ervice; that he has not a lion's share in profit and a
drone's in labour; and is not a sleeping partner and mere costly incubus
on the great mercantile concern of mankind.

Services differ so widely with different gifts, and some are so
inappreciable to external tests, that this is not only a matter for the
private conscience, but one which even there must be leniently and
trustfully considered. For remember how many serve mankind who do no
more than meditate; and how many are precious to their friends for no
more than a sweet and joyous temper. To perform the function of a man
of letters it is not necessary to write; nay, it is perhaps better to be
a living book. So long as we love we serve; so long as we are loved by
others, I would almost say that we are indispensable; and no man is
useless while he has a friend. The true services of life are inestimable
in money, and are never paid. Kind words and caresses, high and wise
thoughts, humane designs, tender behaviour to the weak and suffering,
and all the charities of man's existence, are neither bought nor sold.

Yet the dearest and readiest, if not the most just, criterion of a man's
services, is the wage that mankind pays him, or, briefly, what he earns.
There at least there can be no ambiguity. St. Paul is fully and freely
entitled to his earnings as a tentmaker, and Socrates fully and freely
entitled to his earnings as a sculptor, although the true business of
each was not only something different, but something which remained
unpaid. A man cannot forget that he is not superintended, and serves
mankind on parole. He would like, when challenged by his own conscience,
to reply: "I have done so much work, and no less, with my own hands and
brain, and taken so much profit, and no more, for my own personal
delight." And though St. Paul, if he had possessed a private fortune,
would probably have scorned to waste his time in making tents, yet of
all sacrifices to public opinion none can be more easily pardoned than
that by which a man, already spiritually useful to the world, should
restrict the field of his chief usefulness to perform services more
apparent, and possess a livelihood that neither stupidity nor malice
could call in question. Like all sacrifices to public opinion and mere
external decency, this would certainly be wrong; for the soul should
rest contented with its own approval and indissuadably pursue its own
calling. Yet, so grave and delicate is the questi