_ The world say true: and what then? When they dance no
longer, I will no longer pipe; and I shall not want flappers enough to
remind me of the apoplexy.
_Captain._ And what will become of us then, your poor family? We shall
fall into contempt and oblivion.
_Author._ Like many a poor fellow, already overwhelmed with the number
of his family, I cannot help going on to increase it--"'Tis my
vocation, Hal."--Such of you as deserve oblivion--perhaps the whole of
you--may be consigned to it. At any rate, you have been read in your
day, which is more than can be said of some of your contemporaries, of
less fortune and more merit. They cannot say but that you _had_ the
crown. It is always something to have engaged the public attention for
seven years. Had I only written Waverley, I should have long since
been, according to the established phrase, "the ingenious author of a
novel much admired at the time." I believe, on my soul, that the
reputation of Waverley is sustained very much by the praises of those,
who may be inclined to prefer that tale to its successors.
_Captain._ You are willing, then, to barter future reputation for
present popularity?
_Author. Meliora spero._ Horace himself expected not to survive in all
his works--I may hope to live in some of mine;--_non omnis moriar._ It
is some consolation to reflect, that the best authors in all countries
have been the most voluminous; and it has often happened, that those
who have been best received in their own time, have also continued to
be acceptable to posterity.
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