voyage to the Moon" The title quaint h
. was enoug ; but I felt no particular attraction towards the subject , until , having run my eye over a couple of pages , I began to recant my heresy . The book was old , dingy , and somewhat worm-eaten ; E 2
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
A French Novelist Of The Seventeenth Century.
A FRENCH NOVELIST OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY .
BT MISS PAEDOE . IT is at times both pleasant and profitable to fall back upon the " sayings and doings " of bygone literary men ; who , after having obtained an enviable celebrity during then- lives , sink
into perfect Lethe after their demise . Either the period in ivhich they flourished must have been strangely deficient in judgment , and wanting in moral integrity , or posterity must be blamed for an obliquity of mental vision , which renders it unable to appreciate their merits . Which is , in fact , the case ? No doubt we , the after-critics , are inclined to believe oiu-selves the better
judges ; and yet it is a point which , when considered dispassionately , ancl without prejudice , may be occasionally disputed . How many of our so-called " standard" works would live beyond a few months if produced at the present day ? The speculation is an interesting one , since it involves the future fate of many among us who are candidates for what is called Fame , —a term , by the way , which , like that of honesty , is
singularly untangible , and difficult of clear classification . It was with some such feeling as this that , a feiv months ago , I was occupied in a A'ast and gloomy library , lighted only by one deep windoAV at its lower end , —and even that one rendered partially useless from the gloom induced by the coloured panes set in deep leaden frames , ivhereon the armorial bearings of the
family , with their many quarterings , were ostentatiously emblazoned , —in pulling doAvn from the shelves sundry dusky-looking volumes , which had , in all probability , never been disturbed for the last century , unless , indeed , it were for the annual dusting to which they were subjected . I love that old library—and its master . —But I am not about to speak of Mm on this occasion
, although I am proud of his friendship , and jealous of his affection ; my present business is simply with one of the volumes which I dislodged on the day in question ; and if I succeed in the attempt to impart to my readers any portion of the amusement which it afforded to myself , I desire nothing more . "A Voyage to the Moon" The title quaint h
. was enoug ; but I felt no particular attraction towards the subject , until , having run my eye over a couple of pages , I began to recant my heresy . The book was old , dingy , and somewhat worm-eaten ; E 2