He was very pleased to get this letter. It was the first reply he had ever got from an editor, and he took it up unopened to the Holborn, to read it during lunch. But there was very little to read. The original verse had folded round it a nice half-sheet of cream-laid notepaper, with a gold _fleur de lis_ in the corner, and underneath the motto, “Devoir Fera”; then, in the middle of the sheet, three or four lines of fine copperplate engraving, printed also in gold, and running as follows:-- “The editor of _Culture_ regrets that he is unable to accept the enclosed contribution; it must not be imagined that any adverse criticism or suggestion is thereby passed upon the work; pressure of space, the previous acceptation of similar matter, and other causes having necessarily to be considered.” Peter was so much encouraged by this, that he sent his verses at once to Mr. McGregor, changing, however, the word “rude” in the fourth line to “rough,” and adding a comma after “rapt,” points insignificant in themselves perhaps, but indicative of a critic’s ear, and certain (as he thought) to catch the approval of the distinguished scholar. In twenty-four hours he got his reply in the shape of an affectionate letter, enclosing his MSS.:-- “My dear Peter, “No; I should be doing an injustice to my readers if I were to print your verse in the _Doctrinaire_; but you must not be discouraged by this action on my part. You are still very young, and no one who has followed (as you may be sure I have) your brilliant career at the University can doubt your ultimate success in whatever profession you undertake. But the path of letters is a stony one, and the level of general utility in such work is only reached by the most arduous efforts. I saw your Aunt Phœbe the other day, and she was warm in your praises. She told me you were thinking of becoming an architect; I sincerely hope you will, for I believe you have every aptitude for that profession. Plod on steadily and I will go warrant for your writing verse with the best of them. It is _inevitable_, my dear Peter, that one’s early verse should be imitative and weak; but you have the ‘inner voice,’ do but follow the gleam and never allow your first enthusiasms to grow dim. “Always your Father’s Old Friend, “ARCHIBALD WELLINGTON MCGREGOR.” Peter was a little pained by this; but he answered it very politely, inviting himself to lunch on the following Thursday, and then, turning to his verses, he gave the title “Dead,” and sent them to the _Patriot_, from whom he got no reply for a month. He then wrote to the editor of the _Patriot_ on a postcard, and said that, in view of the present deplorable reaction in politics, he feared the verses, if they were held over much longer, would lose their point. Would the _Patriot_ be so kind, then, as to let him know what they proposed to do with the Poem? He got a reply the same evening:--