for his own support. He was something of a
musician; he sang pleasingly; he drew a little; he knew something of
three or four modern languages; he had that sort of smattering
acquaintance with questions of religion, politics, and literature which
the world calls being 'well-informed,' and yet nothing short of the
grave necessity revealed to him that towards the object of securing a
livelihood a cobbler in his bulk was out-and-out his master. The world
has no need of the man of small acquirements, and would rather have its
shoes mended by the veriest botch of a professional than by the
cleverest amateur that ever studied a Greek sandal."

Something of this illusion, which Charles Lever has touched so truly,
may be due to a peculiarity of the English mind in its present (not
quite satisfactory) stage of development, a peculiarity which I am not
the first to point out, since it has been already indicated by Mr.
Pointer, the distinguished artist; and I think that this peculiarity is
to be found in very great force, perhaps in greater force than
elsewhere, in that well-to-do English middle class in which you have
been born and educated. It consists in a sort of indifference to skill
of all kinds, which passes into something not very far from active
contempt when a call is made for attention, recognition, admiration. The
source of this feeling will probably be found in the inordinate respect
for wealth, between which and highly developed personal skill, in
anything, there is a certain antagonism or incompatibility. The men of
real skill are almost always men who earn their living by their skill.
The feeling of the middle-class capitalists concerning the skilful man
may be expressed, not unjustly, as follows: "Yes, he is very clever; he
may well be clever--it is his trade; he gets his living by it." This is
held to exonerate us from the burden of admiration, and there is not any
serious interest in the achievements of human endeavor as evidence of
the marvellous natural endowments and capabilities of the human
organism. In some minds the indifference to skill is more active and
grows into very real, though not openly expressed contempt. This
contempt is partly moral. The skilful man always rejoices in his skill
with a heaven-bestowed joy and delight--one of the purest and most
divine pleasures given by God to man--an encouragement to labor, and a
reward, the best reward, after his arduous apprenticeship. But there is
a sour a