question, the same may be said. Men of the highest rank have held the most advanced views, and do so still. For the rest, there is no cause why a literary man, recognising social ties and obligations in every possible way, should reject social distinctions which give him what is, after all, only his proper place in the community. By refusing them as unworthy of his position -and this is the only logical ground for refusal-he casts a censure upon every man who accepts them. And I should like to know whether our gushing friends who write about plain John Smith wish to cast a slur upon all the soldiers, the diplomatists, the capitalists, the men of law, of medicine, and of science who allow themselves to be mode peers, baronets, or knights? Even artists are allowed to take such honours as are bestowed upon them without cavil; why should a literary man be considered compromised by a similar recognition? Knighthood, we all know, is held in small esteem, practically because it is a common honour paid to aldermen and provincial mayors. But if it be given to them, it should, for the stronger reason, be more generally offered to literary men, and by them accepted. You will never make a city magnate believe that a trading knight is not superior to a professional esquire; and it is well that dignities which have a certain value in social currency should be proportionately distributed. The professional recipient may not think much of the honour, considering the miscellaneous people with whom he shares it; but he assumes dignities on his own account of which he thinks as little, and there is no occasion to make knighthood an exception. I am sure that a certain apportionment of honour-even of this class-to literary men, would do good to literature by giving it a more recognised position among the professions. You cannot make all its members equal, and there is no need to do so. There are as many classes among writers in France ás among writers in England; and writers in France are independent enough, as we all know;

but most Frenchmen of literary distinction are decorated, unless they openly declare themselves irreconcilable' with the State. The practice is one which I should be glad to see adopted in this country; and it is certainly not likely to be brought about by a refusal of honour when offered, or the deprecation of such offers by gushing writers who applaud the bestowal of dignities upon men of every other calling except that with which they are themselves associated.

It is inconsistent, too, on the part of writers who deprecate the reception of honours as compromising the independence of literary men, to advocate the bestowal of pensions, and to claim, as such writers frequently do, a larger provision from the civil list for pecuniary rewards to authors. One would fancy that honours might be taken with more dignity than pensions.

I have no personal concern with the matter, as I have said; but I love literature, and write in its interests. One word before parting in reference to my use of the term literary man' in preference to 'man of letters.' I think the latter a little affected, and it is certainly of foreign extraction. We do not say a man of law, or a man of arms, or a man of medicine. Why say a man of letters? Moreover, 'literary man' is a more generally applicable term. He may be literary without belonging essentially to letters. As regards a man who is entirely devoted to literature, the term man of letters' is doubtless appropriate. Nevertheless, it is a comparatively new name, and not necessary for adoption, upon the score of taste. The description of 'literary gentleman' has been objected to by some writers, but if it is creditable to be literary and creditable to be a gentleman, there is no apparent reason for objecting to the conjunction. But, as I said at starting, a great deal of nonsense is written upon subjects of this kind. I do not care to publish my real name, but will take one which the Poet Laureate has made symbolic, and call myself

VERE DE VERE.

Gwe all know what we may as IVE a dog a bad name'-and

Iwell do with him. It is rather hard upon poor Ponto that he should be made to suffer so inexorably for being in ill-repute; but men with bad names are apt to fare no better, though men have the compensating advantage that they may make a great deal more out of good names than they possibly deserve.

The man with a bad name, too, has a chance denied to the dog. He may suffer some inconvenience from the mistrust of society; but this happens mostly when his name is not bad enough. He has a bad name, say, for not paying his creditors, and is so hunted about that getting a good name becomes out of the question. But let him boldly become a bankrupt-even under the new law-and no man dare be more severe upon him than the Court has been, and his credit is probably restored-certainly, if he belong to the trading class. Supposing him to have made a slip in honesty: the fact will turn up against him again and again, and he will be thoroughly damaged for his future career.

