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industry, whatever it may be, which is the occupation or delight of
his life; which is his tool to earn or serve with; and which, if it
be unworthy, stamps himself as a mere incubus of dumb and greedy
bowels on the shoulders of labouring humanity. On that subject
alone even to force the note might lean to virtue's side. It is to
be hoped that a numerous and enterprising generation of writers
will follow and surpass the present one; but it would be better if
the stream were stayed, and the roll of our old, honest English
books were closed, than that esurient book-makers should continue
and debase a brave tradition, and lower, in their own eyes, a
famous race. Better that our serene temples were deserted than
filled with trafficking and juggling priests.
There are two just reasons for the choice of any way of life: the
first is inbred taste in the chooser; the second some high utility
in the industry selected. Literature, like any other art, is
singularly interesting to the artist; and, in a degree peculiar to
itself among the arts, it is useful to mankind. These are the
sufficient justifications for any young man or woman who adopts it
as the business of his life. I shall not say much about the wages.
A writer can live by his writing. If not so luxuriously as by
other trades, then less luxuriously. The nature of the work he
does all day will more affect his happiness than the quality of his
dinner at night. Whatever be your calling, and however much it
brings you in the year, you could still, you know, get more by
cheating. We all suffer ourselves to be too much concerned about a
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