I
remember to this day owning to my brother that though I had intended my
review of _Gulliver's Travels_ to be epoch-making, it had turned
out a horrible fiasco. However, I somehow felt I should only flounder
deeper into the quagmire of my own creation if I rewrote the two
reviews. Accordingly, they were sent off in the usual way. Knowing my
father's experience in such matters, I did not expect to get them back
in type for many weeks. As a matter of fact, they came back quite
quickly. I corrected the proofs and returned them. To my astonishment
the review of Swift appeared almost at once. I supposed, in the luxury
of depression, that they wished to cast the rubbish out of the way as
quickly as possible.
My first intention was not to go again to _The Spectator_ office,
the place where I was so obviously not wanted, but I remembered that my
father had told me that it was always the custom to return books as soon
as the proofs were corrected or the articles had appeared. I determined,
therefore, that I would do the proper thing, though I felt rather shy,
and feared I might be looked upon as "cadging" for work.
With my books under my arm I walked off to Wellington Street, on a
Tuesday morning, and went up to Mr.
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