HOW I BECAME AN AUTHOR.

NZ Truth, Issue 82, 12 January 1907, Page 8

HOW I BECAME AN AUTHOR.

Sidelights of London Life.

(By George R. Sims).

One eveiring; last "summer I sat on the terrace of the Cliftonvilte Hotel at Margate. • The stars shone in' the skies above, and the diamonds flashed on the dresses below. Three millionaires sat smoking expensive cigars over their coffee. I happened to know two of them, and they asked. me to join them and introduced me .to the third. .

The third millionaire was communicative. He pointed but a gentleman at the far end, of the terrace, and told me that he was worth more millions than anybody present.. Not having any millions of my. own, I was not interested, until my informant added, "And he's just like you and me and our Mends here. We are all self-made men." . Then I began to wonder if he had heard, and believed, the story that was current when I was attracting a good deal more press attention that, l deserved, owing to the fact of four West End theatres performing -simultaneously plays of which, I was the author. It ; wasn't a ' had .story, hut, like 'most excellent stories, . it was' purely ,.fjictipn,:, v . -.;.../:.,,.,,.., „J .. .. f .,., ....'. .. . s .

DUBBED A JEW. ' In this story I believe I came out, of Leather Lane, where my fattier was a Jewish hawker. I educated myself m the intervals of Z 1 selling smali pieces of looking-glass On a . barrow. There were variations, ■ but it always ended witih, "And now he's making thousands a year." . i As a matter of. fact, I come of an old Nonconformist family, with deacons and elders on page after page of 'the family • Bible, and I had not to endure any of the hardships of early life which go to ithe making, of character and grit. My father had a large wholesale .business m the City of London,., and with the idea- that I should one day go into it,/ I was, after passing through a preparatory school ,at Eastbourne and a "college" at Hanwell,' sent abroad. I was supposed to learn German at Bonn and French m Paris, but I learned more life than language in' both places, and went into the -City m my twentieth year to draw a salary and write "poetry,", plays, and paragraphs, when I ought to have been giving my mind to commerce. ', ;

I wanted the salary because it was pocket money, arid enabled .me to, go on seeiri<* lire ; but ftiy ambition 'was to he. an author, v and I' scribbled morning, noon, and night, sending, my "efforts" to. scores of periodicals, and always without success.,; . ■> I began, as -a boy at Hanwell College, to bombard editors 'with 'my stories,, and I sent' my juvenile; efforts at humor to • 'Fun. ' ' I omitted to enclose stamps for their return, s n thevi never came back. ,1 thought "Fun" ' was just the paper that \rould suit me. v

That: was m 166-3. In 1874- I was on the staff of "Fun," and its "accredited ; representative," as witness the sirm manual of the editor. This was the first official .recognition of my having attained the status of a journalist, and so I have carefully preserved it. . „ ■■■■'■ ■ ■'■'.[■ • I MY START (OFF. • " ■;■ But x ha^NserNted^arf ; " 'appf entic6ship. My first unpaid contribution appeared m the Answers to Correspondents column of the "Welcome Guest,", then a halfpenny. ; Some years', ago, lutiching With Miss. Braddon at her charming Richmond • home. I referred to my "first poem," and the famous authoress of I'Lady Audley's Secret" told me that it was her mother who had had my verses printed, and who had written -beneath them' words of kindly encouragement. • • .* ■ In 1-871 I was living at my father's house, 48 HamiLton-terrace. Mr, Daniel Grant, a friend of ours, wanted to, be M.P. 'for Marylebone, and was very prominent m local affairs. He heard me say ■thait I wanted to be a journalist, and he gave me a letter to Mr. Pierce Egan, son of the author of "Tom and- Jerry." Mr Egan was at that time the editor, and, I fancy, the propiraetor. of the ."Mercury." He received me kind- : ly. gave me some excellent advice, and explained that the "Marylebone Mercury" was not a comic journal, and that all the original serious work upon it he could do himself. In 1872 I temporarily abandoned the City, left home, and established myself m two rooms at No. 61 Charles-street, Manchester Square. I was determined to be a journalist and .1 felt that my chance was handicapped by being m an office all day long. . • It was a bold thing to do,' for I gave up .£SOO fl . year and a home m which I lived without any expense to myself. But I : had a tremendous amount of faith m my ability to shape my own destiny for journalism, though it had been rough hewn for commerce, ■

