But you may be able to write the most learned philosophical
treatise and still not be able to earn your daily bread.

Consider, too, the lamentable loss of time which people of high culture
incur in making experiments on public taste, when money becomes one of
their main objects. Whilst they are writing stories for children, or
elementary educational books which people of far inferior attainment
could probably do much better, their own self-improvement comes to a
standstill. If it could only be ascertained without delay what sort of
work would bring in the money they require, then there would be some
chance of apportioning time so as to make reserves for self-improvement;
but when they have to write a score of volumes merely to ascertain the
humor of the public, there is little chance of leisure. The life of the
professional author who has no reputation is much less favorable to high
culture than the life of a tradesman in moderately easy circumstances
who can reserve an hour or two every day for some beloved intellectual
pursuit.

Sainte-Beuve tells us that during certain years of his life he had
endeavored, and had been able, so to arrange his existence that it
should have both sweetness and dignity, writing from time to time what
was agreeable, reading what was both agreeable and serious, cultivating
friendships, throwing much of his mind into the intimate relations of
every day, giving more to his friends than to the public, reserving what
was most tender and delicate for the inner life, enjoying with
moderation; such for him was the dream of an intellectual existence in
which things truly precious were valued according to their worth. And
"_above all_," he said, above all his desire was not to write too much,
"_surtout ne pas trop ecrire_." And then comes the regret for this wise,
well-ordered life enjoyed by him only for a time. "La necessite depuis
m'a saisi et m'a contraint de renoncer a ce que je considerais comme le
seul bonheur ou la consolation exquise du melancolique et du sage."

Auguste Comte lamented in like manner the evil intellectual consequences
of anxieties about material needs. "There is nothing," he said, "more
mortal to my mind than the necessity, pushed to a certain degree, to
have to think each day about a provision for the next. Happily I think
little and rarely about all that; but whenever this happens to me I pass
through moments of discouragement and positive despair, which if the
influen