CHAPTER II.—(Continued.)

Waikato Times, Volume XXIV, Issue 1985, 28 March 1885, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER ll.—(Continued.)

Uut dark days were coming, although the little cloud, no bigger than a man's hand, was not visible in the political lirmainent. Pie lived, like a sensible fellow, in a quiet way in a pleasant cottage in East Melbourne, content, except for an occasional carpet dance or sooial supper at bis own or a friend's house, with homo pleasures and domestic joys. He had, too, one unfailing solace for his leisure hours — literature. He wrote much, and what was more, he wrote well. He was possessed of a facile pen, a poetic mind, and much faculty of observation and expression. His wife worshipped him as a great genius, and his friends thought the same of him, or at least professed to do bo, which was then practically the same thing. To unscrupulous and needy literary men, Charlie Herbert

might have provid an unfailing milch cow, a \eritable pold mine, had his head been less straight. But he was neither conceited nor a fool, and he was shrewd enough to Bee that their fulsome flattery and unbounded admiration was only a cloak for self seeking. One only did he make a olose friend of, the Jack Lovelace already spoken of, who had, whilst others praised unreservedly, criticised keenly, and who had more than once caused him a sharp twinge by pointing out some weak point or error of construction or taste in his pet passages. Jack was blunt and honest, he liked Charlie, and Charlie liked him. "Look here, old fellow," would Jack say, " it's all very well for you. Your bread's buttered, and you can write what you like, and get a lot of idiots to tell you that you're Shakspeare, and Lord Bacon, and all the rest of 'em rolled into one, but if you had to write for a living, whioh, Lord forbid, you ever should, you'd soon find out the difference. If old lvasper only got hold of that last story of yours, you'd sooa find, if ever he read it, what short work he'd make of it with those sharp sseizzors of his, and as for Grasper, he'd kill jou stone dead in a dozen lines. By heavens I bchfve that fellow's never happy only when ht's killing, or tiying to kill, somebody. He tiied it on Marcus Clarke once, but Marcus made it so uncommonly hot for him in a little sonnet, that I don't think he'll try that game again. He's had one or two slapd at me, but I'm case hardened and only laugh, and that makes him madder than ever. Mind you, I don't deny there's stuff in your work, much excellent stuff, better than half the twaddle one reads now-a-dftys. But then, you see, when a fellow's once established a reputation for good work, he can afford occasionally to write twaddle, while he hasn't, he can'c. Don't be afraid, old chap, you've got it in you. If I thought you hadn't I would'nt talk like this, but you're too good to stop half way. Go in and win. Condense and polish, polish and condense — that's you'ie dart, and by and bye you'll drop right on it, and like that fellow, what's his name, wike up and find yourself famous." Such like practical and philosophical homilies did Jack the Sapient, who never could do much more with his acknowledged talent than earn bread and butter — frequently not that — deliver to hi 9 desciple. Whether they bore good fruit or not we shall see. Mrs Herbert didn't like Jack Lovelace much, partly because he didn't worship at the shrine of her husband's genius, partly because he prr-ferred smoking in the verandah to hearing Cdarhe's-poems read in the drawing-room, and partly, but why is a good wife always jealous of her husband's friends ; and thengagain, she didn't quite understand him. And so the halcyon days went by, without a warning of the cruel tempest that was so soon to wreck so many ships, big and little, to~UTtftg s '3i«»qjjuid rum to so many hearthstones. It came aTKsTr*— .W.e all know the history of that terrible time", -when, almost without notification the Civil Service was deoimated at one fell swoop. Necessary retrenchment, it might have been. Statecraft, perhaps. It lies not within our province to argue the matter, either to justify the deed as a laudable method of bringing within proper limits an overgrown incubus on the country, or to denounce it as a piece of arbitrary and unnecessary, but strategic cruelty. Lfte many uthery, Charlie Herbert had lived pretty well up to hij income, in fact, beyond insuring his life ho had practically saved nothing. He had been proud of his wife and his house, and had dressed the one and furnished the other, one might almost say