Although' I had left my father, he helped me. He asked Mr John C. Freund, the editor of the "Dark Blue Magazine," to find me something to do. . John Freund was a son of. Dr. Freund, a physician m Finsbury Square, and his mother was a . lady who wrote , m the name of . "Amelia ' Le^is-V ]."''■'"' h ■:.;■. v '- - : ">■■'■■, /.".- • < v WOMAN SUFFRAGETTES. The woman's suffrage campaign was being actively carried on at this time, and my mother, who was an ardent supporter of the movement, and an excellent speaker at the debates and conferences, brought many' -of the leadins: ladies into our home circle. Emily Faithful, the Moncure Conwavs, Mathilde Blind, Mrs Fehwick Miller,- Augusta Webster, the poetess, Lvdia Becker, and Amelia Lewis and Mrs Eliort were constant visitors. John Freund and Amelia Lewis, interested m my determination to be a 1 journalist, made a place for me m the sunny front room m Fleet-streeti which was the editorial office of . the "Dark Blue Magazine" While I was on the "Dark Blue," 1 had plenty of opportunities of studying style, but it was considered much too hiph class a periodical for the 'prentice hand of an amateur to. be tried upon it. Freund himself was still at Oxford, and only came up occasionally. I think that Rus-kin put up a mood deal of the money for the venture ; I know that he was interested m it, as were many men of light and leadine:. Mr Keningale Cook* wlip- married

Mabel, the charming anti clever daughter of that brilliant Bohemian, Mortimer Collins, used to come m the afternoon and act as assistant editor. Mortimer Collins was so "thoroughly a son of Bohemia that he refused to the last to wear the evening dress of Belgravia. Pressed to accept the invitation of a Lord Mayor who desired to dine with Art and Literature, he consented, but was adamant on the question of the swallow-tail coat. He attended the banquet m black trousers, black velvet jacket, and a black velvet waistcoat cut low, but he wore a white tie. He always considered that m doing this be made an heroic sacrifice to conventionality.

It was while I was at the "Dark Blue" office, which was on the* first floor of Bla Fleet-street, that m 'returning a proof to Mr Swinburne I ventured to alter one of the lines. It was sublime ignorance rather than consummate impudence, but. fortunately, Esreund himself had deliberately cut out a verse, and m the withering wrath, of the .great poet at ..this whojeoffince ef6apM^hi v s attention: : r &■:<:

It was- about this time- that Amelia Lewia started a new "weekly journal, which she called "Woman."

■ AN AWFUL TRAGEDY. A season of French plays was then being run at the St. James' Theatre, under the direction of M. Felix; Being the most inexperienced person on the premise's, I was appointed dramatic critic of "Wbman," without salary, and I wrote a notice or Mile. Rtel, a young French . actress • m the title, role of "Chris,tiane." It was mv first published dramatic criticism,' and I have -always remembered the young actress about whom i wrote the prettiest things I could think of, because she was very soon afterwards associated with a terrible tragedy. She lived m a small house m Park Lane with her mother and two servants. One servant, the housemaid, was English ; the otter, the cook, was a . Frenchwoman named Marguerite Dixblancs. ■ < , ,'• . .

At tho end of March, 1872, Mile. Reil went, to Paris lor a few days. She returned to London, m the early morning of Monday. April 8. The housemaid opened the door to her, ami said, "Ob, Miss Julie, I'm' so glad you've come back. Madame has not been home Jiince yesterday, nor has cook."

Mile. Reil was astonished. She thought something' must be wrong, and she sent the maid to ask one of the neighbors to come m. Then she searched the house. In the pantry, a small, dim little room, she found her mother lying dead with a rope round her neck.

