ccessful than ever. He still tried to show off on all occasions and
sometimes fell flat in consequence; but his failures in this field
were few and merely comparative; constant practice was ripening his
extraordinary natural gift. About this time, too, he began to develop
that humorous vein in conversation, which later lent a singular
distinction to his casual utterances.

His talk brought him numerous invitations to dinner and lunch and
introduced him to some of the best houses in London, but it produced
no money. He was earning very little and he needed money,
comparatively large sums of money, from week to week.

Oscar Wilde was extravagant in almost every possible way. He wished to
be well-fed, well-dressed, well-wined, and prodigal of "tips." He
wanted first editions of the poets; had a liking for old furniture
and old silver, for fine pictures, Eastern carpets and Renascence
bronzes; in fine, he had all the artist's desires as well as those of
the poet and _viveur_. He was constantly in dire need of cash and did
not hesitate to borrow fifty pounds from anyone who would lend it to
him. He was beginning to experience the truth of the old verse:

'Tis a very good world to 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 that ever was known.

The difficulties of life were constantly increasing upon him. He
despised bread and butter and talked only of champagne and caviare;
but without bread, hunger is imminent. Victory no longer seemed
indubitable. It was possible, it began even to be probable that the
fair ship of his fame might come to wreck on the shoals of poverty.

It was painfully clear that he must do something without further
delay, must either conquer want or overleap it. Would he bridle his
desires, live savingly, and write assiduously till such repute came as
would enable him to launch out and indulge his tastes? He was wise
enough to see the advantages of such a course. Every day his
reputation as a talker was growing. Had he had a little more
self-control, had he waited a little longer till his position in
society was secured, he could easily have married someone with money
and position who would have placed him above sordid care and fear for
ever. But he could not wait; he was colossally vain; he would wear the
peacock's feathers at all times and all costs: he was intensely
pleasure-loving, too; his mouth watered f