too well for his means. There had been the doctor's bill to pay, and an occasional few pounds to his szaters in Hobartown, who were struggling in genteel indigence as keepers of a none too prosperous ladies' school. But worse than all, and the only one secret he had kept from his wife, was the appalling fact that he had, in an unguarded hour, became security to a considerable amount for a fellowcivil servant, who had also been dismissed, and who had, after many sympathetic speeches and assurances that he would meet the bill on maturity, quietly and unostentatiously taken himself off, no one knew whither, leaving Charlie to meet the liability as best he might. In plain English, Charlie wag ruined, and he knew it. Like a sensible fellow he told his wife everything, and like a sensible woman she, of course, after a good cry, met the calamity bravely, and without repining. "Do not fear darling " she said, as she clasped her pretty arms round his neck and kissed him, "We shall do very well. Of course, we must leave this house, and get rid of tho grand furniture, which would look ridiculous in a small cottage, and we must dispense with a servant, for oh, you don't know what an admirable housuwife I am—" " I know you are an angel," he began, but she stopped him with another kiss. " And there's my jewellery and fine dresses, I shant want— waut— them, you know," and here she nearly broke down again, for I put it to you ladies, what woman likes to part with her — what are vaguely and comprehensively known as — ' things.' But ahe forced back the tears with a little sigh, and went on. " And you with your splendid talents, why what cannoc you do ? You will become famous and rich, and I shall be the proudest woman in Australia, as the wife of the gieat Mr Charles Herbert. And you will be sent for to Ljndon, and we shall have a carriage, it must have two horsen you know, and a coachman in a wig, and two footmen behind, like those funny pictures I have seen, and I shall be presented at court, and, and, oh 1 Charlie — ." And then Nature asserted her sway, and with a little hysterical cry, she fainted dead off in his arm 3 . ******* Poor child, how different to the bright future she had painted was the awakening to the terrible stern reality. Week after week sped, and as yet, no fame, no fortune. He had started with a stout heart and a bundle of his favorite manuscripts to interview the magnates of the publishing trade. No success there. No, unless he weie prepared to stand tho expense, they could uot touch it. Even the works of recognised colonial authors were risky, and not to be accepted lightly. Wny not try the weekly newspapers ? He did try. He haunted the sanctums of the great literary arbiters. Cncsus was polite enough, but aggressively patronising. He took a story, kept it a week, and in the next issue it appeared in the list of 'contributions declined.' llasper was fairly civil, and would look at the story offered. A Bimilar result. Gasper was, as he always in and was, a bear and a boor." Good Heavens 1 what can you mean by offering me such trash ? " he roared. " Why even my stories have been rejected." Then he sought the society of,lesaer literary lights. Some sympathised, some laughed, some sneered, some offered impracticable advice, but none offered help. Oh yes, one did. Poor Jack Lovelace, the improvident Bohemian. But what could Jack do ? He did one thing. He got a story inserted in the Continental Journal, and brought Charlie five guineas for it with some clumsy cock and bull tale about many other stories being orowded out. What a stupendous lie. They'd have taken any amount more at the same price, which was exactly nothing. But we all know what happened when the recording Angel registered Unole Toby's oath, something of the same kind, with Jack's stupendous lie. Wherever Jack got the money I know not, but it was noticed that for some time after he went

about more than ordinarily seedy and discreet. Charlie had sold all bis good furniture, and that, even with the proceeds of this and his wife's trinkets, seemed ridiculously small as compared with what they had cost. He had yet to learn the vast difference there is between buying a thing and selling it. And after that horrible bill had been paid, what was left was a very small amount indeed. And so, still advised and guided by his wife, who perhaps knew the value of money better than he did, be had taken the small cottage on Collingwood Flat, where we found him a while ago despairing and broken-hearted, but left him cheered and still hopeful against hopeless hope.