determined that she would rather starve than that Meeson should again
make huge profits out of her labour. This avenue being closed to her, she
turned her mind elsewhere; but, look where she might, the prospect was
equally dark.

Augusta's remarkable literary success had not been of much practical
advantage to her, for in this country literary success does not mean so
much as it does in some others. As a matter of fact, indeed, the average
Briton has, at heart, a considerable contempt, if not for literature, at
least for those who produce it. Literature, in his mind, is connected
with the idea of garrets and extreme poverty; and, therefore, having the
national respect for money, he in secret, if not in public, despises it.
A tree is known by its fruit, says he. Let a man succeed at the Bar, and
he makes thousands upon thousands a year, and is promoted to the highest
offices in the State. Let a man succeed in art, and he will be paid one
or two thousand pounds apiece for his most "pot-boilery" portraits. But
your literary men--why, with a few fortunate exceptions, the best of them
barely make a living. What can literature be worth, if a man can't make a
fortune out of it? So argues the Briton--no doubt with some of his sound
common sense. Not that he has no respect for genius. All men bow to true
genius, even when they fear and envy it. But he thinks a good deal more
of genius dead than genius living. However this may be, there is no doubt
but that if through any cause--such, for instance, as the sudden
discovery by the great and highly civilized American people that the
seventh commandment was probably intended to apply to authors, amongst
the rest of the world--the pecuniary rewards of literary labor should be
put more upon an equality with those of other trades, literature--as a
profession--will go up many steps in popular esteem. At present, if a
member of a family has betaken himself to the high and honourable calling
(for surely, it is both) of letters, his friends and relations are apt to
talk about him in a shy and diffident, not to say apologetic, way; much
as they would had he adopted another sort of book-making as a means of
livelihood.

Thus it was that, notwithstanding her success, Augusta had nowhere to
turn in her difficulty. She had absolutely no literary connection. Nobody
had called upon her, and sought her out in consequence of her book. One
or two authors in London, and a few unknown people from diff