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good man to the poor,' say they. He was a fine bright well off before they put pen to paper ; when I remember, man': This, however, is all the remains of his place on passing my eye along them, how many of them never here."
were raised to their present rank and occupation till the · It is such incidental glimpses of the social con. I see others which had their fame during the author's
unhappy authors were beyond the knowledge of it ; when dition and intellectual state of the people whom life-time, but enriched only the lucky bibliopole, and left he met in the course of his researches, which, as the conscious producer of wealth only doubly poor by seee think, together with his own opinions on the ing it in the enjoyment of another'; when I see those aspects of existing society, that will mainly inte- works which, while the author lived, were assailed as
blasphemous and devilish, and are now the text-books of rest the reading class in Mr. Howitt's new work. liberty and progress; and when I call to mind all the tears Save the imitations found in stories, and pictures which have bedewed them, the sadness of soul, often leadin dramas, one seldom now finds in books much of ing to suicide, which has weighed down the immortal what the people really say, do, or think ; and no spirits which created them : 1 own that there is to me sort of knowledge can be more desirable. Now, Goldsmith had his full share of this baptism of literary
no such melancholy spectacle as a fine collection of books. our author often reports his conversations with wretchedness. I cannot follow him minutely through the persons of what are called the lower classes; and, years of book drudgery and all its attendant adventures.” next to these colloquies, one likes to hear what an Now Mr. Howitt, who is no longer an inerintelligent and free-spoken stranger thinks of the perienced author, in the flush of high hope, who new life which he observed in Seotland, and some- has found the critics exceedingly good-naturedtimes with fully as much keenness as charity. | as authors, whatever he may think, very geneWhat, nationally, may prove the most offensive rally do--and " bibliopoles,” moreover, fair, and passage in these volumes occurs in the Life of often liberal tradesmen-ought to know better Thomson ; and yet it is salutary to know the very than this. Something of the same sort alloys worst that can be said of us, especially on points an otherwise nobly-felt sketch of Burns, many of on which the Scottish people and their clergy so whose “ Homes and Haunts” were faithfully greatly pride themselves. The landscape of explored. But these, and every incident in the Ednam, the poet's birth-place, found no favour life of Burns, must be familiar to most readers; in the stranger's eyes. There are few trees and and it will be more instructive to show what an upon one fine and redeeming feature, the outline intelligent stranger thinks of one of the latest of the Cheviots, Mr. Howitt has not deigned to forms in which national absurdity has produced glance. He could have been in no poetical mood itself among us, namely, in the passion for giganon the morning he visited Ednam.
tic and expensive tombstones. In this kind of From the gloom and despondency of Chatter- emulation, Dumfries, for its size, is not behind, if ton's life and death, we are scarcely relieved by it does not take the lead, of any town in Scotthe piteous story of poor Goldsmith, whose per- land: sonal character our author appreciates kindly, “ To our eyes, accustomed to such a different size and and, therefore, truly. But is the literary life character of church-yard tombs, they are perfectly astoreally so miserable and hopeless a condition as to nishing. I imagine there is stone enough in the funeral vindicate the moral which is drawn from the monuments of this church-yard to build a tolerable street
of houses. You would think that all the giants, and, inhistory of Goldsmith—often at his worst a very deed, all the great people of all sorts that Scotland had ever happy being and one who, with a little more produced had here chosen their sepulture. Such ambiworldly prudence and moral firmness, might have tious and gigantic structures of free-stone, some red, always been so ? It is thus that his story is some white, for dyers, ironmongers, gardeners, slaters, rounded off :
glaziers, and the like, are, I imagine, nowhere else
to be seen. There are vintners who have tombs and *" From this time to the day of his death Goldsmith was obelisks fit for genuine Egyptian Pharaohs ; and slaters regularly launched into the drudgery of literature ; the and carpenters, who were accustomed to climb high when most wearing, feverish, uncertain, and worst remunerat- alive, have left monuments significant of their soaring ing life under the sun." To live in one long anxiety, and character. These far outvie and overlook those of geto die poor, was his lot, as it has been that of thousands nerals, writers to the signet, esquires, and bailiffs of the of others. There are innocent minds who are filled with city. gladness at the sight of a goodly library; who feast on a
* Your first view of this church-yard strikes you by well-bound row of books, as the lover of nature does on a the strange aspect of these ponderous monuments. A poetical landscape, or on a bank of violets. For my part, row of very ancient ones, in fact, stands on the wall next 1
never see such a collection of books without an inward to the street. Two of them most dilapidated, and of pang: They remind me of a catacomb; every volume is in deep red stone, have a very singular look. They have Tuy eyes but à bone in the great gathering of the remains Latin inscriptions, which are equally dilapidated. Anof literary martyrs. When I call to mind the pleasure other, one to Francis Irving, fairly exhausts the Latin with which many of these books were written, followed tongue with his host of virtues, and then takes to English, by the agonies of disappointment they brought; the re
thus :pulses and contempt of booksellers, to whom the authors
• King James the First me Balive named ; had carried them in all the flush of their inexperience
Dumfries ort since me Provost claimed ;
God has for me a crown reserved, and of high hope ; "the cruel malice of the critics which
For king and country have I served.'".
