My Novel, Book VII by Edward Bulwer-lytton

The villanous "Beehive"! Bread was worked out of it, certainly; but fame, but hope for the future, -- certainly not. Milton's Paradise Lost would have perished without a sound had it appeared in the "Beehive."

Fine things were there in a fragmentary crude state, composed by Burley himself. At the end of a week they were dead and forgotten, -- never read by one man of education and taste; taken simultaneously and indifferently with shallow politics and wretched essays, yet selling, perhaps, twenty or thirty thousand copies, -- an immense sale; and nothing got out of them but bread and brandy!