He

is not sufficiently innocent to avoid suspicion; he is not sufficiently guilty to become an object of interest. Prudent people avoid him; philanthropists find him not worth powder and shot. But let him stand forth a determined villain, and he will be surrounded by benevolent persons anxious to reclaim him. It may be that he has subjected himself to the penalties of the law, but even these will fall lightly upon him in the end if he only consents to become a deserving bad character. At the present moment hundreds of small offenders are undergoing their terms of punishment with no hope of mitigation; but only the other day the cheerful intelligence reached these shores that two criminals on so large a scale as Mr. Robson and Mr. Redpath-each armed with a ticket-ofleave-have set up in business together. So sympathetic a partnership must surely lead to success.

If a bad name may be turned to such good account, a good name, you may be sure, may be turned to a better. But it is one thing to deserve a good name, and another thing to get it. To be practically useful, your merits must be trumpeted forth, advertised, paraded and puffed. A great deal of this may be done and with some successwithout justification for the trumpeting, advertising, parading, and puffing processes-upon false pretences, in fact! But, however acquired, a good name may be made a mine of wealth. To say nothing of profits and honours, it brings privileges; and one of the most useful privileges of a good name is that its owner may deserve a bad one with a very good chance of not being found out. It is by persons' of good character that most great crimes have been committed, and most of the mischief done in the world. They have opportunities denied to their less reputable brethren, who are soon discovered and pulled up in their career.

The Dog with a Name-among men-has thus considerable advantage over his four-footed prototype, whether the name be a good or a bad one. But the name that he gets is for the most part neither good nor bad essentially. It relates simply to qualifications or characteristics that society gives him credit for, whether justly or not, and very frequently against his will.

A professional character, for instance, is frequently given to a man without cause. There is my friend Frank Fairlight. He is a barristerat-law, but as little like a lawyer as the most fastidious person could desire. He has a very fair practice, which he fortunately is not dependent upon; and he never fails to throw off the profession with his wig and gown, taking as he does the keenest interest in ordinary ways of life. But whatever Fairlight does, and wherever he goes, he is always regarded as a lawyer, inspired upon every possible occa

sion by professional prejudices. In society people will talk 'shop' to him, which he detests. He was in Parliament for some time, but left it in disgust; for whenever he made a speech-which he never did unless thoroughly interested in the subject -the newspapers always referred to it as an ingenious piece of nisi prius argument,' or said that he talked very well to his brief, but failed essentially in practical points,' and so forth. When he engaged in discussions out of doors-as his ardent character has led him to do a great deal-the same writers would sarcastically allude to his ' retainer.' It was assumed, indeed, according to the popular estimation of lawyers, that he had a natural turn for lying, and never believed in the cause to which he gave his advocacy. Fairlight, in fact, is established as a Dog with a Name, and he will never lose it to the end of his life.

Another professional instance is that of Charley Snaffles. He has retired from the army with the rank of captain, and wants to take to some other pursuit. He has scarcely reached the middle period of life, and has a great deal of work in him which might be developed in many ways. But what work to get, and how to get it, are questions that perplex him. Fifteen years of the military service are considered a disqualification for most civil pursuits. Were he inclined to literature or art, like so many of his cloth, he would find his professional position rather a recommendation than otherwise; or, at any rate, he would be judged by what he could produce. But he has not talents, nor perhaps tastes, in these directions: the employment he requires is something with a more personal connection. He has a vague idea of managing somebody's estate, or becoming an agent or secretary to-he knows not what. But his previous training is considered to unfit him for duties in which special exertions are required, and he can find nobody to give him credit for capacity beyond the observance of technicalities and routine. It would be a grand thing, he thinks, if he could

get a patent of some kind to push ;' but where is the patent, and where are the persons to believe in his powers of pushing? Reliant upon his own energy and industry, he makes a sacrifice of a slice of his small capital to set up as an army agent, and engages a couple of rooms in a west-end thoroughfareat the cost of an entire house elsewhere-for his official purpose. He has a brass plate and a clerk, and he is convinced, at the outset, that his name will do the rest. No man can have more friends in the service, where his popularity has been especially great. They will come round him, he is sure, and support Charley Snaffles to a man. But he soon learns from experience that they will do nothing of the kind. A few particularly unsafe men very handsomely offer to put a little discounting in his way; but this kind of business, by itself, is beyond his scope, apart from the unsatisfactory nature of the particular proposals. What he wants is regular business, with deposits, commission, percentages, and similar pleasing accompaniments. For these he waits patiently for a time, and impatiently for a further time; and during the latter period he is found to fall off in his originally regular attendance at office. If a friend drops inprobably only to gossip-he is told. that Captain Snaffles has just stepped out to keep an appointment with a gentleman from Aldershot. 'Doing a stroke of business,' thinks the visitor. If he had said a stroke of billiards he would have been nearer the mark, for Snaffles at that identical time is so engaged at a neighbouring club.