The mausoleum of Burns is not forgotten ; Thoge cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame; Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Munros
and those who have seen the poet's statue must He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose.'--BUBxs. rejoice to hear that “ Nature, as if resenting When I think of the glorious hopes which accompanied this wretched caricature of her son, has already their composition, and the terrible undeceiving which at- begun to deface and corrode it.” tended their publication ; when I reflect how many of these fair tomes were written in bitterest poverty, with
In going over Mr. Howitt's work, we have the most aching hearts, in the most cheerless homes'; and advisedly adverted rather to what is new and bow many others ruined the writers, who were tolerably characteristic than to what may be described as a
thrice or a ten-times-told tale, however well or gentleman who knows all about him.' I entered, and gracefully related. This principle leads us, in found a tall, well-dressed man, with a very solemn aspect. the sketch of Shelley, to notice rather the amusing It is the squire of the place, said I to myself. With a
solemn bow he arose, and with very solemn bows we small things Mr. Howitt ferreted out at Great sat down opposite to each other. • I am happy to hear,' Marlowe, where the poet resided for a time, than I said, ' that you knew Mr. Shelley, and can give me the analysis of Shelley's poetry and the record some particulars regarding his residence here.' · I can, of the leading events of his brief life.
Sir,' he replied, with another solemn bow. I waited to
hear news—but I waited in vain. That Mr. Shelley had Mrs. Shelley has described her husband's way lived there, and that his home was down the street, of life in this dull place --Mr. Howitt their abode and that he was a very extraordinary man--he knew, as he saw it; and the strange memories which, and I knew; but that was all : not a word of his after only twenty-eight years, remain of the poet. doings or his sayings at Marlowe come out of the
But at length The story of Shelley's death had never reached solemn brain of that large solemn man.
a degree of interest appeared to gather in his cheeks Great Marlowe, or, we should rather imagine, that and brighten in his eyes. • Thank God!' I exclaimstupid portion of the Marloweans, to whom Mr. ed, inwardly. • The man is sləw, but it is coming Howitt's inquiries were so fruitlessly addressed. now.'
. Ilis mouth opened, and he said, • But pray, Sir, Once he was tantalized by a slow, pompous, I exclaimed. What, did you never hear? Did it never
what became of that Mr. Shelley ? “Good gracious!' solemn-looking personage, whom he set down as
reach Marlowe-but thirty miles from London--that sad the Squire of Great Marlowe; and driven fairly story of his death, which created a sensation throughout frantic by this ludicrous final interview, which the civilised world ?' No; the thing had never penetook place just as he was about to start
trated into the Baotian denseness of that place! I rose
up, and now bowed solemnly too. ' And pray, what “ His house was in the main street--a long stuccoed family might he leave ? asked the solemn personage, as dwelling, of that species of nondescript architecture which I was hasting away. You will learn that," I said, still once was thought Gothic, because it had pointed windows and battlements. It must have been, then, a spacious going away, in the Baronetage, if such a book ever
I hastened to the inn where my and a very pleasant residence. It is now, as is the lot of chaise was standing ready for my departure, and was just most places in which poets have lived, desolated and dese in the act of entering it, when I heard a sort of outcry, crated. It is divided into three tenements, a school, a private house, and a pot-house. I cutered the latter, and perceived a sort of bustle behind me, and turning my head with a strange feeling. In a large room, with a boarded strides, after me.
