As a matter of fact, indeed, the average Briton has, at heart, a considerable contempt, if not for literature, at least for those who produce it.

Literature, in his mind, is connected with the idea of garrets and extreme poverty; and, therefore, having the national respect for money, he in secret, if not in public, despises it.
A tree is known by its fruit, says he.

Let a man succeed at the Bar, and he makes thousands upon thousands a year, and is promoted to the highest offices in the State.

Let a man succeed in art, and he will be paid one or two thousand pounds apiece for his most "pot-boilery" portraits.

But your literary men--why, with a few fortunate exceptions, the best of them barely make a living.