Dangerous and democratic, too, must have appeared the new art, which, by plebeianizing knowledge and enlightening the mass, deprived the law and the prophets of half their terrors, and disrobed priestcraft and kingcraft of their mystery.  We can imagine that, as soon as a printed book ceased to be a great rarity, it became an object of great abhorrence.

There were many, no doubt, to prophesy, as on occasion of every new invention, that it was all very well for a novelty; but that the thing would not, and could not last!  How were the poor copyists to get their living if their occupation was taken from them?  How were so many monasteries to be maintained which had subsisted on manuscriptum?  And, then, what prince in his right senses would allow a printing-press to be set up in his dominions—­a source of sedition and heresy—­an implement of disaffection and schism?  The free towns, perhaps, might foster this pernicious art, and certain evilly-disposed potentates wink at the establishment of type-founderies in their states.  But the great powers of Europe knew better!  They would never connive at this second sowing of the dragon’s teeth of Cadmus.

Thus, probably, they argued; becoming reconciled, in process of time, to the terrible novelty.  Print-books became almost as easy to read as manuscript; soon as cheap, and at length of a quarter the price, or even less; till, two centuries later, benefit of clergy ceased to be a benefit, books were plenty as blackberries, and learning a thing for the multitude.  According to Dean Swift’s account, the chaplain’s time hung heavy on his hands, for my lady had sermon books of her own, and could read; nay, my lady’s woman had jest books of her own, and wanted none of his nonsense!  The learned professions, or black arts, lost at least ninety-five per cent in importance; and so rapid as been the increase of the evil, that, at this time of day, it is a hard matter to impose on any clodpole in Europe!  Instead of signing with their marks, the kings of modern times have turned ushers; instead of reading with difficulty, we have a mob of noblemen who write with ease; and, now-a-days, it is every duke, ay, and every duchess her own book-maker!

A year or two hence, however, and all this will have become obsolete.—­Nous avons change tout cela!—­No more letter-press!  Books, the small as well as the great, will have been voted a great evil.  There will be no gentlemen of the press.  The press itself will have ceased to exist.

For several years past it has been frankly avowed by the trade that books have ceased to sell; that the best works are a drug in the market; that their shelves groan, until themselves are forced to follow the example.

Descend to what shifts they may in order to lower their prices, by piracy from other booksellers, or clipping and coining of authors—­no purchasers!  Still, the hope prevailed for a time among the lovers of letters, that a great glut having occurred, the world was chewing the cud of its repletion; that the learned were shut up in the Bodleian, and the ignorant battening upon the circulating libraries; that hungry times would come again!