(_Photographs by Messrs. Fradelle & Young._)
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[Illustration: MR. NEWNES'S HOUSE AT PUTNEY.]
[Illustration: THE OBELISK IN THE GARDEN.]
As I toiled up the hill which leads to Putney Heath, I met a small boy,
of whom I asked the way to Mr. George Newnes's house. To my astonishment
he did not know where it was. I gazed at him more in sorrow than in
anger. "What! not know where _Tit-Bits_ lives!" a smart lad standing by
ejaculated, as he pointed out to me the right direction in which to go.
"George Newnes! 'im wot writes _Tit-Bits_! wy I thought everyone knowed
w'ere 'ee lived!" I thanked him, and wandered on half-a-mile or so
until I reached the beautiful house which the "writer" of _Tit-Bits_
built for himself some years ago. Here I was received by Mr. George
Newnes with a welcome which left nothing to be desired in the way of
hearty kindness. Mr. Newnes is a man of middle height, very
good-looking, with auburn beard, and hair dashed with grey. Though
exceedingly wealthy, he is not, as somebody has well expressed it,
"beastly rich." No feeling of the oppression of newly-acquired wealth
flooded my soul as I walked about the pretty house and grounds in his
company. He and his surroundings have the good taste not to obtrude
themselves upon the casual visitor. The man is simplicity itself, and
the most genial and cordial of hosts. I thoroughly enjoyed my visit, nor
was it without infinite interest, for George Newnes is a companion
always amusing, and with always something new and original to say. As we
wandered through the beautiful grounds, some of which are reclaimed from
the wild heath which stretches for miles round the house, he pointed out
to me the curious obelisk, grey and time-worn, which still perpetuates
the memory of the historic mansion once known as "Fireproof." For it was
here that George III. and Queen Charlotte once breakfasted in peace in
the drawing room upstairs, whilst the dining-room below was purposely
ignited to prove that the house was really fireproof. Upon one side of
the house stand the stables, just beyond them a beautiful covered
lawn-tennis court lighted by electricity and heated with hot water, in
which play can go on by night as well as by day, in winter just as much
as in summer. "We miss this tennis court dreadfully when we are in
Devonshire," said Mr. Newnes, as we quitted the beautiful hall for the
house. "I am myself devoted to tennis and golfing, and, indeed, I
sometimes think it is that that has helped me to get through so much
work. Good players generally make good workers," he added, with a laugh.
"Now will you come and join our party at luncheon?" and as he spoke he
led the way into a handsome dining-room. At luncheon the conversation
dealt chiefly with sport and games, to my own great relief be it added,
for the dweller in the tents of the literary world hears but little of
the ordinary topics of conversation, and becomes suffocated, if he be
not to the manner born, with the nauseating cant and self-sufficiency
which is so typical of the literary world of to-day, and more especially
typical of its younger members. But at George Newnes's house you hear
but little shop. We discussed golf and its rapidly increasing
popularity, the newest "serve" at tennis, and some of the most
remarkable cricket scores made during the past season.
[Illustration: MR. NEWNES.]
[Illustration: MRS. NEWNES.]
[Illustration: THE BILLIARD-ROOM.]
The host joined eagerly in our talk until interrupted by the servant,
who brought in a message. Quitting us for a moment, he returned with a
smiling apology, and told me that in that brief space of time he had
transacted a piece of business which certainly was not without its
interest. A gentleman, it appeared--the son of a celebrated
_litterateur_ of a past day--had called to show some beautiful drawings
by the celebrated "Dicky" Doyle, a relation of Dr. Conan Doyle. With Mr.
Newnes--and it is thoroughly characteristic of the man--to close with a
good bargain is but the work of a moment, and therefore I was not
surprised, as he placed the dainty pictures before me, to learn that he
had purchased them for reproduction in his world-famed magazine. After
luncheon, Mr. Newnes suggested that we should retire to his
billiard-room, to reach which we had to pass through his own special
sanctum in which he dictates his letters, &c., to his private
secretary--energetic Mr. William Plank, who has been with him for five
hard working years--while he walks up and down the room. "I can always
think better whilst I walk," he explained to me; "indeed, I have
recently had the study lengthened to give me more room." By this time
we were in the billiard-room, wherein stands a large English organ with
upwards of four hundred pipes. And in this room, prowling round and
round the billiard-table like a couple of wild beasts--for I also, like
my host, think best upon my legs--and occasionally cannoning up against
one another and recoiling with a laugh and a start, George Newnes told
me the history of his interesting and successful life.
