"What in the world can I do to secure an income?" thought Osborne, as
he stood on the hearth-rug, his back to a blazing fire, his cup of
coffee sent up in the rare old china that had belonged to the Hall
for generations; his dress finished, as dress of Osborne's could
hardly fail to be. One could hardly have thought that this elegant
young man, standing there in the midst of comfort that verged on
luxury, should have been turning over that one great problem in his
mind; but so it was. "What can I do to be sure of a present income?
Things cannot go on as they are. I should need support for two or
three years, even if I entered myself at the Temple, or Lincoln's
Inn. It would be impossible to live on my pay in the army; besides,
I should hate that profession. In fact, there are evils attending all
professions--I couldn't bring myself to become a member of any I've
ever heard of. Perhaps I'm more fitted to take 'orders' than anything
else; but to be compelled to write weekly sermons whether one had
anything to say or not, and, probably, doomed only to associate with
people below one in refinement and education! Yet poor Aimée must
have money. I can't bear to compare our dinners here, overloaded with
joints and game and sweets, as Morgan will persist in sending them
up, with Aimée's two little mutton-chops. Yet what would my father
say if he knew I'd married a Frenchwoman? In his present mood he'd
disinherit me, if that is possible; and he'd speak about her in a way
I couldn't stand. A Roman Catholic, too! Well, I don't repent it. I'd
do it again. Only if my mother had been in good health--if she could
have heard my story, and known Aimée! As it is I must keep it secret;
but where to get money? Where to get money?"
Then he bethought him of his poems--would they sell, and bring him
in money? In spite of Milton, he thought they might; and he went to
fetch his MSS. out of his room. He sate down near the fire, trying to
study them with a critical eye, to represent public opinion as far as
he could. He had changed his style since the Mrs. Hemans' days. He
was essentially imitative in his poetic faculty; and of late he had
followed the lead of a popular writer of sonnets. He turned his poems
over: they were almost equivalent to an autobiographical passage in
his life. Arranging them in their order, they came as follows:--