They told me, as in my turn I have had to tell so
many would-be reviewers, what no doubt was perfectly true, namely that
they had already got more outside reviewers than they could possibly
find work for, and that they were sorry to say I must not count upon
their being able to give me books. All the same, they would like me to
take away a couple of volumes to notice,--making it clear, however, that
they did this out of friendship for my father.
I was given my choice of books, and the two I chose were a new edition
of _Gulliver's Travels_, well illustrated in colour by a French
artist, and, if I remember rightly, the _Memoirs of Henry
Greville_, the brother of the great Greville. I will not say that I
departed from the old _Spectator_ offices at 1 Wellington Street--a
building destined to play so great a part in my life--in dudgeon or even
in disappointment. I had not expected very much. Still, no man, young or
old, cares to have it made quite clear that a door at which he wishes to
enter is permanently shut against him.
However, I was not likely to be depressed for long at so small a matter
as this; I was much too full of enjoyment in my new London life. The
wide world affords nothing to equal one's first year in London--at
least, that was my feeling.
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