on the shoulder as he would any other mortal.

Does society look down on a man because he is an author? I suppose if
people want a buffoon they tolerate him only in so far as he is amusing;
it can hardly be expected that they should respect him as an equal. Is
there to be a guard of honour provided for the author of the last new
novel or poem? how long is he to reign, and keep other potentates out of
possession? He retires, grumbles, and prints a lamentation that literature
is despised. If Captain A. is left out of Lady B.'s parties he does not
state that the army is despised: if Lord C. no longer asks Counsellor D.
to dinner, Counsellor D. does not announce that the Bar is insulted. He is
not fair to society if he enters it with this suspicion hankering about
him; if he is doubtful about his reception, how hold up his head honestly,
and look frankly in the face that world about which he is full of
suspicion? Is he place-hunting, and thinking in his mind that he ought to
be made an Ambassador, like Prior, or a Secretary of State, like Addison?
his pretence of equality falls to the ground at once: he is scheming for a
patron, not shaking the hand of a friend, when he meets the world. Treat
such a man as he deserves; laugh at his buffoonery, and give him a dinner
and a _bon jour_; laugh at his self-sufficiency and absurd assumptions of
superiority, and his equally ludicrous airs of martyrdom: laugh at his
flattery and his scheming, and buy it, if it's worth the having. Let the
wag have his dinner and the hireling his pay, if you want him, and make a
profound bow to the _grand homme incompris_, and the boisterous martyr,
and show him the door. The great world, the great aggregate experience,
has its good sense, as it has its good humour. It detects a pretender, as
it trusts a loyal heart. It is kind in the main: how should it be
otherwise than kind, when it is so wise and clear-headed? To any literary
man who says, "It despises my profession," I say, with all my might--no,
no, no. It may pass over your individual case--how many a brave fellow has
failed in the race, and perished unknown in the struggle!--but it treats
you as you merit in the main. If you serve it, it is not unthankful; if
you please it, it is pleased; if you cringe to it, it detects you, and
scorns you if you are mean; it returns your cheerfulness with its good
humour; it deals not ungenerously with your weaknesses; it recognizes most
kindly your merits; it