saw the tall and solemn man hasting, with huge and anxious
You'll excuse me, Sir; you'll excuse floor, and which had probably been Shelley's dining-room,
me, I think ; but I could relate to you a fact, and I think was a sort of bar partitioned off, and a number of visiters I will venture to relate to you a fact connected with the were drinking on benches along the walls, which still bore late Mr. Shelley.' Do,' said I. I think I will,' retraces, amid disfigurement and stains, of former taste. plied the tall stout man, heaving a deep sigh, and erectThe garden behind had evidently been extensive and very
ing himself to his full height, far above my head, and castpleasant. There were remains of fine evergreen trees, ing a most awful glance at the sky. I think I willand of a mound on which grew some deciduous cypresses, think I may venture.' "It is certainly something very where had evidently stood a summer-house. This was
sad and agonising,” I said to myself; .but I wish he would gone.
Amongst the poor of the town the remembrance of his benevolence and unassuming kindness other heave of his capacious chest, and another great
Well, then,' continued he, with air
only bring it out.' had still chroniclers; but from the other classes little glance at the distant horizon, 'I certainly will mention could be learned, and that not what the memory of such
It was this. When Mr. Shelley left Marlowe, he a man deserves. One old shopkeeper, not far from his ordered all his bills to be paid most honourably, certainly house, remembered him, and hoped his children did not
most honourably ; and they were paid-all-except take after him.' Why?' • Oh, he was a very bad man!
mine! There, Sir! it is out ; excuse it-excuse it ; but ' But pray what has become of this Mr. Shelley, then?' asked the man's wife, who had come from profoundest astonishment – a bill ! — was that all?
I am glad it is out.' • What! a bill! I exclaimed, in an inner room. • He was drowned,' I replied. 'Oh!
All, Sir! all! everything of the sort ; every shilling, I that's just what one might have expected. Drowned!
assure you, has been paid, but my little account; and it Lud-a-mercy! ay, just what one might ha' said he'd come Ile was always on the water, always boating, boat- send it in. What,' said I, “are you not the squire here?
was my fault ; I don't know how in the world I forgot to ing-nerer easy but when he was in that boat.. Do you what are you?' know what a trick was played him by some wag ?' No.'
"Oh, no, Sir ; I am no squire here! I am a trades. • He called his boat Vaga,'' and one morning he found
man! I am—in the general way!' the name lengthened by a piece of chalk, with the word “ bond"'--Vagabond. There are clever fellows here as
««• Drive on! I said, springing into the carriage,
drive like the Dragon of Wantley out of this placewell as in London, mind you. But Mr. Shelley was not Shelley is remembered in Marlowe because there was offended.' It was in vain that I inquired
one bill left unpaid !'-There, again, is fame!" amongst the class of little gentry in the place for information about Shelley—they knew nothing of any such per
The sketch of Shelley is, like many others, son. At length, after much research, and the running written with a warm spirit of indulgence for the to and fro of waiters from the inn, I was directed to an poet's perversities, if it be even allowed that ancient surgeon, who had attended almost everybody for the last half century. I found him an old man of nearly
Shelley's mind ever knew any improper bias. ninety. Ile recollected Shelley, had attended him, but | As much, or even more, though from causes quite knew little about him. He was a very unsocial man, he opposite, would the wayward youth or boyhood of said; kept no company but Mr. Peacock's, and that of Shelley have needed that kind, enlightened, and his boat, and was seen reading as he went along. The fostering guardian friend, for want of whom old gentleman, however, kindly sent his servant to point Chatterton perished. He was a very wise and out Shelley's house to me, and as I turned up the street I saw him standing bare-headed on the pavement before liberal-minded man who said,
" He that spits his door, in active discourse with various neighbours. My against the wind spits in his own face.” Such, inquiries had evidently aroused the Marlowcan curiosity; in his early youth, was the fatal error of Shelley; On coming up, the old gentleman inquired eagerly if I and for all the hard names that can be given to wanted to learn more yet about Mr. Shelley. I had learned little or nothing. I replied that I should be very happy. his oppressors, the Oxford doctors, and however
Then,' said lie, come in, Sir, for I have sent for a much they may deserve to be called "swine,"
who "allowed or encouraged all manner of crime , beauty, such as seems to belong to old romance, and and licentiousness," and saw nothing amiss while where the people of old romance might be met without their brutal pride” was not wounded by the like a distant ocean.
