this, however, far from being the case. 'Men of Letters,' for example,
is a heading too classical and pretentious. I do indeed remember its
being used in these modern days by the sub-editor of a country paper,
who, having quarrelled with his proprietor, and reduced him to silence
by a violent kick in the abdomen, thus addressed him: 'I leave you and
your dirty work for ever, and start to-night for London, to take up my
proper position as a Man of Letters.' But this gentleman's case (and I
hope that of his proprietor) was an exceptional one. The term in general
is too ambitious and suggestive of the author of 'Cato,' for my humble
purpose. 'Literature as a Profession,' again, is open to objection on
the question of fact. The professions do not admit literature into their
brotherhood. 'Literature, Science, and Art' are all spoken of in the
lump, and rather contemptuously (like 'reading, writing, and
arithmetic'), and have no settled position whatever. In a book of
precedence, however--a charming class of work, and much more full of
humour than the peerage--I recently found indicated for the first time
the relative place of Literature in the social scale. After a long list
of Eminent Personages and Notables, the mere perusal of which was
calculated to bring the flush of pride into my British cheek, I found at
the very bottom these remarkable words, 'Burgesses, Literary Persons,
and others.' Lest haughtiness should still have any place in the breasts
of these penultimates of the human race, the order was repeated in the
same delightful volume in still plainer fashion, 'Burgesses, Literary
Persons, etc.' It is something, of course, to take precedence--in going
down to dinner, for example--even of an et cetera; but who are
Burgesses? I have a dreadful suspicion they are not gentlemen. Are they
ladies? Did I ever meet a Burgess, I wonder, coming through the rye? At
all events, after so authoritative a statement of its social position, I
feel that to speak of Literature as a profession would be an hyperbole.