Is there not something that holds out a strong incentive to the love of fame, and the cultivation of the mind, when we thus see its works, though shrouded by occasional depressions, yet resting on the rock of Truth, insensible, as it were, to the lapse of time, and the wreck of years, and surmounting at last every impediment, while the body to which they belonged has for ages been the plaything of the winds, or hardened with the clod of the valley?—Headley—Pref. p. xii.