[Illustration: THE CONCEPTION OF "TIT-BITS."]
"My father," he began, "was, at the time of my birth, the minister of
Glenorchy Chapel, Matlock Bath. He was a very able man, and the best
informed man you could meet. He kept me at school till I was about
sixteen. I finished up at the City of London School, and, curiously
enough, I am going to-night to reply for the House of Commons at a
banquet given by the John Carpenter Club in honour of the Home
Secretary, who was a City of London School boy. My father put me into
a house of business in the City, at which I remained for a number of
years, and then I went down to Lancashire to open up a branch of the
business there. I settled in Manchester and married, there. One night,
in 1880, when I was sitting at home reading the _Manchester Evening
News_--and, by the way, it has never occurred to me before," added Mr.
Newnes, as a sudden thought flashed into his mind, "the very people who
printed that paper were the same people who afterwards printed
_Tit-Bits_ for ten years--I came across a story, or some interesting
account, which very much pleased me. I read it to my wife and said,
'There, that's what I call a real "tit-bit." This paper, but for it, is
to-day decidedly dull, because there is absolutely no news to put in it.
Now, why cannot a paper be brought out which should contain nothing but
"tit-bits" similar to this?'"
"And that really," said I, much interested, as Mr. George Newnes paused
for a moment in his journey round the billiard-table, and gazed absently
at me while I lit a cigar and threw myself into an armchair, "and that
really is how _Tit-Bits_ came to be first thought of?"
[Illustration: THE STUDY.]
"Yes," he replied, as he started off once more, and I rose to follow in
his track, "that was the _first_ idea of my little green paper. But I
was a whole year before I was able to carry it out. I was very busy in
other matters, and had not much time to attend to it. But I never lost
sight of the idea, and ever and anon the word 'tit-bits' would come to
me with the force of a warning dream. I worked continually at the idea
in my mind, and all my leisure thoughts were given up to it. In fact, I
was constantly afraid--so convinced was I that the idea was a good
one--that someone would bring it out before I could do so, and every
Saturday morning, the usual day for new weekly papers, I used to look
almost with painful anxiety to see whether there was a placard
announcing that such a paper had appeared. But, however, nothing of the
sort was brought out. The more I thought of it the more enamoured I
became of the idea, till, in October, 1881, the first number appeared."
And as he spoke Mr. Newnes handed me the very first number of the now
celebrated paper. "As soon as it was fairly started," continued my host,
"I gave up my other business and devoted myself to the editing and
publishing of the paper. At first, the chief pieces in it were selected
from books and periodicals--any sources, in short, that were not
copyright. I would get an anecdote from one book, and something else
from another, anything interesting, in fact, from wherever I could pick
it up; of course, now we have a large list of original contributors, but
at first that was the way in which it was compiled. In the early days,
naturally enough, its circulation was confined chiefly to Manchester.
There it simply 'caught on' immediately, and sold like wildfire. Why,
the newspaper boys' brigade," continued Mr. Newnes, now fairly excited
at the memory of that eventful Saturday morning, "sold something like
5,000 copies in two hours of the first number in Manchester alone. They
came rushing back to the office, where I sat anxiously awaiting their
news, full of the wonderful result. _Tit-Bits_ was then, I felt certain,
an assured success, and the public used to write to me to tell me of its
popularity. I receive letters to this day, and especially from ministers
and clergymen, who write to say that they recommend it because of the
information it contains, and its instructive character, and, above all,
because of the purity of its contents. Yet there are some clergymen who
think there is some _double entendre_ in the title _Tit-Bits_, and from
its title that it is probably a paper they ought to speak against; and
often, solely on account of its title, I believe they bracket it with
all kinds of other literature of a low-class type, and in this way I
suffer from the name."
