himself before he got to the Nore. That, at all events, would be the
best thing that could happen to him. The farther away from home he got,
the greater only would be his difficulties.

I do not regard the conveyance of useful information as my _forte_. This
belief was not inborn with me; it has been driven home upon me by
experience.

In my early journalistic days, I served upon a paper, the forerunner of
many very popular periodicals of the present day. Our boast was that we
combined instruction with amusement; as to what should be regarded as
affording amusement and what instruction, the reader judged for himself.
We gave advice to people about to marry--long, earnest advice that would,
had they followed it, have made our circle of readers the envy of the
whole married world. We told our subscribers how to make fortunes by
keeping rabbits, giving facts and figures. The thing that must have
surprised them was that we ourselves did not give up journalism and start
rabbit-farming. Often and often have I proved conclusively from
authoritative sources how a man starting a rabbit farm with twelve
selected rabbits and a little judgment must, at the end of three years,
be in receipt of an income of two thousand a year, rising rapidly; he
simply could not help himself. He might not want the money. He might
not know what to do with it when he had it. But there it was for him. I
have never met a rabbit farmer myself worth two thousand a year, though I
have known many start with the twelve necessary, assorted rabbits.
Something has always gone wrong somewhere; maybe the continued atmosphere
of a rabbit farm saps the judgment.

We told our readers how many bald-headed men there were in Iceland, and
for all we knew our figures may have been correct; how many red herrings