I hate mumped and measled lovers. I hate cramp
in all men,--most in myself.
And yet I should have been pushed to write without Samuel
Laurence; for I lately looked into _Jesuitism,_ a Latter-Day
Pamphlet, and found why you like those papers so well. I think
you have cleared your skirts; it is a pretty good minority of
one, enunciating with brilliant malice what shall be the
universal opinion of the next edition of mankind. And the sanity
was so manifest, that I felt that the over-gods had cleared their
skirts also to this generation, in not leaving themselves without
witness, though without this single voice perhaps I should not
acquit them. Also I pardon the world that reads the book as
though it read it not, when I see your inveterated humors. It
required courage and required conditions that feuilletonists are
not the persons to name or qualify, this writing Rabelais in
1850. And to do this alone.--You must even pitch your tune to
suit yourself. We must let Arctic Navigators and deepsea divers
wear what astonishing coats, and eat what meats--wheat or whale--
they like, without criticism.
Pages:
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299