names of the day were foisted into the concern, and when the secret
was found out that it belonged to one of the lowest, the book sank to
rise no more. Sometimes a pompous, pretending title hits the mark at
once and wins a name. Who among the lower orders of youth is ignorant
of the "Young Man's Best Companion" by Mr. Fisher, Accomptant, or the
"Book of Wisdom" by Mr. Penning, Philomath? They are almost as common
as bibles and prayer-books in a cottage library.

A guess is not hazarded in believing that popularity is not the omen
of true fame. Sometimes the trifling and ridiculous grow into the
most extensive popularity, such as the share of it which a man gained
by wearing a high brimmed hat, and another that cut off the tails of
his coat and thereby branded his name on the remnant; and though the
spencers are out of fashion they have outlived many a poetical
popularity. These are instances of the ridiculous. The trifling are
full as extensive. Where is the poet who shares half the popularity
of Warren, Turner, or Day and Martin, whose ebony fames are spread
through every dirty little village in England? These instances of the
trifling and ridiculous made as much noise and stir in their day as
the best, and noise and bustle are the essence and soul of
popularity.

The nearest akin to popularity is common fame. I mean names that are
familiar among the common people. It is not a very envious species,
for they seldom know how to value or appreciate what they are
acquainted with. The name of Chatterton is familiar to their ears as
an unfortunate poet, because they saw his history printed on pocket
handkerchiefs; and the name of Shakespeare as a great play writer,
because they have often seen him nominated as such on the bills of
strolling players, who make shift with barns for theatres. But this