Yet, in the
bottom of my heart, I knew that magazine would be a grim fiasco; I
knew it would not be worth reading; I knew, even if it were, that
nobody would read it; and I kept wondering how I should be able,
upon my compact income of twelve pounds per annum, payable monthly,
to meet my share in the expense. It was a comfortable thought to
me that I had a father.
The magazine appeared, in a yellow cover, which was the best part
of it, for at least it was unassuming; it ran four months in
undisturbed obscurity, and died without a gasp. The first number
was edited by all four of us with prodigious bustle; the second
fell principally into the hands of Ferrier and me; the third I
edited alone; and it has long been a solemn question who it was
that edited the fourth. It would perhaps be still more difficult
to say who read it. Poor yellow sheet, that looked so hopefully
Livingtones' window! Poor, harmless paper, that might have gone to
print a SHAKESPEARE on, and was instead so clumsily defaced with
nonsense; And, shall I say, Poor Editors? I cannot pity myself, to
whom it was all pure gain. It was no news to me, but only the
wholesome confirmation of my judgment, when the magazine struggled
into half-birth, and instantly sickened and subsided into night. I
had sent a copy to the lady with whom my heart was at that time
somewhat engaged, and who did all that in her lay to break it; and
she, with some tact, passed over the gift and my cherished
contributions in silence.
Pages:
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69