aused to calculate the wage. The other day an
author was complimented on a piece of work, good in itself and
exceptionally good for him, and replied in terms unworthy of a
commercial traveller, that as the book was not briskly selling he did
not give a copper farthing for its merit. It must not be supposed that
the person to whom this answer was addressed received it as a profession
of faith; he knew, on the other hand, that it was only a whiff of
irritation; just as we know, when a respectable writer talks of
literature as a way of life, like shoemaking, but not so useful, that he
is only debating one aspect of a question, and is still clearly
conscious of a dozen others more important in themselves and more
central to the matter in hand. But while those who treat literature in
this penny-wise and virtue-foolish spirit are themselves truly in
possession of a better light, it does not follow that the treatment is
decent or improving, whether for themselves or others. To treat all
subjects in the highest, the most honourable, and the pluckiest spirit,
consistent with the fact, is the first duty of a writer. If he be well
paid, as I am glad to hear he is, this duty becomes the more urgent, the
neglect of it the more disgraceful. And perhaps there is no subject on
which a man should speak so gravely as that industry, whatever it may
be, which is the occupation or delight of his life; which is his tool to
earn or serve with; and which, if it be unworthy, stamps himself as a
mere incubus of dumb and greedy bowels on the shoulders of labouring
humanity. On that subject alone even to force the note might lean to
virtue's side. It is to be hoped that a numerous and enterprising
generation of writers will follow and surpass the present one; but it
would be better if the stream were stayed, and the roll of our old,
honest English books were closed, than that esurient bookmakers should
continue and debase a brave tradition, and lower, in their own eyes, a
famous race. Better that our serene temples were deserted than filled
with trafficking and juggling priests.

There are two just reasons for the choice of any way of life: the first
is inbred taste in the chooser; the second some high utility in the
industry selected. Literature, like any other art, is singularly
interesting to the artist; and, in a degree peculiar to itself among the
arts, it is useful to mankind. These are the sufficient justifications
for any young man or woma