lf as snug as a true
poet should be, upon the hobs of his own fire. And happily he found his
Anti-Zoilus ere long.

One day he was walking in a melancholy mood along the beach towards
Pebbleridge, doubting deeply in his honest mind whether he ever should
do any good, in versification, or anything else. He said to himself that
he had been too sanguine, eager, self-confident, ardent, impetuous, and,
if the nasty word must be faced, even too self-conceited. Only yesterday
he had tried, by delicate setting of little word-traps, to lead
Mr. Twemlow towards the subject, and obtain that kind-hearted man's
comforting opinion. But no; the gentle Rector would not be brought to
book, or at any rate not to that book; and the author had sense enough
to know without a wink that his volume had won volumes of dislike.

Parnassus could never have lived till now without two heads--one to
carry on with, while the other is being thumped to pieces. While the
critics demolish one peak, the poet withdraws to the other, and assures
himself that the general public, the larger voice of the nation, will
salute him there. But alas, Frank Darling had just discovered that even
that eminence was not his, except as a desert out of human sight. For
he had in his pocket a letter from his publishers, received that dreary
morning, announcing a great many copies gone gratis, six sold to the
trade at a frightful discount, and six to the enterprising public. All
these facts combined to make him feel uncommonly sad and sore to-day.

A man of experience could have told him that this disappointment was for
his good; but he failed to see it in that light, and did not bless the
blessing. Slowly and heavily he went on, without much heed of anything,
swinging his clouded cane now and then, as some slashing reviews
occurred to him, yet becoming more peaceful and impartial of mind under
the long monotonous cadence and quiet repetitions of the soothing sea.
For now he was beyond the Haven head--the bulwark that makes the bay a
pond in all common westerly weather--and waves that were worthy of the
name flowed towards him, with a gentle breeze stepping over them.

The brisk air was like a fresh beverage to him, and the fall of the
waves sweet music. He took off his hat, and stopped, and listened, and
his eyes grew brighter. Although the waves had nothing very distinct to
say in dying, yet no two (if you hearkened well), or at any rate no two
in succession, died with