n spoke of them as trifles
utterly beneath his notice, and told him, with an affectation which
perhaps was sincere, that he wished to be visited as a gentleman, not as
an author. One can imagine the disgust of his brother dramatist.
Voltaire replied, that had Mr. Congreve been nothing more than a
gentleman, he should not have taken the trouble to call on him, and
therewith retired with an expression of merited contempt.

It is only in the present day that authorship is looked upon as a
profession, though it has long been one. It is amusing to listen to the
sneers of men who never wrote a book, or who, having written, have
gained thereby some more valuable advantage than the publisher's cheque.
The men who talk with horror of writing for money, are glad enough if
their works introduce them to the notice of the influential, and aid
them in procuring a place. In the same way, Congreve was not at all
ashamed of fulsome dedications, which brought him the favour of the
great. Yet we may ask, if, the labourer being worthy of his hire, and
the labour of the brain being the highest, finest, and most exhausting
that can be, the man who straight-forwardly and without affectation
takes guineas from his publisher, is not honester than he who counts
upon an indirect reward for his toil? Fortunately, the question is
almost settled by the example of the first writers of the present day;
but there are still people who think that one should sit down to a
year's--ay, ten years'--hard mental work, and expect no return but fame.
Whether such objectors have always private means to return to, or
whether they have never known what it is to write a book, we do not care
to examine, but they are to be found in large numbers among the
educated; and indeed, to this present day, it is held by some among the
upper classes to be utterly derogatory to write for money.

Whether this was the feeling in Congreve's day or not is not now the
question. Those were glorious days for an author, who did not mind
playing the sycophant a little. Instead of having to trudge from door to
door in Paternoster Row, humbly requesting an interview, which is not
always granted--instead of sending that heavy parcel of MS., which costs
you a fortune for postage, to publisher after publisher, till it is so
often 'returned with thanks' that you hate the very sight of it, the
young author of those days had a much easier and more comfortable part
to play. An introduction to an