‘Let me hear her instantly,’ said the boy; ‘I love the lute rarely; I love it of all things, though I never heard it.’

‘Then how canst thou love it, Flibbertigibbet?’ said Wayland.

‘As knights love ladies in old tales,’ answered Dickie – ‘on hearsay.’

To the great compact phalanx of the people, by whose industry, perseverance, and intelligence, and their result in money-wealth such places as Birmingham, and many others like it, have arisen – to that great centre of support, that comprehensive experience, and that beating heart – Literature has turned happily from individual patrons, sometimes munificent, often sordid, always few, and has found there at once its highest purpose, its natural range of action, and its best reward.

the people have set Literature free. And my creed in the exercise of that profession is, that Literature cannot be too faithful to the people in return – cannot too ardently advocate the cause of their advancement, happiness, and prosperity.