e._ the persons who might happen to purchase and look
over the Book), but from a hobby-horsical, superstitious regard to my
own feelings and sense of Duty. Language is the sacred Fire in this
Temple of Humanity, and the Muses are its especial and vestal
Priestesses. Though I cannot prevent the vile drugs and counterfeit
Frankincense, which render its flame at once pitchy, glowing, and
unsteady, I would yet be no voluntary accomplice in the Sacrilege. With
the commencement of a PUBLIC, commences the degradation of the GOOD and
the BEAUTIFUL--both fade and retire before the accidentally AGREEABLE.
"Othello" becomes a hollow lip-worship; and the "CASTLE SPECTRE," or any
more recent thing of Froth, Noise, and Impermanence, that may have
overbillowed it on the restless sea of curiosity, is the _true_ Prayer
of Praise and Admiration.
I thought it right to state to you these opinions of mine, that you
might know that I think the Translation of the "Faust" a task demanding
(from _me_, I mean), no ordinary efforts--and why? This--that it is
painful, very painful, and even odious to me, to attempt anything of a
literary nature, with any motive of _pecuniary_ advantage; but that I
bow to the all-wise Providence, which has made me a _poor_ man, and
therefore compelled me by other duties inspiring feelings, to bring
_even my Intellect to the Market_.
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