I may illustrate what I mean, by the feelings of most men in
travelling. If we have found any stage particularly tedious, or in an
especial degree interesting, particularly short, or much longer than
we expected, our imaginations are so apt to exaggerate the original
impression, that, on repeating the journey, we usually find that we
have considerably over-rated the predominating quality, and the road
appears to be duller or more pleasant, shorter or more tedious, than
what we expected, and, consequently, than what is actually the case.
It requires a third or fourth journey to enable us to form an accurate
judgment of its beauty, its length, or its other attributes.

In the same manner, the public, judging of a new work, which it
receives perhaps with little expectation, if surprised into applause,
becomes very often ecstatic, gives a great deal more approbation than
is due, and elevates the child of its immediate favour to a rank
which, as it affects the author, it is equally difficult to keep, and
painful to lose. If, on this occasion, the author trembles at the
height to which he is raised, and becomes afraid of the shadow of his
own renown, he may indeed retire from the lottery with the prize which
he has drawn, but, in future ages, his honour will be only in
proportion to his labours. If, on the contrary, he rushes again into
the lists, he is sure to be judged with severity proportioned to the
former favour of the public. If he be daunted by a bad reception on
this second occasion, he may again become a stranger to the arena. If,
on the contrary, he can keep his ground, and stand the shuttlecock's
fate, of being struck up and down, he will probably, at length, hold
with some certainty the level in public opinion which he may be found
to deserve; and he may perhaps boast of arresting the general
attention, in the same manner as the Bachelor Samson Carrasco, of
fixing the weathercock La Giralda of Seville for weeks, months, or