CHAPTER XX.

WRITING FOR THE PRESS.

MEANWHILE whilst the exiles, whom we must leave for a little space, are seeking a home in a foreign country-a very important question has occurred to Hugh Trevor in London.

How is he to live?

As soon as it became known that he was no longer the heir to Trevor Hall, every tradesman to whom he owed a debt demanded, as a matter of course, payment of it at once. It is cruel to throw water upon a drowning rat, it is said; but to inundate a ruined man with bills, whilst the blow that has felled him is fresh, is a very necessary operation. Hugh honourably discharged all his liabilities that remained, after the expenditure upon them of a pretty share out of poor Nelly's fortune, and found himself, after he had sold all his jewellery, nicknacks, and superfluous wardrobe, a free man, with the wide world before him, and seven pounds ten shillings in his pocket. It became plain enough to him, therefore, that he must work for his living-but in what manner? He had no profession; and with a capital of

seven pounds ten, he could hardly hope to acquire one, and maintain himself whilst he prepared for its practice. No! he must use his wits at once, or starve-to such a condition is the Man of Fortune reduced.

He was very much broken down with his sorrows and misfortunes, as I have said; and it was well for him that the necessity for instant exertion roused him to shake off the lethargy into which they had plunged him. The prospect of work-hard work, he The idea of hoped-cheered him considerably. struggling for bread and cheese was quite new to him, and, in his present state of mind, was a pleasant one rather than the contrary; so that his heart became lighter than it had been for many a day, when he bought a ream of large paper, and a box of the most approved steel pens, as a preliminary to becoming a distinguished author, and deriving a comfortable independence from literature. Why not? That a man who had had an University education should be in want of a meal, when dozens of dozens of periodicals were flourishing, edited and contributed to by fellows who had never even seen Oxford or Cambridge in their lives, seemed to him a preposterous notion. Therefore, he would begin without loss of time, saddle his Pegasus at once, and ride a tilt at literary fame. But how to commence? A

at the Cumberland Hotel. He wrote to " J.,” and "J." informed him, in reply, that the writers of ability and experience were to receive no remuneration for their services until the journal of enlightened views began to pay, and that, being started upon the limited-liability principle, they were expected to take at least five ten-pound shares in the venture.

He did not answer any more advertisements in the Times. Shortly after this last disappointment, he sent what he considered a foolish love-story to one of the penny miscellanies, and, to his surprise, it was not only accepted, but paid for! Oh, how the first guinea he had ever made by his own industry tingled in his hand! Here then was an opening! He could write one such tale every week, and so make fiftytwo pounds a year by them alone. But when he proposed these regular contributions to the editor, he was told that if his stories were accepted once a month, it was as often as existing arrangements would permit. At length he became desperate. He applied in person to publishers, to be employed as a translator, and bearded editors in their dens. There was but one reply—they had no employment to offer him at present. Their existing staff was sufficient for all purposes; but if anything did turn up, they would be very happy to send for him. Would he leave his card? Good afternoon; and so on.

Poor misguided Hugh! he knew nothing of that mighty institution, cliqueism, in those days. He was not aware that there is a mystic circle drawn around periodical and dramatic literature, about the outside of which the uninitiated must wander like perturbed spirits. He belonged to no grand authors' club-was a member of no small writers' free-and-easy. Better would it have been for him to smoke a black clay pipe and sing a good song in the purlieus of the Temple and the Strand, in company with half a dozen gentlemen who shall be nameless, but only in the pages of this book, than to have gone on sowing gratuitous contributions, broadcast, even though they embodied the pungency of a Thackeray, the diction of an Addison, or better than either-the good sense and happy wit of one-half of the ordinary contributors to the daily and weekly press. And so he toiled on wearily, picking up a stray guinea now and then; very often going without a meal, to purchase paper whereon to write what would be returned upon his hands unread.

I blame you not, Messieurs les Rédacteurs, for your policy towards Hugh Trevor. I shall behave in exactly the same way when I am an editor of a newspaper, should the stars have suc a fate in store for me. I shall stick by my friends, live within my own set, and expect them to stick by me. If Jack,

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novel or a tragedy takes time to write, and readymoney was becoming very scarce with him. Leading articles for newspapers might be knocked off at once, he thought; so he set about one straight, with his new stationery, and finished it greatly to his satisfaction. The next thing to be done was to consider where to send it. He had no literary friends, save a burlesque writer or two, and these, since his downfall, he had shunned. He did not know an editor even by name. The only thing for him to do, then, was to send his contribution-as many a better man has done before him-to some paper, anonymously, and trust to its approval for future remuneration. But which newspaper was it to be? Like many a better man, again, he began at the wrong end of the scale. He argued thus:-"It is no use my offering my article to one of the established journals, because they have a permanent staff of trained writers always engaged; but if I send it to some struggling print, the editor will be most grateful for my assistance, and probably will find me plenty to do hereafter." So out into the Strand he sallied, and dropped his paper into the editor's box of a newly-started weekly paper, of great pretensions and limited circulation, and-ran away. How great was his exultation, when, the very next Saturday, he saw his production figuring in leaded "leader" type, at the