I declare to you that Literature was _not_ written for
schoolmasters, nor for schoolmistresses. I would not exchange it
for a wilderness of schoolmasters. It should be delivered from
them, who, with their silly _Ablauts_ and 'tendencies,' can
themselves neither read nor write. For the proof? Having the
world's quintessential store of mirth and sharp sorrow, wit,
humour, comfort, farce, comedy, tragedy, satire; the glories of
our birth and state, piled all at their elbows, only one man of
the crowd--and he M. Jusserand, a Frenchman--has contrived to
draw out of the mass one interesting well-written history of the
'subject.'