But when he had passed safely through a sharp attack of Philatelism
and a rather nasty bout of Autographomania, everyone hoped and
believed that he had turned the corner. The progress of his last
illness was very rapid. Within a year he wanted but one specimen to
make the complete set. This was the one published from the offices of
the _Scrutinizer_. All the rest he had obtained with the greatest
ease. I remember his telling me that a single short story of his,
called 'The Vengeance of Vera Dalrymple,' had been instrumental in
securing no less than thirty perfect specimens. Poor George! I was
with him when he made his first attempt on the _Scrutinizer_. He
had baited his hook with an essay on Evolution. He read me one or two
passages from it. I stopped him at the third paragraph, and
congratulated him in advance, little thinking that it was sympathy
rather than congratulations that he needed. When I saw him a week
afterwards he was looking haggard. I questioned him, and by slow
degrees drew out the story. The article on Evolution had been printed.

"'Never say die, George,' I said. 'Send them "Vera Dalrymple." No
paper can take that.'

"He sent it. The _Scrutinizer_, which had been running for nearly
a century without publishing a line of fiction, took it and asked for
more. It was as if there were an editorial conspiracy against him."

"Well?" said the man of war.

"Then," said Smithson, "George pulled himself together. He wrote a
parody of 'The Minstrel Boy.' I have seen a good many parodies, but
never such a parody as that. By return of post came a long envelope
bearing the crest of the _Scrutinizer_. 'At last,' he said, as he