wonder. And through all goes the sound of the river
Those who have been in the Highexposure of their “ignorance." This is hard lan- lands know and recollect such scenes, so carpeted with guage, Friend Howitt.
the crimson heather, so beautified with the light hued There are other parts of the early history of fairy birch woods. Still the way leads on till you come Shelley which we hope he lived to regret, and which to the Dee, where it makes a wide and splendid sweep
deep below the bank on which you are, and then you may admit of palliation, though never of uncom
wonder where can be Bellatrich, the house you seek, for promising defence. But how full of consolation you see no house at all! In the birch wood, however, the thought, that as the intellect of men of genius you now discern one white cottage, and that must be it. ripens, their moral nature ever becomes more pure No! To that cottage I went, and out came a woman with and elevated ;-that the dross falls away, and spectacles on, and her Bible open in her hand. I asked
if she could tell me where Bellatrich was, and I expected the pure gold which it concealed gleams forth- her to say — Here !' but she replied in a low, quiet that the latter years of many of those on Mr. voice, ‘I will show you, for it is not easy to find.' Howitt's list, of Burns, of Byron, of Shelley, of And so on we went for another quarter of a mile ; when Miss Landon, were their noblest or their most coming to a little hidden valley, running at right angles
from the river up into the moorlands, she showed me a redeeming! They were all coming to themselves, smoke rising above the trees, and told me there I should all becoming what they were created to be. find the use. And here was the place to which Byron's
To an early “Haunt” of one whose youthful life mother used to retire in the summer months from Aberneeds, and here finds great indulgence, we must deen with her boy. The valloy is divided by a wild now introduce our readers. This solitary and pictu-hung with the native birch and a few oaks. At the up
brook hidden among green elders, and its slopes are resque residence of Byron, when a very young boy, per end stands a farm house, but this is new; and the posseses the gloss of novelty and the freshness of farmer, to show me the house in which Byron lived, took nature. It seems to have been visited by Mr. me into his farm-yard. The house Mrs. Byron inhabited Howitt in the soaking August of 1845.–Forty is now a barn, or sort of hay-loft rather, in his yard. It
was exactly one of the one-storied, long Highland huts, miles from Aberdeen, leading up through the fine and is now included in the quadrangle of his farm-yard ; scenery of Dee-side, lies the now provincially but the bed in which Byron used to lie is still there. It fashionable watering-place of Ballater
is one of the deal cupboard sort of beds that are common
in Highland huts. There it stands amongst his straw. * All up Deeside there is well-cultivated land, but, He says many people come to see the place, and sewith the exception of this meadow, on which Ballater veral have tried to buy the bed from him ; but that he stands, all is now hill, dark forest, and moorland ; while should think it quite a shame to sell it. Imagine, below, on the banks of the winding and rapid Dee, birch then, Mrs. Byron living here upwards of forty years Foods present themselves in that peculiar beauty so truly ago, and Byron, a boy of about ten years of age; belonging to the Highlands. On your right, first looks
soon after which he left for England, to be converted out the dark height of Culbleen, mentioned by Byron in
out of a poor Highland boy into a Lord. There was prohis earlier poems :
bably another hut or so near, as there is now, but that “When I see some dark hill point its crest to the sky, was all. The house they lived in was but a hut itself. I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Culbleen ;'
There was no Ballater then.
