at I had left anything behind me when I went
away. I talked of manuscript, and she recalled doubtfully a quantity of
waste paper, of the final destination of which she knew nothing. I began
to think it extremely improbable that I should ever recover a line of
the missing novel, when she opened a cupboard and drew from it a
brown-paper parcel, and, opening it, displayed to me the MS. of which I
was in search. I took it home and read it through with infinite
misgiving. The enthusiasm with which I had begun the work had long
since had time to pall, and the whole thing looked weary, flat, stale,
and unprofitable. For one thing, I had adopted the abominable expedient
of writing in the present tense so far as the autobiographical portion
of the work was concerned, and, in the interval which had gone by, my
taste had, I suppose, undergone an unconscious correction. It was a dull
business, but, despondent as I was, I found the heart to rewrite those
chapters. Charles Reade describes the task of writing out one's work a
second time as 'nauseous,' and I confess that I am with him with all my
heart. It is a misery which I have never since, in all my work, imposed
upon myself. At that time I counted amongst my friends an eminent
novelist, on whose critical faculty and honesty I knew I could place
the most absolute reliance. I submitted my revised first volume to his
judgment, and was surprised to learn that he thought highly of it. His
judgment gave me new courage, and I sent the copy in to Chambers. After
a delay of a week or two, I received a letter which gave me, I think, a
keener delight than has ever touched me at the receipt of any other
communication. 'If,' wrote Robert Chambers,'the rest is as good as the
first volume, I shall accept the book with pleasure. Our price for the
serial use will be 250_l._, of which we will pay 100_l._ on receipt of
completed MS.; the remaining 150_l._ will be paid on the publication of
the first monthly number.' I had been out of harness for so long a time,
and had been, by desultory work, able to earn so little, that this
letter seemed to open a sort of Eldorado to my gaze. It was not that
alone which made it so agreeable to receive. It opened the way to an
honourable ambition which I had long nourished, and I slaved away at the
remaining two volumes with an enthusiasm which I have never been able to
revive. There are two or three people still extant who know in part the
privations I endured whi