Thackeray believed in me, and used to say, "Never mind, Locker; our verse may be small beer, but at any rate it is the right tap." This encouraged me, and I wrote on; and when "Macmillan" refused "My Neighbour Rose," I sent it to "The Cornhill;" and when "Fraser" declined "A Nice Correspondent," I sent it to "St. Pauls." I could get no one to accept "My Grandmother." What used particularly to discourage me was, having my verses returned as not suitable, and then to see in the very next number of the magazine a poem that gave me the impression that it was the work of some relative of the editor perhaps—his grandmamma. I think, if I wrote now, the editors would be more amiable; but it is too late, and this is what may be called the irony of destiny.'
This may be so: it may be hard for a poet to find he has grown tired of writing just at the time when his verses are welcome everywhere; but the author of the exquisite little volume of 'London Lyrics' may safely rest on his laurels. Thackeray, seldom at fault in his literary criticisms, was quite right in this instance. The verses are anything but small beer. They are gems of the utmost polish and beauty. That they are appreciated, a fifth edition is of itself sufficient evidence. A writer in the 'Contemporary Review' for July, in an article on the genius of Prior, Praed, and Locker, makes the following remarks, which we should be wrong if we refrained from quoting. Let us premise that in 1867 Messrs. Moxon published a volume, edited by Mr. Locker, called 'Lyra Elegantiarum,' which was a collection of the best English vers de société. To this volume the editor contributed a charmingly written introduction, in which he set out at length the various qualifications indispensable to any poet's production of unimpeachable vers de société. Upon this preface the 'Contemporary' reviewer comments thus:
'Among the qualifications of a poet of society, the following may be insisted on as indispensable. He must before all things be a man of the world, educated up to a high level of contemporary culture, and gifted with that temper of mental health which, as Goethe says, can only be obtained by him who "lives in the universal way with multitudes of men." He must be privileged, either by right of birth or force of wit, to move in the "upper" circle of the social sphere, and will be the fitter for his office as its prophet,
