A writer misdirects his talent if he lowers his standard of excellence.  Whatever he can do best let him do that, certain of reward in proportion to his excellence.  The reward is not always measurable by the number of copies sold; that simply measures the extent of his public.  It may prove that he has stirred the hearts and enlightened the minds of many.  It may also prove, as Johnson says, “that his nonsense suits their nonsense.”  The real reward of Literature is in the sympathy of congenial minds, and is precious in proportion to the elevation of those minds, and the gravity with which such sympathy moves:  the admiration of a mathematician for the MECANIQUE Celeste, for example, is altogether higher in kind than the admiration of a novel reader for the last “delightful story.”  And what should we think of Laplace if he were made bitter by the wider popularity of Dumas?  Would he forfeit the admiration of one philosopher for that of a thousand novel readers?

To ask this question is to answer it; yet daily experience tells us that not only in lowering his standard, but in running after a popularity incompatible with the nature of his talent, does many a writer forfeit his chance of success.  The novel and the drama, by reason of their commanding influence over a large audience, often seduce writers to forsake the path on which they could labour with some success, but on which they know that only a very small audience can be found; as if it were quantity more than quality, noise rather than appreciation, which their mistaken desires sought.  Unhappily for them, they lose the substance, and only snap at the shadow.  The audience may be large, but it will not listen to them.  The novel may be more popular and more lucrative, when successful, than the history or the essay; but to make it popular and lucrative the writer needs a special talent, and this, as was before hinted, seems frequently forgotten by those who take to novel writing.  Nay, it is often forgotten by the critics; they being, in general, men without the special talent themselves, set no great value on it.  They imagine that Invention may be replaced by culture, and that clever “writing” will do duty for dramatic power.  They applaud the “drawing” of a character, which drawing turns out on inspection to be little more than an epigrammatic enumeration of particularities, the character thus “drawn” losing all individuality as soon as speech and action are called upon.  Indeed, there are two mistakes very common among reviewers:  one is the overvaluation of what is usually considered as literary ability ("brilliant writing” it is called; “literary tinsel” would be more descriptive) to the prejudice of Invention and Individuality; the other is the overvaluation of what they call “solid acquirements,” which really mean no more than an acquaintance with the classics.  As a fact, literary ability and solid acquirements are to be had in abundance; invention, humour, and originality