r, then
he will find it a profession fuller than most professions of petty
jealousy, of little spite, of foolish hating and foolish log-rolling, of
feminine narrowness and childish querulousness. If he think too much of
his prices per thousand words, he will find it a degrading profession;
as the solicitor, thinking only of his bills-of-cost, will find the law
degrading; as the doctor, working only for two-guinea fees, will find
medicine degrading; as the priest, with his eyes ever fixed on the
bishop's mitre, will find Christianity degrading.

'But if he love his work for the work's sake, if he remain child enough
to be fascinated with his own fancies, to laugh at his own jests, to
grieve at his own pathos, to weep at his own tragedy--then, as, smoking
his pipe, he watches the shadows of his brain coming and going before
his half-closed eyes, listens to their voices in the air about him, he
will thank God for making him a literary man. To such a one, it seems to
me, literature must prove ennobling. Of all professions it is the one
compelling a man to use whatever brain he has to its fullest and widest.
With one or two other callings, it invites him--nay, compels him--to
turn from the clamour of the passing day to speak for a while with the
voices that are eternal.

'To me it seems that if anything outside oneself can help one, the
service of literature must strengthen and purify a man. Thinking of his
heroine's failings, of his villain's virtues, may he not grow more
tolerant of all things, kinder thinking towards man and woman? From the
sorrow that he dreams, may he not learn sympathy with the sorrow that he
sees? May not his own brave puppets teach him how a man should live and
die?

'To the literary man, all life is a book. The sparrow on the telegraph
wire chirps cheeky nonsense to him as he passes by. The urchin's face
beneath the gas lamp tells him a story, sometimes merry, sometimes sad.
Fog and sunshine have their voices for him.

[Illustration: MR. JEROME K. JEROME

(_From a photograph by Fradelle & Young_)]

'Nor can I see, even from the most worldly and business-like point of
view, that the modern man of letters has cause of complaint. The old
Grub Street days when he starved or begged are gone. Thanks to the men
who have braved sneers and misrepresentation in unthanked championship
of his plain rights, he is now in a position of dignified independence;
and if he cannot attain to the twenty thousand a