THE HISTORY OF A LITERARY SUCCESS.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 40, 3 October 1891, Page 436

THE HISTORY OF A LITERARY SUCCESS.

FIRST STAGE. He is a reporter for the local paper. He begins timidly to write. He gets something original put into the journal. Old friends laugh derisively. He is advised to try for something practical—with money in it. There is saddlery now or the chemist or druggist line. SECOND STAGE. He gets something into a London magazine. And presently something more. And again something. He gets quoted, and he holds up his head a bit. Also he buys a new coat. How is this? Dick seems to ‘ catch on.’ Dick ! nobody ever thought much of Dick. If he had been the doctor’s boy, or the vicar’s, or the lawyer’s—but merely Dick. However, it won’t last. Dick will soon write himself out. Old friends wait to see him come to grief and starvation. THIRD STAGE. He has become distinctly popular. He has left his native village and gone to London. Old friends wonder what the world can possibly see in Dick. Every now and then there appears a hostile criticism. This invariably reaches his native village somehow, and is read with the keenest joy. Dick will be crushed by this. Strange ! It doesn’t seem to hurt him. Dick goes on just as if the nasty one had not been delivered straight in his face. Some men, say the old friends have impudence enough for anything. Dick, too I why, his uncle had a shop in the market town, and he began as a reporter on a local paper ! Dick I Why nobody ever called him anything but Dick ; not young Mr Richards ; plain Dick ! Well, such kind of success doesn’t last.

FOURTH STAGE. Dick has become an acknowledged leader in the world of letters. Old friends at last recognise the fact. They are proud of him. They all claim to have been his dearest and most intimate friend. If any one mentions his name, they say: ‘Ah ! There was always something out of the common about Dick—l call him Dick, because he was my closest friend and schoolfellow—something very uncommon about Dick. For my part, I always prophesied that Dick would do something big before he finished.’ LAST STAGE. He dies. Biographer goes to native village for early reminiscences. Old friends profoundly affected. All eager for a few words apart. ‘My dear sir—lt is right that you should know that poor Dick—l call him Dick, because he was my oldest and closest friend—met with nothing but discouragement and humiliation here. It was I alone who enabled him to leave the place. I alone who encouraged him. I alone who gave him his first shove-up. I wanted no gratitude for it. I rejoice in having done it. But as you are writing his life .’

Walter Besant.