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The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft
·
George Gissing
116
I
have
known
very
few
prosperous
men
of
letters;
N---
represents
for
me
the
best
and
brightest
side
of
literary
success.
Say
what
one
will
after
a
lifetime
of
disillusion,
the
author
who
earns
largely
by
honest
and
capable
work
is
among
the
few
enviable
mortals.
Think
of
N---'s
existence.
No
other
man
could
do
what
he
is
doing,
and
he
does
it
with
ease.
Two,
or
at
most
three,
hours'
work
a
day--and
that
by
no
means
every
day--suffices
to
him.
Like
all
who
write,
he
has
his
unfruitful
times,
his
mental
worries,
his
disappointments,
but
these
bear
no
proportion
to
the
hours
of
happy
and
effective
labour.
Every
time
I
see
him
he
looks
in
better
health,
for
of
late
years
he
has
taken
much
more
exercise,
and
he
is
often
travelling.
He
is
happy
in
his
wife
and
children;
the
thought
of
all
the
comforts
and
pleasures
he
is
able
to
give
them
must
be
a
constant
joy
to
him;
were
he
to
die,
his
family
is
safe
from
want.
He
has
friends
and
acquaintances
as
many
as
he
desires;
congenial
folk
gather
at
his
table;
he
is
welcome
in
pleasant
houses
near
and
far;
his
praise
is
upon
the
lips
of
all
whose
praise
is
worth
having.
With
all
this,
he
has
the
good
sense
to
avoid
manifest
dangers;
he
has
not
abandoned
his
privacy,
and
he
seems
to
be
in
no
danger
of
being
spoilt
by
good
fortune.
His
work
is
more
to
him
than
a
means
of
earning
money;
he
talks
about
a
book
he
has
in
hand
almost
as
freshly
and
keenly
as
in
the
old
days,
when
his
annual
income
was
barely
a
couple
of
hundred.
I
note,
too,
that
his
leisure
is
not
swamped
with
the
publications
of
the
day;
he
reads
as
many
old
books
as
new,
and
keeps
many
of
his
early
enthusiasms.
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