many unillustrious
predecessors, though it must, in justice, be added, that they would
have been shocked to hear anyone impute to them a want of originality
in their curious methods. In the counsels of these literary bravos,
WILLIAM GRUBLET held a high place. At the University, where he had
pursued a dull and dingy career of modified respectability, not much
was thought or spoken of GRUBLET. If he was asked what profession he
proposed to adopt, he would wink knowingly, and reply, "Journalism."
It sounded well--it gave an impression of influence, and future power,
and, moreover, it committed him to nothing. It is just as easy to say
"Journalism," in answer to the stock question, as it is to deliver
yourself over, by anticipation, to the Bar, the Church, or the Stock
Exchange. Hundreds of young men at both our ancient Universities
look upon Journalism as the easiest and most attractive of all the
professions. In the first place there are no Examinations to bar
the way, and your ordinary Undergraduate loathes an Examination as
a rat may be supposed to loathe a terrier. What can be easier--in
imagination--than to dash off a leading article, a biting society
sketch, a scathing review, to overturn ancient idols, to inaugurate
movements, to plan out policies? All this GRUBLET was confident
of being able to do, and he determined, on the strength of a few
successful College Essays, and a reputation for smartness, acquired
at the expense of his dwindling circle of intimates, to do it. He
took his degree, and plunged into London. There, for a time, he was
lost to public sight. But I know that he went through the usual
contest. Rejected manuscripts poured back into his room. Polite,
but unaccommodating Editors, found that they had no use for vapid
imitations of ADDISON, or feeble parodies of CHARLES LAMB. Literary
appreciations, that were to have sent the ball of fame spinning up the
hill of criticism, grew frowsy and dog's-eared with many postages to
and fro.

In this protracted struggle with fate and his own incompetence, the
nature of GRUBLET, never a very amiable one, became fatally soured,
and when he finally managed to secure a humble post on a newspaper, he
was a disappointed man with rage in his heart against his successful
rivals and against the Editors who, as he thought, had maliciously
chilled his glowing aspirations. His vanity, however,--and he was
always a very vain man--had suffered no diminution, and with the
fi