Augustus Bramleigh was certainly not a conceited or a vain man, and yet he had often, in his palmy days, imagined how easy it would be for him to provide for his own support; he was something of a musician, he sang pleasingly, he drew a little, he knew something of three or four modern languages, he had that sort of smattering acquaintance with questions of religion, politics, and literature which the world calls being “well-informed;” and yet nothing short of grave Necessity revealed to him that, towards the object of securing a livelihood, a cobbler in his bulk was out and out his master.
The world has no need of the man of small acquirements, and would rather have its shoes mended by the veriest botch of a professional than by the cleverest amateur that ever studied a Greek sandal.
“Is it not strange, Nelly, that Brydges and Bowes won't take those songs of mine?” said he, one morning, as the post brought him several letters. “They say they are very pretty, and the accompaniments full of taste, but so evidently wanting in originality—such palpable imitations of Gordigiani and Mariani—they would meet no success. I ask you, Nelly, am I the man to pilfer from any one? Is it likely I would trade on another man's intellect?”
“That you certainly are not, Gusty! but remember who it is that utters this criticism. The man who has no other test of goodness but a ready sale, and he sees in this case little hope of such.”
“Rankin, too, refuses my 'Ghost Story;' he calls it too German, whatever that may mean.”
“It means simply that he wants to say something, and is not very clear what it ought to be. And your water-color sketch,—the 'Street in Bruges'?”
“Worst of all,” cried he, interrupting. “Dinetti, with whom I have squandered hundreds for prints and drawings, sends it back with these words in red chalk on the back: 'No distance; no transparency; general muddiness—a bad imitation of Prout's worst manner.'”
“How unmannerly, how coarse!”
“Yes; these purveyors to the world's taste don't mince matters with their journeymen. They remind them pretty plainly of their shortcomings; but considering how much of pure opinion must enter into these things, they might have uttered their judgments with more diffidence.”
“They may not always know what is best, Gusty; but I take it, they can guess very correctly as to what the public will think best.”