said about it, and in what great hotels it was the only blacking
used. Importunity pays. Sooner or later you bought HIGLINSON's
Blacking-cream. You then found out that it was just about as good as
any other, and went on buying it.

In one way this was very good for Mr. HIGLINSON, because he became
very rich; in other ways it was not so good for him. For a long time
he had nothing to do with public life; the public never thought about
his existence; to the public he was not a man at all--he was only
part of the name of the stuff they used for their boots. If he had
introduced himself to a stranger, giving the name of HIGLINSON, it is
probable that the stranger would have remarked jocularly, "No relation
to the Blacking-cream, I presume?" HIGLINSON knew this, and it pained
him deeply, for he was a sensitive man.

Because he was sensitive and felt things so much, he wrote a volume of
very melancholy verses. He was unmarried and lonely, and he wanted to
lead a high life. He said as much in his verses. But what comes well
from Sir GALAHAD comes ill from the proprietor of a Blacking-cream;
and--from idiotic notions about pluck and honesty--he had put his own
name to his book. Unfortunately, those who feel much are not always
those who can express much; and HIGLINSON could not express anything.
So critics with a light mind had a very fine time with these
verses. They quoted them, with the prefatory remark:--"The cream
of the collection--perhaps we might say the Blacking-cream of the
collection--is the following," and they wound up their criticism
with saying that the book must have been simply published as an
advertisement. Mr. HIGLINSON could hardly have been mad enough to
have printed such stuff from any other motive.