[Illustration: THE BIRTH OF "TIT-BITS."]
"And how was it you came to inaugurate your system of insurance against
railway accidents?" I asked Mr. Newnes, after a brief discussion on the
ridiculous and narrow-minded behaviour of these worthy clerics. "It was
in this way," he replied, as he brought himself to an anchor against the
billiard-table, where he rested for a brief moment. "It was in this way:
A woman wrote to me saying that her husband had been killed on the
railway, and as he had a copy of _Tit-Bits_ upon him at the time, she
asked whether I would make her some allowance of money. At once the idea
of an insurance system occurred to me, and you know now how widespread
this system has become."
I smiled as I noted how in each case his wonderful successes are
owing not more to the flash of a striking idea than to the wonderful
promptitude which follows on the thought; how remarkable an instance his
whole career affords of the benefit and wisdom of striking while the
iron is hot.
"And then after _Tit-Bits_ came the _Review of Reviews_, I suppose?" I
queried, as my host jotted down some notes in his pocket-book.
[Illustration: HESKETH HOUSE, TORQUAY.]
"Yes," he replied, as he once more took the floor. "That was one of the
quickest arranged things I have ever heard of. It was all done in a
month. I was staying down at Torquay, where I have a house for the
winter, and Mr. Stead wrote to me to say he contemplated leaving the
_Pall Mall Gazette_, and would like to be associated with me in some
journalistic scheme. He sent descriptions of three which were passing
through his mind, asking if I would care to take either of them into
consideration. I replied by return, saying that I did not care for two
of them much, but that I was delighted with the third. I then and there
told him the terms upon which I would work with him. He wrote back,
saying that he would accept them, and I came to London the following
week, in order that I might make arrangements, and in thirty days from
the first proposal of the idea, the _Review of Reviews_ was published.
At first it was decided to call it _The Sixpenny Monthly_, with a
sub-title, _A Review of the Reviews_; as such, indeed, it appeared upon
the cover till the day before going to press, which was a Sunday. I was
so convinced that the title ought to be reversed, and that it should be
_The Review of Reviews, a Sixpenny Monthly_, that I went over and
waylaid Mr. Stead as he was coming with his family out of church. I
explained my views to him, and in a few minutes he agreed that I was
right, and the title was altered to that which has now become so
familiar. Well, when the _Review of Reviews_ went out of my field of
vision, I had made certain arrangements with people for publishing
magazine work, and so on, and I wanted something to take its place. Then
came to me a very old and favourite idea of mine--the idea of a
_magazine with a picture on every page_! I engaged the services of Mr.
Greenhough Smith, now my assistant editor on the _Strand Magazine_, who
had the idea of largely producing translations from foreign authors, and
as soon as the _Review of Reviews_ had gone, I was at work on the new
venture."
[Illustration: THE DRAWING-ROOM.]
"And, with regard to its title, Mr. Newnes," said I, "you are great on
titles, are you not?" "I attach great importance to them, certainly," he
vigorously replied. "I thoroughly agree with Shakespeare that there is
much in a name. Why, indeed, should names be valueless? They are as
great facts as anything else in the constitutions of humanity. And in
the journalistic world a name is half the battle. _The Strand_ was a
good title, it appeared to me, short, and at the same time attractive.
After all, it is through the Strand itself that the tide of life flows
fullest and strongest and deepest. I felt that with a good picture on
the cover it would sell well on the book-stalls. The picture was rather
difficult, and much depended on that picture. At first I did not succeed
in getting the artist to embody my idea of a picture of a street. Now I
had here at home an oil painting which I thought would help him." And as
he spoke, Mr. Newnes led me to the staircase and showed me a very
charming perspective of some street in an English town. "I showed Mr.
Haite this picture," he continued, "and I asked him if he could do a
similar perspective of the Strand."
[Illustration: "I WORK VERY QUICKLY."]
_The Picture Magazine_, which started with this year, is likely to
be nearly as successful as _The Strand_. After we had discussed the
position and the prospects of the new paper which Mr. Newnes has started
to fill the place in the Radical journalistic ranks of the _P.M.G._,
we drifted into a general conversation on his habits of life, his
occupations, and the varied qualities which go to the making of a
successful business man, the future of popular journalism, and the like.
