Here began my troubles. I had already been favourably known as a versifier; and with the overweening confidence of youth, thought I had the right and the power to enlighten the public on political and other topics of the day. There was nothing for it, however, but to bow to friends' decision, once having sought their advice. During the next two years I had the most miserable time of it. They made me a morose, disconsolate verse-monster. I scribbled English verses by the yard; and after destroying the bulk of them, ventured to publish a few pieces. But no end of verse-writing could compensate for the glorious chance I had missed of becoming a journalist and public censor. However, I received fresh overtures soon after. This time I gave my elderly advisers to understand that I meant to act for myself, though I should be very glad if I could do so with their consent.
Struggles of a Cheap Newspaper.
It was a cheap weekly, hitherto owned by two partners, cousins, one who had given it money, the other brains. Two more partners were added, my friend N. bringing money, and I supposed as