n who adopts it as the business of his life. I
shall not say much about the wages. A writer can live by his writing. If
not so luxuriously as by other trades, then less luxuriously. The nature
of the work he does all day will more affect his happiness than the
quality of his dinner at night. Whatever be your calling, and however
much it brings you in the year, you could still, you know, get more by
cheating. We all suffer ourselves to be too much concerned about a
little poverty; but such considerations should not move us in the choice
of that which is to be the business and justification of so great a
portion of our lives; and like the missionary, the patriot, or the
philosopher, we should all choose that poor and brave career in which we
can do the most and best for mankind. Now Nature, faithfully followed,
proves herself a careful mother. A lad, for some liking to the jingle of
words, betakes himself to letters for his life; by-and-by, when he
learns more gravity, he finds that he has chosen better than he knew;
that if he earns little, he is earning it amply; that if he receives a
small wage, he is in a position to do considerable services; that it is
in his power, in some small measure, to protect the oppressed and to
defend the truth. So kindly is the world arranged, such great profit may
arise from a small degree of human reliance on oneself, and such, in
particular, is the happy star of this trade of writing, that it should
combine pleasure and profit to both parties, and be at once agreeable,
like fiddling, and useful, like good preaching.

This is to speak of literature at its highest; and with the four great
elders who are still spared to our respect and admiration, with Carlyle,
Ruskin, Browning, and Tennyson before us, it would be cowardly to
consider it at first in any lesser aspect. But while we cannot follow
these athletes, while we may none of us, perhaps, be very vigorous, very
original, or very wise, I still contend that, in the humblest sort of
literary work, we have it in our power either to do great harm or great
good. We may seek merely to please; we may seek, having no higher gift,
merely to gratify the idle nine-days' curiosity of our contemporaries;
or we may essay, however feebly, to instruct. In each of these we shall
have to deal with that remarkable art of words which, because it is the
dialect of life, comes home so easily and powerfully to the minds of
men; and since that is so, we contrib