The habit grows upon poor Charley, as he finds that attendance at office is a mere farce. For he awakes to the fact by degrees, that however willing some of his friends may be to accommodate themselves through his agency, they prefer Cox for all business which would be likely to accommodate him. Or, when it is not Cox, it is Grindlay, or some of the Indian agents. In despair he at last takes off the plate, dismisses the clerk, pays up his rent for the office, and retires a con

siderable loser from a field in which he has found no favour. Then his friends justify themselves for not having entrusted their affairs to his hands. Charley Snaffles, very good fellow, you know, but not a man of business-how could he ever expect to be one?'

There are several courses open to men of his training and tastes, and these he faithfully follows. He tries wine-he ought to know something about wine, as a gentleman always does. But a knowledge of wine is not quite the same thing as the capacity to trade in it; and even capacity is of no use without certain other advantages. He sets up a business on a strictly 'gentlemanlike' scale as regards appearance, and with immense resources in the way of wine in bond belonging to other people. Now his friends will surely come round him, and he has Alnaschar's visions of the custom of clubs and messes. The result is that he gets a few orders from individuals; but these are precisely the kind of persons who were willing to help him in his agency, and money is by no means their strong point. The connections worth having say, 'What can Charley Snaffles know about wine? Always best, my dear fellow, to go to the large merchants

-save five-and-twenty per cent. and know what you are drinking.'

Charley tries cigars with a similar result. Then he tries to promote a public company, with the same result also. Men who know him have made up their mind by this time that he is unsafe. They know that he is adventurous and cannot have much money left. They shake their heads and say to one another, 'What a pity poor Charley (it is poor Charley by this time) will go beyond his tether. Why did he leave the service? Good officer, with fair chances of promotion; he knew what he was about, at any rate, in the profession.'

Charley is lost sight of for a little time, and then he turns up on the turf. He is now shy of his friends who are of the best form,' and, for reasons of his own, has taken his name off the books of his club. He makes a few hits-or misses-in

betting upon his own account, and then does a little business on account of others. When I last saw him he had lost his old open, careless manner, and wore the abashed air of a man who has fallen in the world, and feels that it is an open question how he is likely to be received by former familiars. I fear he is getting no better very fast." But there was little chance for him from the first. He was probably as well fitted for some of his speculations as other men, and might have been successful had he commenced life in one of his several pursuits. But the world would not let him get out of the old groove-he was a Dog with a Name.

Another professional victim is Jack Mummery. Jack's father was a favourite actor-a thorough spoiled child of the public, who had everything his own way with his parents. He had only to walk on from the wing, and look at a theatre packed full of men, women, and children, to set them screaming with laughter. When he opened his mouth to say the most stupid thing ever invented by dramatist, they were in ecstasies of delight. His popularity was so great that his life became a burden to him. When he walked abroad he was followed and mobbed. If he entered a public conveyance he was stared out of countenance and whispered about; and once, at a railway station, an elaborate cad said he should feel 'honoured if such a great public character as Mr. Mumming would take a glass of wine at his expense.' You may see how popular he was, by his being exposed to this kind of thing. Well, the elder Mummery made money; but he died before he had time to give Jack a profession. And meantime Jack-who had in the course of a university career been spending money almost as fast as his father made it-owed a good round sum. They call a large sum a round sum, I suppose, because it is so difficult to square. Jack found it so he might as well have attempted to square the circle itself. His father would not do it, 'upon principle;' and when people will or will not do a thing upon principle,'