orst
conversation he ever remembered to have heard in his life was that at
Wells' Coffee House, where the wits, as they were termed, used formerly
to assemble. They talked of their plays or prologues or Miscellanies, he
tells us, as if they had been the noblest effort of human nature, and, as
if the fate of kingdoms depended on them. When Greek meets Greek there
comes, we are told, the tug of war. When literary men meet, as a rule,
the very reverse is the case. I belonged to the Whittington Club--now,
alas! extinct--for it was the best institution of the kind ever started
in London, of which Douglas Jerrold was president, and where young men
found a home with better society than they could get elsewhere, and where
we had debates, in which many, who have since risen to fame and fortune,
learned how to speak--perhaps a questionable benefit in those days of
perpetual talk. One of our prominent members was Sir J. W. Russell, who
still, I am happy to say, flourishes as the popular editor of _The
Liverpool Daily Post_.

As a writer, unpleasant experiences have been few. I have had letters
from angry correspondents, but not more than two or three of them. One
of the most amusing was from a clergyman now deceased--a very great man
in his own opinion--a controversialist whom none could withstand. Once
upon a time he had a controversy with the late Mr. Charles Bradlaugh, a
man of whom I knew a little, and for whose honesty I had a high regard.
I was present at the discussion, and in my account of it intimated that,
in my humble opinion, the clergyman was hardly the man to grapple with
Mr. Bradlaugh. I had a letter from the clergyman thanking me in the name
of all the devils in hell--of whom he informed me I should shortly be
one--for the article I had written. On another occasion a distinguished
Congregational minister attacked me bitterly in a journal that soon came
to grief, which was intended to supersede the newspaper with which it is
my pride to have been connected more than thirty-five years. I commenced
an action against him for libel; the reverend divine paid damages into
court, and I dropped the action. I had no wish to harm the worthy
divine, for such undoubtedly he was, by getting him branded as a
convicted libeller. I only wanted to teach him that while in the pulpit
a man was free to say what he liked, it was quite a different thing to
rush hastily and angrily into print. One letter amused me rather. My