again. A misunderstanding with the _Times_
authorities--happily cleared up years after--left me in the cold, and I
was bound to do something for a living. The first volume of 'A Life's
Atonement' had been written in the intervals of labour in the Gallery of
the House of Commons, and such work as an active hack journalist can
find among the magazines and the weekly society papers. I had been away
a whole year, and everywhere my place was filled. It was obviously no
use to a man in want of ready money to undertake the completion of a
three-volume novel of which only one volume was written, and so I betook
myself to the writing of short stories. The very first of these was
blessed by a lucky accident. Mr. George Augustus Sala had begun to write
for _The Gentleman's Magazine_ a story called, if I remember rightly,
'Dr. Cupid.' Sala was suddenly summoned by the proprietors of the _Daily
Telegraph_ to undertake one of his innumerable journeys, and the copy
of the second instalment of his story reached the editor too late for
publication. Just when the publishers of the _Gentleman's_ were at a
loss for suitable copy, my MS. of 'An Old Meerschaum' reached them, and,
to my delighted surprise, I received proofs almost by return of post.
The story appeared, with an illustration by Arthur Hopkins, and, about a
week later, there came to me, through Messrs. Chatto & Windus, a letter
from Robert Chambers: 'Sir,--I have read, with unusual pleasure and
interest, in this month's _Gentleman's Magazine_, a story from your pen
entitled "An Old Meerschaum." If you have a novel on hand, or in
preparation, I should be glad to see it. In the meantime, a short story,
not much longer than "An Old Meerschaum," would be gladly considered
by--Yours very truly, ROBERT CHAMBERS. P.S.--We publish no authors'
names, but we pay handsomely.' This letter brought back to mind at once
the neglected 'Life's Atonement,' but I was uncertain as to the
whereabouts of the MS. I searched everywhere amongst my own belongings
in vain, but it suddenly occurred to me that I had left it in charge of
a passing acquaintance of mine, who had taken up the unexpired lease of
my chambers in Gray's Inn at the time of my departure for the seat of
war. I jumped into a cab, and drove off in search of my property. The
shabby old laundress who had made my bed and served my breakfast was
pottering about the rooms. She remembered me perfectly well, of course,
but could not remember th