There was no then
carriage-road then. There was no cultivated meadow. – Morven, streaked with snow ;'
All was moorland, and woods, and wild mountains. There and Loch-na-garr lifts himself long and lofty over the was a rude road at the margin of the river, but so stony lower chains that close the valley beyond Ballater. that no carriage could exist upon it. Nay, this present
“ Ballater, though a neat village now, did not exist | farmer says, that when he came to live here, within these when Byron was here. There were a few cottages for the ten years, there was no road into this little hidden valley, use of visiters near the other side of the present bridge, There was no bridge over the brook, but they went through but those who came to drink the waters generally located amid the great stones, and that without taking any trouthemselves in farm-houses as near as they could to the ble to put them aside. There was 10 garden, and there wells, which are two miles down the opposite bank of was no field. Around rose, as they do now, dark moorthe Dee. Mrs. Byron chose her summer residence in land mountains, and the little black-faced sheep and the Que of the most thoroughly secluded and out-of-the-world black cattle roamed over the boggy, heathery, and birchspots which it was possible to find, perhaps, in the whole scattered valley, as they do still; cxcept within the little island. It lies four miles below Ballater, on the same circle of cultivation that the present tenant has made.side of the river as the spring, that is, two miles beyond What a place for a civilised woman and her only son ! the wells,' as they call them, some chalybeate springs How he got so far around as he did is to me a miracle. which issue from the hills, and which now bring many
Before, however, quitting this favourite scene people to Ballater in summer. You proceed to them of the early life of Byron, which he never again visited, I along the feet of the hills, and at the feet also of a dark must notice it under the aspect which it happened to prepine wood. The river is below you ; above you are these sent to me from the particular time of my arrival. It tarantain forests, and the way lies sometimes through was on the 18th of August, just one week after the comthe wood. Under beeches, which shade the way, there mencement of the grouse-shooting season, and every inn are benches set at intervals, so that a more charming on the road was crowded with sportsmen and their serwalk, with the noble mountain views opposite to you, vants. Lord Castlereagh, on his way to his shooting-ground cannot well be conceived. At about two miles on the in Braemar, was my next door neighbour on the mail from mond, after passing under stupendous dark cliffs that show Aberdeen ; and his wide acquaintance with the sports of themselves above the craggy and steep forest, you find a various countries, the capercalzie and bear-shooting of couple of rows of houses, and here are the waters issuing the north of Europe, in particular of Russia, made his out of pipes into stone basins. Going still forwards, you descriptions of them, as well as of the deer-shooting of come out upon the wild moorlands. Above you, on the Braemar-his particular sport-very interesting. But right hand, rise the desolate hills ; below, on the left, the weather of that wet summer was at this time outwanders on the Dee, amid its birch woods ; and the valley rageously rainy, and from every wayside inn the lugubriis one of those scenes of chaotic beauty, which, perhaps, ous faces of sportsmen were visible. As we drew up, at the Highlands only show. It is a sea of heath-clad little the village of Banchory, the window was thronged with hills, sprinkled with the bright green birch trees, and here livery servants; and a gentleman at an open upper window, and there a dark Scotch fir. It is a fairy land of purple 'eyeing anxiously the showery clouds hanging upon the
Hills, caught sight of Lord Castlereagh, and called out, in totally destroyed they be-shad not thememory and a tone of momentary animation, quickly relapsing into honour of Byron, as well as the entreaty of his melancholy, · Ha, Cass! are you there? Here I have been these four days, and nothing but this confounded relatives, demanded the sacrifice. The principle rain. Not a foot have I yet been able to set upon the of telling all that he knows, and sometimes ao heath. There are six of us."
little more than he can well establish, has led Mr. "Who is that who addresses you so familiarly ?' Howitt to relate the subjoined anecdote, after
«*Oh! it is Sir John Guest! Poor Sir Joho! What stating an elaborate though somewhat contras! a purgatory!
" On went the coach. At Ballater, again thronged dictory case which he has made out of L. E. L. was the door with livery servants. Tho rain was falling having, throughout her whole bright, brief, and: in torrents ; there were nine shooting gentlemen in the troubled literary career, been, familiar with house, not one of whom could stir out."
poisons, and with thoughts of suicide, and dye, i The imagination of the reader may fill up this ing at last either from an over-dose of hydrogy.r grand outline of the fit nursing-place of a great anic acid, or from having mistaken that drug poet, how wayward soever was the man, for a more harmless medicine : mit -03 1
No disguise is made of Byron having con- “There is a still more painful fact (than Miss Lándon's tracted, in the opinion of Mr. Howitt, a marriage acquaintance with distilling poisons) in existence, which, of convenience, but neither this nor anything else I believe, has never been before adverted to in priat, but extenuates in his eyes the conduct of Lady Byron, fully home. During the agonies of mind which Miss who, he seems to think, was not the less bound to Landon suffered, at a time when enlumny was dealing overlook the vices or eccentricities of her lord; very freely with her name, her old friend, and, for a long especially now, that the world, which suffered no- time, co-inmate, Miss Roberts, came one day, and found thing from them, is, in its late generous revulsion her very much agitated. · Have those horrible, rezi of feeling, disposed to forgive all, where formerly ports," she cagerly inquired, got into the papers,
Roberts Miss Roberts assured her they had it would forgive nothing.
