Above all, I never knew a man of letters ASHAMED OF HIS PROFESSION.
Those who know us, know what an affectionate and brotherly spirit there
is among us all. Sometimes one of us rises in the world: we never attack
him or sneer at him under those circumstances, but rejoice to a man at
his success. If Jones dines with a lord, Smith never says Jones is a
courtier and cringer. Nor, on the other hand, does Jones, who is in the
habit of frequenting the society of great people, give himself any airs
on account of the company he keeps; but will leave a duke's arm in Pall
Mall to come over and speak to poor Brown, the young penny-a-liner.

That sense of equality and fraternity amongst authors has always struck
me as one of the most amiable characteristics of the class. It is
because we know and respect each other, that the world respects us so
much; that we hold such a good position in society, and demean ourselves
so irreproachably when there.

Literary persons are held in such esteem by the nation that about two of
them have been absolutely invited to court during the present reign; and
it is probable that towards the end of the season, one or two will be
asked to dinner by Sir Robert Peel.

They are such favourites with the public, that they are continually
obliged to have their pictures taken and published; and one or two could
be pointed out, of whom the nation insists upon having a fresh portrait
every year. Nothing can be more gratifying than this proof of the
affectionate regard which the people has for its instructors.

Literature is held in such honour in England, that there is a sum of
near twelve hundred pounds per annum set apart to pension deserving
persons following that profession. And a great compliment this is,