ted in their
place, that which he had set his heart upon too strongly to abandon, and
which I still can wish he had preferred to surrender with all that
seemed to be its enormous gain." And again he says, speaking of a
proposition which had been made to Dickens from the town of Bradford;
"At first this was entertained, but was abandoned, with some reluctance,
upon the argument that to become publicly a reader must alter, without
improving, his position publicly as a writer, and that it was a change
to be justified only when the higher calling should have failed of the
old success." The meaning of this was that the money to be made would
be sweet, but that the descent to a profession which was considered to
be lower than that of literature itself would carry with it something
that was bitter. It was as though one who had sat on the woolsack as
Lord Chancellor should raise the question whether for the sake of the
income attached to it, he might, without disgrace, occupy a seat on a
lower bench; as though an architect should consider with himself the
propriety of making his fortune as a contractor; or the head of a
college lower his dignity, while he increased his finances, by taking
pupils. When such discussions arise, money generally carries the
day,--and should do so. When convinced that money may be earned without
disgrace, we ought to allow money to carry the day. When we talk of
sordid gain and filthy lucre, we are generally hypocrites. If gains be
sordid and lucre filthy, where is the priest, the lawyer, the doctor, or
the man of literature, who does not wish for dirty hands? An income, and
the power of putting by something for old age, something for those who
are to come after, is the wholesome and acknowledged desire of all
professional men. Thackeray having children, and being gifted with no
power of making his money go very far, was anxious enough on the
subject. We may say now, that had he confined himself to his pen, he
would not have wanted while he lived, but would have left but little
behind him. That he was anxious we have seen, by his attempts to
subsidise his literary gains by a Government office. I cannot but think
that had he undertaken public duties for which he was ill qualified, and
received a salary which he could hardly have earned, he would have done
less for his fame than by reading to the public. Whether he did that
well or ill, he did it well enough for the money. The people who heard
him, and