. If they do,' she exclaimed, opening a drawer" The second volume of the “Homes and Haunts” | in the table, and taking out a vial, I am resolved commences with Crabbe, whose life is compiled --here is my remedy !
The vial was a vial of prus
sic acid. from the ample, excellent, and most interesting
This fact I have on the authority of the On first ac
late Emma Roberts herself. memoir written by the poet's son.
There remains, there
fore, no question that Miss Landon was well acquainted quaintance, Mr. Howitt would not allow Crabbe with the nature of prussic acid, for she kept it by to be a poet at all ; but he came to discover that her, and had declared, under circumstances of cruel exCrabbe was a great and unique writer of some citement, her resolve to use it in a certain contingency. kind, and finally an eminent and a genuine poet. Being found, therefore, with an emptied vial of this very
poison in her hand, and dead on the floor, can leave no As such, he quotes verses from Crabbe's poems, rational doubt that she died by it, and by her own hand. which merited all the praise originally bestowed “ But there remains the question whether she took it upon them by Mr. Jeffrey, whose generous criti-purposely, and it may be very strongly doubted that she cism time has confirmed.
did. From all that has transpired, it is more probable Hogg, to whose “Home” of Altrive a pil- that she had taken it by mistake.”. grimage was made, every one allows to have been Mr. Howitt having raised up anew this ona poet, but settles for himself the shepherd's pre- happy and mysterious affair, and given his readers cise poetical attributes and rank among the legi- a strong impression that Mrs. Maclean was guilty. timate offspring of the muses.
of self-destruction, now sets himself-but, we In the Memoir of Hogg, and indeed in every fear, less successfully—to show that it may and other, Mr. Howitt has suppressed no hasty and must have been all mistake. perhaps regretted charge, or more serious revela- Except this singular anecdote, we learn nothing tion which the hero or his friends may have made; new of the gifted and unfortunate being whose nor fact, whether new or old, authentic or pro- | life, as strongly as any upon record, illustrates blematical, which can either enlarge the know- the errors of genius, and the miseries of the false poledge of his readers or gratify their curiosity. sition in which literary people--authors by profes-> Thus the "Shepherd's" quarrels and squabbles sion--too often place themselves, though the hardwith Mr. Blackwood, the bookseller, and his lite- hearted, thankless world, must bear the whole of rary staff, are again brought forward at full length, a blame, which, to say the least, is fairly divisible, and generally in Hogg's own words. The Shep. With a little more--we must not say of prudence herd, no doubt, had cause of complaint; but it and discretion, as these are cold-blooded qualities, must be remembered that here we have only one which, by its dispensing power, genius is priviside of the story, so far at least as regards Mr. leged to disclaim—but of the commonplace vulgar Blackwood individually. It is probable that honesty which forbids a man to live above his, these disclosures, or rippings up of old sores, are means--with a little more self-respect and genumade upon principle, since Mr. Howitt condemms ine, sturdy independence of spirit, how many as an unpardonable, if not an immoral act, of "the calamities of authors" might have been Moore's supprossion of Byron's autobiography averted. entrusted to him for publication ; which suppres- Mr. Howitt powerfully advocates the necessity síon the English public' has also resented, as most of co-operation and combination among literary unjustifiably baulking its prurient curiosity. Yet men against the publishers, and he gives authors, Moore, we apprehend, has done worse things in in their individual capacity, some good advice. his time ; for we cannot believe that he would But while the picture which he has drawn of have been so weak as to destroy those remains if them, and which we copy below, continues faithfully to represent a great number, or a majority, of barricades of newspapers and reviews, they fire with the craft, they must, we sadly fear, remain the murderous rage on each other, instead of turning their
force on the common enemy. degraded slaves which they either makethemselves,
“When we call to mind the men who are now actually or consent to become. Authorship has been neither living as members of the great community of authors, rich, degradation 'nor misery to such a man as Southey, bankers, men of title and large estates, wealthy traders, plying cheerfully and indefatigably, day by day, ladies and gentlemen of the most respectable private forluis allotted task to Ebenezer Elliott with his tunes, professional men, clearing large incomes by their
