It is generally conceded that what literature in America needs at this moment is honest, competent, sound criticism.  This is not likely to be attained by sporadic efforts, especially in a democracy of letters where the critics are not always superior to the criticised, where the man in front of the book is not always a better marksman than the man behind the book.  It may not be attained even by an organization of men united upon certain standards of excellence.  I do not like to use the word authority, but it is not unreasonable to suppose that the public will be influenced by a body devoted to the advancement of art and literature, whose sincerity and discernment it has learned to respect, and admission into whose ranks will, I hope, be considered a distinction to be sought for by good work.  The fashion of the day is rarely the judgment of posterity.  You will recall what Byron wrote to Coleridge:  “I trust you do not permit yourself to be depressed by the temporary partiality of what is called ‘the public’ for the favorites of the moment; all experience is against the permanency of such impressions.  You must have lived to see many of these pass away, and will survive many more.”

The chief concern of the National Institute is with the production of works of art and of literature, and with their distribution.  In the remarks following I shall confine myself to the production and distribution of literature.  In the limits of this brief address I can only in outline speak of certain tendencies and practices which are affecting this production and this distribution.  The interests involved are, first, those of the author; second, those of the publisher; third, those of the public.  As to all good literature, the interests of these three are identical if the relations of the three are on the proper basis.  For the author, a good book is of more pecuniary value than a poor one, setting aside the question of fame; to the publisher, the right of publishing a good book is solid capital,—­an established house, in the long run, makes more money on “Standards” than on “Catchpennies”; and to the public the possession of the best literature is the breath of life, as that of the bad and mediocre is moral and intellectual decadence.  But in practice the interests of the three do not harmonize.  The author, even supposing his efforts are stimulated by the highest aspirations for excellence and not by any commercial instinct, is compelled by his circumstances to get the best price for his production; the publisher wishes to get the utmost return for his capital and his energy; and the public wants the best going for the least money.