“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.
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.”
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.”