"Wait upon the Lord," he said, after listening with the excitement
of a young heart, the ache of an old one, and the hope of a strong
one, to his son's narrative; "wait patiently on him, and he will
give thee thy heart's desire."
They waited, and patiently.
What was there now that Cosmo could do to make a little money? With
Mr. Simon he held many an anxious conference on the matter, but
nothing could either think of except the heart-wearing endeavour
after favour with one or other of the magazines--involving an
outlay of much time, a sick deferment of hope, and great
discouragement; for how small were the chances of his work proving
acceptable to this or that man who, with the best intentions for
the SUCCESS of the magazine in his charge, and a keen enough
perception of the unworthy in literature, had most likely no
special love for the truth, or care to teach it, and was besides
under the incapacitating influence, the deadening, debilitating,
stupefying effect of having continually to judge--not to mention
the enervating hopelessness that at length falls, I presume, upon
every editor of a popular magazine, of finding one pearl among the
cartloads of oysters sent him by unknown divers in the gulf of
literature--filling him with amazement that there should be so many
to write so well, and so few to write better. Mr. Simon
nevertheless encouraged Cosmo to make the attempt, seeing that to
one who had nothing else to do, it involved no loss, and would be
certain gain to both head and heart, with just the possibility as
well of a little return in money.
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