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[150] papers as dining at What Cheer House and picking his tooth at the Grand Hotel; about the same thing as saying of a man in London that he boards in Leicester Square and hangs about the door at Long's. The wit was shot next morning in a public road.

A writer has no easy time; his reader craves excitement, and he has to feed this passion for dramatic scenes. Each line he writes must tell a tale. Each wood must be in capitals. If a writer has no news, he must invent a lie. One journal is advertised as bold and spicy, and is true to the device. It deals with all, spares none. Editors are always armed; reporters must be steady shots. A man who cannot shoot and stab had better not indulge himself with pen and ink. A sufferer burns a pinch of powder in the nostrils of these editors now and then, but such a fact is thought too trivial for report, unless, as in a recent case, a journalist shoots some passer-by instead of winging his brother to the land of souls. One afternoon a gentleman was standing near me on a terrace, looking at some birds and seals. Knowing the gentleman by repute, I asked my neighbour:

“ Is not that Mr?”

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