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.

On the other hand, ‘The Literary Calling’ is not a title that satisfies me.  For the word ‘calling’ implies a certain fitness; in the religious sense it has even more significance; and it cannot be denied that there are a good many persons who devote—­well, at least, their time to literature, who can hardly be said to have ‘a call’ in that direction, nor even so much as a whisper.  At the same time I will venture to observe, notwithstanding a great deal of high-sounding twaddle talked and written to the contrary, that it is not necessary for a man to feel any miraculous or even extraordinary attraction to this pursuit to succeed in it very tolerably.  I remember a now distinguished personage (in another line) who had written a very successful work, expressing his opinion to me that unless a certain divine afflatus animated a man, he should never take up his pen to address the public.  The writing for pay, he added (he had at least L5,000 a year of his own), was the degradation of literature.  As I had written about a dozen books myself at the time, and most decidedly with an eye to profit, and had never experienced much afflatus, this remark discouraged me very much.  However, as the gentleman in question did essay another volume, which was so absolute and distinct a failure that he promptly took up another line of business (far above that of Burgesses), it is probable he altered his views.

Nature of course is the best guide in the matter of choosing a pursuit.  When she says ‘This is your line, stick to it,’ she seldom or never makes a mistake.  But, on the other hand, her speech must be addressed to mature ears.  For my part, I do not much believe in the predilections of boyhood.  I was never so simple as to wish to go to sea, but I do remember (when between seven and eight) having a passionate longing to become a merchant.  I