"How do you manage to keep all your irons hot?" I asked my host; "you
edit three papers, you are a member of Parliament, you build railways
up the cliffs of popular watering-places, you play games, you do
everything. How is it all done, pray, Mr. Newnes? What is the secret
of your life?" "Well," he slowly replied, and with a certain shy
hesitation, for though prompt and energetic enough in actual business,
no more modest man, or one more reluctant to speak of himself and his
doings walks this earth--"well, though I don't want to boast about it,
yet the simple fact is, I work very quickly, and I get through my
business much faster than most men do. I make up my mind, form my plans,
and arrive at conclusions very rapidly. With regard to my editorial
work, for instance, all 'copy' for the papers is sifted for me at the
office, then it is sent up here, where I work three days a week,
selecting that which I think shall go in, and marking it for press. I
dictate the 'Answers to Correspondents' page to my private secretary.
This page always takes up three hours a week. I get through my
editorial, parliamentary and business work, and manage to get a good
deal of leisure besides. Golf, tennis and chess take up my leisure. When
I am in the country I have all my work sent there. The fact is, _I work
hard and I play hard_, and I believe each is equally necessary for good
health and real happiness. Curiously enough, I do not believe that
naturally I am of a very systematic nature, but so much business forces
me to be so."
[Illustration: THE TENNIS COURT.]
"And as to the future of journalism generally, and of such papers as
yours in particular, Mr. Newnes?" I queried. "With the spread of
education and the increase of Board Schools, there is a great change
coming over the masses, is there not?" "I think this," he replied, "that
many of the papers of the day are developing too much the gambling and
lottery spirit, which I regard as a very evil one, and would not for a
moment countenance. I think, as you say, that the Board Schools have
immensely increased the number of buyers of papers of this kind, and it
is a great source of satisfaction to me that I should have inaugurated
a popular paper which should be taken largely by the masses, and which
is absolutely pure. When I came out with _Tit-Bits_ there was not a
single popular paper containing fun or jokes or anything of the
kind--except the illustrated ones--but what relied more or less upon
prurient matter to tickle the fancies of prurient minds. Besides, my
idea is that, just at present, the Board Schools tend to a certain
hardness and narrowness of character, which is perhaps softened down by
the development by these papers of the lighter side of human nature.
_Tit-Bits_, I have reason to know, has in many cases induced the study
of some science or literature on the part of a man or boy who has read
some interesting 'tit-bit' on one of these subjects, and has desired,
naturally enough, to know more about it."
[Illustration: THE CONSERVATORY.]
"Will it ever be possible, Mr. Newnes, do you think, to provide the
masses with the higher journalism, with a sort of _Saturday Review_, or
_Nineteenth Century_?" I asked. "I don't think," he slowly replied,
shaking his head, "I don't think, Radical as I am, and absolute
believer in the sovereignty of the people, that the masses will ever
take to any paper which consists mainly of essays or leaders. They want
things served up with other interesting matter, and with as much of the
personal element as it is possible to give them. The masses still
incline entirely to the lighter side of literature. They work hard
enough in everyday life, their recreation and their literature _must_,
therefore, be as light as possible."
[Illustration: IN THE BILLIARD-ROOM.]
"And now, Mr. Newnes, for one more question--a good long one," I
laughingly added. "Having all your life been so successful yourself, as
you look round London, with the struggle for existence, and the mingling
of classes which makes that struggle for existence still harder, how do
you really account for your own wonderful success, and how would you
recommend others to be successful too, even though only in a small way?"
"I really don't know how I can answer that question," he replied. "The
only thing is, I have always been struck with the fact that so many
people go about with their eyes shut, and do not see the chances which
may be before them. They have no idea of doing anything beyond what they
may have seen done before, and what they are told to do. They are
frightened by originality lest it might be disastrous. I suppose I have
been inclined to do things differently rather than the same as other
people, and I have always struck while the iron was hot. That, I think,
to put it very briefly, is the secret of any success which has attended
my efforts."
Novel Notes.