under whose editorship they were eventually published in the Cornhill; for he says, "He" (Dickens) "knows all about the book from Thackeray, but not its title; and learning that from me, gave me two books about Hogarth.' I may here say that, though "Fripanelli's Daughter" never saw the light, and "The Countess Nadiejda,” another promised serial from the same pen, came to a sudden and abortive conclusion, Mr. Sala did some admirable work in the earlier issues of The Train. An article on "Robson," which first appeared there, has been frequently quoted as an extraordinary example of original and powerful dramatic criticism; and there is a grim horror in "The Paper on the Wall," a description of the fantastic appearance of inanimate objects to a sick man's disordered fancy, which is Hoffmannesque in its weirdness.

I have little doubt that the infant Fripanelli would have been born, and the Russian Countess would have flourished in our pages, but for the fact that Mr. Sala's visit to Paris at this time, and his friendly intercourse with Dickens, led the way to the first momentous event in his life his being despatched two months later on a Household Words mission to St. Petersburg, to be recorded in that publication as "A Journey due North." On his outward journey he sent me, for The Train, a very clever ballad, "Carmen Stettinense-Caviar and Rüdesheimer,'" two verses of which I extract:

"The King of Prussia drinks champagne,
Old Porson drank whate'er was handy:
Maginn drank gin, Judge Blackstone port,
And many famous wits drink brandy.
Stern William Romer drinketh beer,
And so does Tennyson the rhymer;

But I'll renounce all liquors for
My Caviar and Rüdesheimer.

*

"If some kind heart that beats for me,
This troubled head could e'er be pressed on;

If in the awful night, this hand

Outstretched a form I loved could rest on ;*

* There is no occasion, now, for any sympathy with this wail. Mr. Sala has been for many years happily and fortunately married.

If wife, or child, or friend, or dog
I called my own, in any clime-a,
This lyre I'd tune to other strains
Than Caviar and Rüdesheimer."

This came enclosed in a most amusing letter, telling me, among other things, of his travelling adventures :

"I am going halves with a Russian in a carriage and post-horses, the former the most remarkable cruelty-van you ever saw, which we are to sell again when we get to the Russian frontier. My friend the Russian speaks every language under the sun, and is very likely a spy; but it is very little he can get out of me. Cookery, the opera, lords and ladies are the staple subjects of conversation, and to all questions I find the reply, that 'J'ai des affaires à St. Pétersbourg,' that I have letters of introduction to the American Minister, and that Baron Steiglitz is my banker, quite satisfactory."

The reception of the magazine by the London and provincial press was very flattering, and in the-at that time -powerful Examiner, which usually ignored any light and flippant publications, the great John Forster was kind enough to speak very encouragingly of our efforts in a notice which commenced, "The Train starts full of very pleasant talkers." These remarks, I remember, had great weight with our publishers, Messrs. Groombridge of Paternoster Row, worthy gentlemen, whose attention had hitherto been devoted to the production of a very different style of literature-works on science, botany, and zoology—and who were always, I thought, somewhat nervous as to what might be among the contents of The Train. We had a very fair sale, and the lookout for the future was promising.

In the second number Robert Brough commenced a series of translations of "The Ballads and Romantic Poems of Victor Hugo," presenting the graceful fancies of the original in an English garb which was equally graceful and attractive. These translations were continued for several months. In number three I published a poem by "Lewis Carroll," under which pseudonym, then first adopted, the author has since won vast popularity with "Alice in Wonderland” and similar works. Many pieces originally contributed to The Train are re

produced in Mr. "Carroll's" later books. By this it will be seen that the magazine did not long remain a close borough, but that we were glad to avail ourselves of suitable extraneous assistance, which was, I am bound to say, very freely offered. Rising young writers liked the association, and were glad to contribute to our pages, though aware that no payment was forthcoming, while men of achieved reputation, like my old friends Palgrave Simpson and John Oxenford, occasionally sent me always welcome articles. In the first volume I find a little poem, "Tempora Mutantur," by Frederick Locker, the first, I believe, which he ever published, and which is incorporated in his "London Lyrics." Mr. Hain Friswell, Dr. Maurice Davies, Mr. Thomas Archer, and Mr. Albany Fonblanque were also acceptable recruits.

With the commencement of our third volume, a year after our commencement, we had a valuable accession to our staff in the person of John Hollingshead, whose acquaintance I had just made, and with whom I became very intimate. He had at that time essayed no literary flight, and I think his first productions are printed in The Train. They were marked by great originality, quaint humor, and strong common-sense; they made their mark at once. Mr. John Hollingshead then adopted literature as a profession, and continued it with excellent results, until he went into the more lucrative calling of theatrical manager. His most intimate friend at that time, as now, was William Moy Thomas, who even then had made a name as a sound English scholar, clever critic, and pungent writer. At Hollingshead's suggestion, Moy Thomas sent us several articles: one, a scathing criticism of Griswold's "Life of Poe," created some sensation at the time, and would well bear reproduction.

To Hollingshead's introduction, too, we owed the contributions of a new artist, which about this time appeared in our pages. I will not name the gentleman, for I believe he lives and prospers, and has doubtless greatly improved in his art. What it was in those early days may be guessed from an observation of Thackeray's. The magazine was sent by my orders to the Garrick Club, and I

Train. The spirit of camaraderie, ate ourselves from the thraldom of e our own masters, died out in many nd that we had miscalculated our e taste, and that calls instead of divi

of our speculation. It was not to n who lived by their work would, at work gratis while they could get eld bravely on to the end; but there lters, and for the last nine or ten tributions from the original artists, any drawings I could beg, so that clined in quality, and its circulation, great, became very small. Finally, years and a half, The Train stopped As its conductor I had gained valu

In the present year there are, according to the omniscient Whitaker's Almanack, seventy-two clubs in London, exclusive of those in the City, and of such establishments as Hurlingham, Prince's, etc. In 1848, when I was first introduced to club-land, there were twenty-three clubs: the Army and Navy, which then had its quarters in St. James's Square, and in the summer time used to have a tent in its garden; Arthur's, Athenæum, Boodle's-with a very different set of members; Brooks's, Cocoa Tree, Conservative, East India United Service, Garrick-in a different house; Guards', at the top of St. James's Street; Junior United Service, National, Oriental, Oxford and Cambridge, Portland, Reform, Travellers', Union, United Service, United University, White's, and the Windham. In addition to these there were a few which have been long since defunct: the Alfred, a great place for superior Government clerks, at the northern end of Albemarle Street in premises which, after it dissolved and was partially incorporated with the Oriental, became the Westminster, established by the leading London tradesmen, where the dinners were excellent and the play was high; the Coventry, known as the "Velvet Cushion," a very "smart" place on Piccadilly Hill, premises now occupied by the St. James's Club; and the Free Trade, in St. James's Square.

As soon as I was fairly launched in London, it was my mother's great wish that I should belong to the Garrick Club, of which my father had been an original member; and though I was much under the age prescribed by the