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 different parts
of the country and abroad, had written to her--that was all. Had she
lived in town it might have been different; but, unfortunately for her,
she did not.

The more she thought, the less clear did her path become; until, at last,
she got an inspiration. Why not leave England altogether? She had nothing
to keep her here. She had a cousin--a clergyman--in New Zealand, whom she
had never seen, but who had read "Jemima's Vow," and written her a kind
letter about it. That was the one delightful thing about writing books;
one made friends all over the world. Surely he would take her in for a
while, and put her in the way of earning a living where Meeson would not
be to molest her? Why should she not go? She had twenty pounds left, and
the furniture (which included an expensive invalid chair), and books