took a couple of furnished rooms in Salisbury
Street off the Strand, a very Grub Street for a man of fashion, and
began to work at journalism while getting together a book of poems for
publication. His journalism at first was anything but successful. It
was his misfortune to appeal only to the best heads and good heads are
not numerous anywhere. His appeal, too, was still academic and
laboured. His brother Willie with his commoner sympathies appeared to
be better equipped for this work. But Oscar had from the first a
certain social success.

As soon as he reached London he stepped boldly into the limelight,
going to all "first nights" and taking the floor on all occasions. He
was not only an admirable talker but he was invariably smiling, eager,
full of life and the joy of living, and above all given to unmeasured
praise of whatever and whoever pleased him. This gift of enthusiastic
admiration was not only his most engaging characteristic, but also,
perhaps, the chief proof of his extraordinary ability. It was
certainly, too, the quality which served him best all through his
life. He went about declaring that Mrs. Langtry was more beautiful
than the "Venus of Milo," and Lady Archie Campbell more charming than
Rosalind and Mr. Whistler an incomparable artist. Such enthusiasm in a
young and brilliant man was unexpected and delightful and doors were
thrown open to him in all sets. Those who praise passionately are
generally welcome guests and if Oscar could not praise he shrugged his
shoulders and kept silent; scarcely a bitter word ever fell from those
smiling lips. No tactics could have been more successful in England
than his native gift of radiant good-humour and enthusiasm. He got to
know not only all the actors and actresses, but the chief patrons and
frequenters of the theatre: Lord Lytton, Lady Shrewsbury, Lady Dorothy
Nevill, Lady de Grey and Mrs. Jeune; and, on the other hand, Hardy,
Meredith, Browning, Swinburne, and Matthew Arnold--all Bohemia, in
fact, and all that part of Mayfair which cares for the things of the
intellect.

But though he went out a great deal and met a great many distinguished
people, and won a certain popularity, his social success put no money
in his purse. It even forced him to spend money; for the constant
applause of his hearers gave him self-confidence. He began to talk
more and write less, and cabs and gloves and flowers cost money. He
was soon compelled to mortgage his little prope