themselves alone, will lose sight of the rest of the world, which will
infect them with a false and labored style; they will lay down minute
literary rules for their exclusive use, which will insensibly lead them
to deviate from common-sense, and finally to transgress the bounds of
nature. By dint of striving after a mode of parlance different from
the vulgar, they will arrive at a sort of aristocratic jargon, which is
hardly less remote from pure language than is the coarse dialect of the
people. Such are the natural perils of literature amongst aristocracies.
Every aristocracy which keeps itself entirely aloof from the people
becomes impotent--a fact which is as true in literature as it is in
politics. *a

[Footnote a: All this is especially true of the aristocratic countries
which have been long and peacefully subject to a monarchical government.
When liberty prevails in an aristocracy, the higher ranks are constantly
obliged to make use of the lower classes; and when they use, they
approach them. This frequently introduces something of a democratic
spirit into an aristocratic community. There springs up, moreover, in a
privileged body, governing with energy and an habitually bold policy, a
taste for stir and excitement which must infallibly affect all literary
performances.]

Let us now turn the picture and consider the other side of it; let us
transport ourselves into the midst of a democracy, not unprepared by
ancient traditions and present culture to partake in the pleasures of
the mind. Ranks are there intermingled and confounded; knowledge and
power are both infinitely subdivided, and, if I may use the expression,
scattered on every side. Here then is a motley multitude, whose
intellectual wants are to be supplied. These new votaries of the
pleasures of the mind have not all received the same education; they