Of course just payment is to be demanded and expected for every kind of work. The rule of "give and take" holds good in all classes of employment. Each author's power of the pen commands its price according to the value set upon it by the public. But I, personally, have refused many considerable sums of money offered to me if I would consent to "work up" or "bring forward" certain schemes and subjects with which I have no sympathy. The largest cheque would never tempt me to write against my own inclination. If I were given such a choice as this—to write something entirely opposed to my own feeling and conscience for a thousand pounds, or to write my honest thought for nothing, I would write my honest thought, and let the thousand pounds go. I am glad to say that some of my contemporaries are with me in this particular form of literary faith—but not as many as, for the honour of our calling, I could desire.
Then again, there is that vexed question of—the Public! I have often noticed, with a humility too deep for words, that all the great modern writers, or, I should say, all those who consider themselves the greatest, have a lofty contempt for the public. "'He,' or 'she' writes for the Public," is a remark which, when spoken with a withering sneer, is supposed to have the effect of completely crushing the ambitious scribbler whose Power of the Pen has attracted some little attention. Now if authors are not to write for the Public, who are they to write for? Certain of the "superior" folk among them will say that they write "for posterity." But then, Posterity is also the
