Birmingham age-herald., 1894-11-25
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 "Tant que vous n'aurcz ricn de mieux em- brasscr, tachez de vous faire illusion"-La Joie fait peur.
 We were at school together. l was the show-boy of OUT school. did the brilliant things, wrote the clever es- says, made the most successful passes. It was inevitable that l was to suc- ceed in the world-succeed? No; the word was mine for the asking. As for Bontor, who thought of him? He was near the end of the form; remember him we'll. He wore dirty collars, hadn't much money and was dense in school. He played football passably, and was banned as having commercial instincts He had low tricks of sale and barter with boyish tools and toys, which afterwards seemed less useful and delightful than at first generally having some skillfully hidden flaw. It was supposed that he would go into his fathers office, the elder Bontor being merchant, (rag merchant, our boyish wit said) in the city. As for brilliancy or success, ridiculousl
 Bontor left school before did. His father had gone bankrupt, it appeared. Not much notice was taking of his leav- ing. He was nobody.
 left not very long after. when finished the course, in fact. The head master took leave of me in very neat and laudatory speech; expressed regret at hearing that was not going to university; expected to hear of my success, and, in fact, seemed to be grateful for my having condescended to shine in the school.
 My father began to look glum when I had been at home twelve months, and was still at his expense. pointed out, and still think rightly, that it was not my fault, but the worlds. He was illogical, and showed me his bank book. Upon this persuasion, l swal- lowed my pride and wrote novel. It took me four months to write and was not published. My father and brothers became covertly sarcastic. My father even wished openly that l had not been brilliant. All this was hard, but I succumbed and tried hard for em- ployment on the best newspapers; then on magazines; then on minor pa- pers, and lastly even on the ruck of weekly dust-heaps. Brilliancy was at a discount.
 left home after this at my fathers request, and tried to sell my novel again, but still without success. After awhile became a devil. l grubbed among books for more successful. but less talented men. could be seen daily at the British museum.
 
 I was sitting in Staple Inn one after noon under the trees. This was some years after had left home, and l had not vet arrived" On the other hand, I had not then even begun to doubt myself. At that time I thought my hard luck was the usual tempering process which my biographical knowl- edge assured me all men of genius had to suffer- 1 was waiting for the world to acknowledge me. Now, have got past that stage. I nm sarcastic at tho mention of successful men and sati- rical as to the worlds favor.
 was tired when sat down in Staple Inn. 1 had been walking about all day to pass the time, and was feeling hungry. It was early autumn, and l should have liked an overcoat and missed my waistcoat. There was young man sitting on the seat by me, eating Q saveloy; penknife and roll were in a piece of paper by his side. He was seedy, but well brushed; his boots were down at heel, and his nails black His felt hat had been inked aad been sitting some minutes, when le suddenly stopped munching and aid: ''Hallo, Grant" looked round some surprise, and he continued: Don't you know me?" "No," l said, rith some asperity. He was common