frank; and, though I didn't much like it at the time, their candour
(when I had sold the book tolerably well) tickled me afterwards
immensely. For persons who have enjoyed this experience, mere literary
criticism has henceforth no terrors.

[Illustration: MR. PAYN'S OFFICE AT WATERLOO PLACE]

'The Family Scapegrace,' however, had appeared under my own name, so
that concealment was out of the question; it was in one volume, a form
of publication which, at that time at all events (though I see they now
affirm the contrary), was unpopular with the libraries, and I was quite
an unknown novelist. Under these circumstances, I have never forgotten
the kindness of Mr. Douglas (of the firm of Edmonston & Douglas), who
gave me fifty pounds for the first edition of the book--by which
enterprise he lost his money. There were many reasons for it, no doubt,
though the story has since done well enough, but I think the chief of
them was the alteration of the title to 'Richard Arbour,' which,
contrary to the wishes both of myself and my publisher, was insisted
upon by a leading librarian. It is difficult, nowadays, to guess his
reason, but people were more 'square-toed' in those times, and I fancy
he thought his highly respectable customers would scent something
Bohemian, if not absolutely scampish, in a Scapegrace. A mere name is
not an attractive title for a book; though many books so called--such as
'Martin Chuzzlewit' and 'Robinson Crusoe'--have become immensely
popular, they owed nothing to their baptism; and certainly 'Richard
Arbour' prospered better when he got rid of his rather commonplace name.

[Illustration: KILLED BY LIONS]

A rather curious incident took place with respect to this book, which
annoyed me greatly at the time, because I was quite unacquainted with
the queer crotchets and imaginary grievances that would-be literary
persons often take into their heads. Somebody wrote to complain that he
had written (not published) a story upon the same lines, and even
incidents, as 'The Family Scapegrace,' just before its appearance in the
columns of _Chambers's Journal_, and the delicate inference he drew was
that, whether in my capacity of editor or otherwise, I must have somehow
got hold of it. He gave the exact date of the conclusion of his own
composition, which was prior to the commencement of my story in the
_Journal_.

Conscious of innocence, but troubled by so disagreeable an imputation, I
laid the matter before