o me?--I
cared not for news. But here I was now, with my claret before me,
perusing, perhaps, the best of all the London journals--it was not the
--- and I was astonished: an entirely new field of literature appeared to
be opened to my view. It was a discovery, but I confess rather an
unpleasant one; for I said to myself, if literary talent is so very
common in London, that the journals, things which, as their very name
denotes, are ephemeral, are written in a style like the article I have
been perusing, how can I hope to distinguish myself in this big town,
when, for the life of me, I don't think I could write anything half so
clever as what I have been reading. And then I laid down the paper, and
fell into deep musing; rousing myself from which, I took a glass of wine,
and pouring out another, began musing again. What I have been reading,
thought I, is certainly very clever and very talented; but talent and
cleverness I think I have heard some one say are very commonplace things,
only fitted for everyday occasions. I question whether the man who wrote
the book I saw this day on the bridge was a clever man; but, after all,
was he not something much better? I don't think he could have written
this article, but then he wrote the book which I saw on the bridge.
Then, if he could not have written the article on which I now hold my
forefinger--and I do not believe he could--why should I feel discouraged
at the consciousness that I, too, could not write it? I certainly could
no more have written the article than he could; but then, like him,
though I would not compare myself to the man who wrote the book I saw
upon the bridge, I think I could--and here I emptied the glass of
claret--write something better.

Thereupon I resumed the newspaper; and, as I was before struck with the
fluency of style and the general talent which it displayed, I was now
equally so with its common-placeness and want of originality on every
subject; and it was evident to me that, whatever advantage these
newspaper-writers might have over me in some points, they had never
studied the Welsh bards, translated Kaempe Viser, or been under the
pupilage of Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno.

And as I sat conning the newspaper, three individuals entered the room,
and seated themselves in the box at the farther end of which I was. They
were all three very well dressed; two of them elderly gentlemen, the
third a young man about my own age, or perhaps a