could not oppose himself altogether to the usages of the time. 'Bad;
of course it is bad,' he said to a young friend who was working with
him on his periodical. 'Who doubts that? How many very bad things are
there that we do! But if we were to attempt to reform all our bad ways
at once, we should never do any good thing. I am not strong enough to
put the world straight, and I doubt if you are.' Such was Mr Booker.

Then there was letter No. 3, to Mr Ferdinand Alf. Mr Alf managed, and,
as it was supposed, chiefly owned, the 'Evening Pulpit,' which during
the last two years had become 'quite a property,' as men connected
with the press were in the habit of saying. The 'Evening Pulpit' was
supposed to give daily to its readers all that had been said and done
up to two o'clock in the day by all the leading people in the
metropolis, and to prophesy with wonderful accuracy what would be the
sayings and doings of the twelve following hours. This was effected
with an air of wonderful omniscience, and not unfrequently with an
ignorance hardly surpassed by its arrogance. But the writing was
clever. The facts, if not true, were well invented; the arguments, if
not logical, were seductive. The presiding spirit of the paper had the
gift, at any rate, of knowing what the people for whom he catered
would like to read, and how to get his subjects handled so that the
reading should be pleasant. Mr Booker's 'Literary Chronicle' did not
presume to entertain any special political opinions. The 'Breakfast
Table' was decidedly Liberal. The 'Evening Pulpit' was much given to
politics, but held strictly to the motto which it had assumed;--

Nullius addictus jurare in verba magistri

and consequently had at all times the invaluable privilege of abusing
what was being done, whether by one side or by the other. A newspaper