Wolseley asked him what would be the title of his
next novel, he said 'Soured by Success.' He died in London on October
8th, 1896.

AT THE HEART OF BOHEMIA

From 'Trilby' Copyright 1894, by Harper & Brothers

And then--well, I happen to forget what sort of a day this particular
day turned into, about six of the clock.

If it was decently fine, the most of them went off to dine at the
Restaurant de la Couronne, kept by the Pere Trin, in the Rue de
Monsieur, who gave you of his best to eat and drink for twenty sols
Parisis, or one franc in the coin of the empire. Good distending
soups, omelets that were only too savory, lentils, red and white
beans, meat so dressed and sauced and seasoned that you didn't know
whether it was beef or mutton, flesh, fowl, or good red herring,--or
even bad, for that matter,--nor very greatly care.

And just the same lettuce, radishes, and cheese of Gruyere or Brie as
you got at the Trois Freres Provencaux (but not the same butter!). And
to wash it all down, generous wine in wooden "brocs," that stained a
lovely aesthetic blue everything it was spilled over.

And you hobnobbed with models, male and female, students of law and
medicine, painters and sculptors, workmen and blanchisseuses and
grisettes, and found them very good company, and most improving to
your French, if your French was of the usual British kind, and even to
some of your manners, if these were very British indeed. And the
evening was innocently wound up with billiards, cards, or dominoes at
the Cafe du Luxembourg opposite; or at the Theatre du Luxembourg, in
the Rue de Madame, to see funny farces with screamingly droll
Englishmen in them; or still better, at the Jardin Bullier (la
Closerie des Lilas), to see the students dance the cancan, or try and
dance it yourself, which is not so easy as it seems; or best of all,
at the Theatre de l'Odeon, to see Fechter and Madame Doche in the
'Dame aux Camelias.'

Or if it were not only fine, but a Saturday afternoon into the
bargain, the Laird would put on a necktie and a few other necessary
things, and the three friends would walk arm-in-arm to Taffy's hotel
in the Rue de Seine, and wait outside till he had made himself as
presentable as the Laird, which did not take very long. And then
(Little Billee was always presentable) they would, arm-in-arm, the
huge Taffy in the middle, descend the Rue de Seine and cross a bridge
to the Cite, and have a look in at the Morgue. Th