“’Tis a very good world that we live in, To lend, or to spend, or to give in;
But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man’s own,
’Tis the very worst world, sir, that ever was known.”
—LINES FROM AN INN WINDOW.
LITERARY LIFE
Among the great variety of characters which fall in a traveller’s way, I became acquainted during my sojourn² in London, with an eccentric personage of the name of Buckthorne. He was a literary man, had lived much in the metropolis³, and had acquired a great deal of curious, though unprofitable knowledge concerning it. He was a great observer of character, and could give the natural history of every odd animal that presented itself in this great wilderness⁵ of men. Finding me very curious about literary life and literary characters, he took much pains to gratify my curiosity.
 
“The literary world of England,” said he to me one day, “is made up of a number of little fraternities, each existing merely for itself, and thinking the rest of the world created only to look on and admire. It may be resembled to the firmament⁷, consisting of a number of systems, each composed of its own central sun with its revolving⁸ train of moons and satellites, all acting⁹ in the most harmonious¹⁰ concord¹¹; but the comparison fails in part, inasmuch as the literary world has no general concord. Each system acts independently of the rest, and indeed considers all other stars as mere⁶ exhalations and transient meteors, beaming for awhile with false fires, but doomed¹² soon to fall and be forgotten; while its own luminaries¹³ are the lights of the universe, destined¹⁴ to increase in splendor¹⁵ and to shine steadily¹⁶ on to immortality¹⁷.”
 
“And pray,” said I, “how is a man to get a peep into one of these systems you talk of? I presume an intercourse¹⁸ with authors is a kind of intellectual exchange, where one must bring his commodities to barter¹⁹, and always give a quid pro⁴ quo.”
 
“Pooh, pooh—how you mistake,” said Buckthorne, smiling; “you must never think to become popular among wits by shining. They go into society to shine themselves, not to admire the brilliancy of others. I thought as you do when I first cultivated the society of men of letters, and never went to a blue-stocking coterie²⁰ without studying my part beforehand as diligently²¹ as an actor. The consequence was, I soon got the name of an intolerable proser, and should in a little while have been completely excommunicated had I not changed my plan of operations. From thenceforth I became a most assiduous listener, or if ever I were eloquent²², it was tête-a-tête with an author in praise of his own works, or what is nearly as acceptable, in disparagement²³ of the works of his contemporaries. If ever he spoke²⁴ favorably of the productions of some particular friend, I ventured boldly to dissent²⁵ ............