Letters to Dead Authors by Andrew Lang
page 67 of 131 (51%)
page 67 of 131 (51%)
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drede. And methinks that soon shall Englishmen and Muscovy folk put
their bodies in adventure, and war one with another, and all for the way to Ynde. But St. George for Englond, I say, and so enough; and may the Seyntes hele thee, Sir John, of thy Gowtes Artetykes, that thee tormenten. But to thy Boke I list not to give no credence. LETTER--To Alexandre Dumas Sir,--There are moments when the wheels of life, even of such a life as yours, run slow, and when mistrust and doubt overshadow even the most intrepid disposition. In such a moment, towards the ending of your days, you said to your son, M. Alexandre Dumas, "I seem to see myself set on a pedestal which trembles as if it were founded on the sands." These sands, your uncounted volumes, are all of gold, and make a foundation more solid than the rock. As well might the singer of Odysseus, or the authors of the "Arabian Nights," or the first inventors of the stories of Boccaccio, believe that their works were perishable (their names, indeed, have perished), as the creator of "Les Trois Mousquetaires" alarm himself with the thought that the world could ever forget Alexandre Dumas. Than yours there has been no greater nor more kindly and beneficent force in modern letters. To Scott, indeed, you owed the first impulse of your genius; but, once set in motion, what miracles could |
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