In how far is success a test of merit?  Rigorously considered it is an absolute test.  Nor is such a conclusion shaken by the undeniable fact that temporary applause is often secured by works which have no lasting value.  For we must always ask, What is the nature of the applause, and from what circles does it rise?  A work which appears at a particular juncture, and suits the fleeting wants of the hour, flattering the passions of the hour, may make a loud noise, and bring its author into strong relief.  This is not luck, but a certain fitness between the author’s mind and the public needs.  He who first seizes the occasion, may be for general purposes intrinsically a feebler man than many who stand listless or hesitating till the moment be passed; but in Literature, as in Life, a sudden promptitude outrivals vacillating power.

Generally speaking, however, this promptitude has but rare occasions for achieving success.  We may lay it down as a rule that no work ever succeeded, even for a day, but it deserved that success; no work ever failed but under conditions which made failure inevltable.  This will seem hard to men who feel that in their case neglect arises from prejudice or stupidity.  Yet it is true even in extreme cases; true even when the work once neglected has since been acknowleged superior to the works which for a time eclipsed it.  Success, temporary or enduring, is the measure of the relatlon, temporary or enduring, which exists between a work and the public mind.  The millet seed may be intrinsically less valuable than a pearl; but the hungry cock wisely neglected the pearl, because pearls could not, and millet seeds could, appease his hunger.  Who shall say how much of the subsequent success of a once neglected work is due to the preparation of the public mind through the works which for a time eclipsed it?

Let us look candidly at this matter.  It interests us all; for we have all more or less to contend against public misconception, no less than against our own defects.  The object of Literature is to instruct, to animate, or to amuse.  Any book which does one of these things succeeds; any book which does none of these things fails.  Failure is the indication of an inability to perform what was attempted:  the aim was misdirected, or the arm was too weak:  in either case the mark has not been hit.

“The public taste is degraded.”  Perhaps so; and perhaps not.  But in granting a want of due preparation in the public, we only grant that the author has missed his aim.  A reader cannot be expected to be interested in ideas which are not presented intelligibly to him, nor delighted by art which does not touch him; and for the writer to imply that he furnishes arguments, but does not pretend to furnish brains to understand the arguments, is arrogance.  What Goethe says about the most legible handwriting being illegible in the twilight, is doubtless true; and should be oftener borne in mind by frivolous objectors,