It was at this time that Mr. Townsend wrote me, on behalf of himself and
his partner, a letter stating definitely that if I would devote myself
to _The Spectator_, he and Hutton would guarantee me at once a
certain salary, though I might still take any work I liked outside. But
this was not all. The letter went on to say that the first of the
partners who died or retired would offer me a half-share of the paper.
It was pointed out that, of course, that might conceivably mean a fairly
long apprenticeship, but that it was far more likely to mean a short
one. It proved to be neither the one nor the other, but what might be
called a compromise period of some ten years.

And so in the course of a very few weeks my fate had been decided for me
and the question I had so often put to myself: Should I stick to the Bar
or throw in my lot with journalism? was answered. A great wave had
seized me and cast me up upon the shore of 1 Wellington Street. I felt
breathless but happy. Though I did not fully realise how deeply my life
had been affected by the decision or how strange in some ways was the
course that lay before me, I had an instinctive feeling that I must
follow wholeheartedly the path of Destiny. I determined to free my mind
from all thoughts of a return to the Bar. I shut my eyes for ever to the
vision of myself as Lord Chancellor or Lord Chief Justice--a vision that
has haunted every young man who has ever embarked upon the study of
English Law;--the vision of which Dr. Johnson, even at the end of his
life, could not speak without profound emotion.

I acted promptly. I at once gave up my nice little room in the Temple.
It was about eight foot square, furnished with one table, one arm-chair,
one cane chair, and a bookcase, and dignified by the name of Chambers. I
sometimes wonder now whether, if I could have looked down the long
avenue of the years and seen the crowded, turbulent series of events