Inspector Druscovitch, who afterwards figured m .the famous Kerr and Benson case, was entrusted with the pursuit of Marguerite Dixblancs, who was suspected of having committed the crime and escaped to Paris with money and notes which were missing: .Owing to Dixblancs having misdirected a letter to a man m Paris, it was opened by the' Paris Post Office officials, and that placed a clue at the service of the English -detectives. 'Dixblancs,- arrested, admitted that she killed her mistress, but said it was m a quajrrel. She was brought back to London, tried, and sentenced to death, but a few days later' the sentence was commuted to penal servitude for life.

Three months of intimacy with the hand-writing of great authors having failed to advance pie much further on the road to "professional" journalism, I returned, a prodigal son, to the city. The fatted calf was not killed, but it was considered that I was thoroughly cured, of the absurd idea that I could live by my pen. But I had not abandoned my hope. WITH THE BOHEMIANS. .* had joined a Bohemian Club—the Unity, m Holywell-street, Strand— and had made the acquaintance of a 1 number of newspaper men, aototes, and dramatists. A "Ballad," written m imitation of the style of Col; John Hay's "Pike County Ballads," had appeared, thanks to the good offices of my friend Ambrose Bierce, m the "San Francisco News Letter;" and a mutilated version of it had been pul> lished m the "Sportsman." It was called "Jack's Story," and I and my conscience have agreed together to forget it. I had earned a reputation as a man who was going to do, something one day, and I had cultivated literary society to the extent of sitting up with it into the small hours of the morning and walking home with it (towards the larger. I was, however, still an amateur, with the City as my sole means of livelihood* and I had never put a guinea, gained by writing into my purse. , ..,-..

But m the Ci-ty I was learning much that has been of practical value to me. during my. laiter professional life. . , > Having the shipping" department of a big business to look after, I had to place orders with wholesale houses m a dozen different trades. I acquired an insierht Mo methods and values which has stood me m good stead many times when writing as a journalist on questions affecting British trade interests. And I learned to know London, for my business took me about m every direction.

If it is true, as I have seen' it stated, that I have a better general knowledge of. London than many of my pen brothers it is due to the fact that I had 14- years' hard work m the City, . and during six of ' those •years I -was also a • journalist constantly .looking out for . copy and seeking impressions. I It was m 1&73 that my first guinea came, and the Idng spell, of hope deferred was broken at last. GOT A GUINEA. Tom Hood had been writing a colunin of paragraphs m the "Weekly Dispatch," under the title of "Do You Know ?" and had dropped it. Joh n Thomson, the dramatic critic, succeeded him, and wrote a, column of paragraphs under the title of "Waifs and Strays." He was a Bohemian of Bohemians,, fond of friendly meetings and late hours, and he found the column a tax upon his time. He offered to left me write some of it. I did. The first week I wr,ote one paragrapn. It was too small to pay

for, so dear, old John Thomson took the money. The second week I wrote half the column, and than John, peering at me through the big spectacles that bridged a very small nose on a very big;, round, boyish face, said, "You'd better do, it all and take the guinea." ■

I was a professional journalist. I had been trying to be one for eight years, and my patience . was rewarded at last.

I From that day there has never been j one week that I have not had an article of some kind m a populat periodical or a well-known newspaper^ The road was pretty smooth travelling after I had once started on it. The next year Tom Hood, who was the editor of "Fun," died, and Henry Sampson, long previously my good firiend, succeeded shim, and made me a .member of the 'staff; ' Other work came rapidly, but; l stuck -to the City. I was noli sure enough of my position; m the newspaper world to let a certainty go. ■ So from 1873 until 1881, the year m whicfe "The Lights o' London" was produced, I worked m the City from 9 till 5, often from 9 till 6, and did three weekly articles regularly, and wrote the three* plays which had been produced before "The Lights o' London," viz.; "Crutch and Toothpick," "The Member for Slocum;" and "Mother-in-law," after I go+> 'home at ni^ht.

In the hour 1 had for luncheon, 1 to 3, I used to go.. 'and'" sec my editors and managers. •

It is quite possible that, fiad I remained m the City permanently and abandoned the idea of, writing, I should have made more money and enjo yed more leisure ; but there is always a gratification m gaining that for iyhich you have fought desperately. I was a Citr clerk, and I wanted to be a journalist. After eight years of stru^le I became one. I have been one for 33 years, and I am K.i+ipfW.