professions distinct from literature, it must be confessed sturdy independence, maintained by honest indus- that the world has no such instance of infatuation to show try to Wordsworth, who married upon a bare as that of authors. Combine, and they may defy poverty hundred a year—a pittance which must, in one and the world." month, have sent town-bred geniuses to forestall
These “movers of society," and diffusers of and pawn their wits, and prostrate themselves to the knowledge,” are, at the same time, pronouncedia publishers and to a hundred more men of undoubt- set of either imbéciles, or "Ishmaelites.” Tailors ed genius, from whom high-minded integrity and and bakers, and cotton-spinners, can combine self-respect have warded off the worst "calami- though they have seldom made much by it---but ties of authors.” It is in speaking of Hogg that the publishers, it appears, laugh to scorn the very Mr. Howitt introduces this painful subject ; for idea of authors' acting on a plan which, though Hogg, too, had his full share of the “calamities highly lauded by Mr. Howitt, does 'not originate of authors," though by one means or another, with him, and which, we are told, if carried into he contrived to get and to spend more money than effect, would “ rapidly change the tone of puball the Hoggs since the Field of Flodden. But lishers”
Vu! he is not alone ::
“ Towards men who had not only learned to respect * Scott, the most successful author of any age, though themselves, but were resolved to establish respect for the possessed of a good income independent of literature, died
body. • Get authors to combine! Sooner,"exclaim bothi a bankrupt. Maginn, Hood, Blanchard, and a host of publishers and authors themselves, when suola a notion is obers, have yet to swell the history of the calamities of avowed, chain the winds, or make granite slabs out of authors! Speaking again of a certain publisher, James sea-sand. Yet, spite of this humiliating opinion of ausays; The great fault of the man is that the more he thors, let but a number of the most respectable names can provoke an author by insolence and contempt he likes the better. Besides, he will never confess that he is in rest of the worthy will fock around them, and that few
once unite for the purpose, and it will be seen that the the wrong, else anything might be forgiven. No, no ;
would venture to stand alone, as individuals improvident, the thing is impossible that he can ever be wrong! The
or indifferent to the interests and the character of the poor author is not always in the wrong, but," oh, he is
body. the most insufferable beast !") And the truth is, that
"I have considered it my duty to corroborate the main aathors are in the wrong. They are in the wrong not to opinions of James Hogg on this point. In the course of kare combined long ago, like other professions, for the inquiries necessary for the writing of this work, I þave had nuntenance of their common interests, and for the ele to stand on so many spots marked by the miseries of aua ration of the character of the class. They are a rope of thors ; in rooms where they have shed their own blood, sund. Cliques and small coteries may, and do congre- or perished by poison in the hour of destitution or despair; gate, but there has ever been wanting amongst authors a
by dismal pools, where they have plunged at midnight comprehensive plan of union,”
from starvation to death ; or where, covered with fame, * But Mr. Howitt has also exposed the class, as if they have lain on their death-beds, with scarce any other he were a' mere selfish publisher, when he thus covering; and I have vowed on those awful spots to call
on my fellow-authors to come forward and vindicate their launches forth :
most glorious profession, and to found an association which "You hear authors commonly spoken of by publishers shall give a motive to evory member to respect the name 23 a most reckless, improvident, unprincipled, and con- he bears-that of a prophet and an apostle of truth to the teruptible set of men. This is the tone in which pub- world and a hope of ultimate aid to him and his, if such Ishers are edacated, it is the tone that pervades their aid be needful, as a right and not a boon.".
1 1 1 4 of sublishing houses, it is the spirit and gospel of the Row. The authors of the present day are regarded by publishers
Mr. Howitt here reports a conversation which erastiy as they were in the days of Grub Street." In their took place between himself and the publisher of eyes they are poor, helpless, and untractable devils ; and "a celebrated Review, on the relative i merits of whence arises this? It is because authors have taken no authors and publishers, which shews why the lat: single step to place themselves on a different footing; ter class despise the former ; 'and, in the present Are authors now what authors were in the days of Grub Street ?' They are a far different body. They are a far condition of society--if in this respect society shall nore numerous and far more respectable body. We may ever change—there is, it must be confessed, strong sately assert, that there is no profession which includes so vindication, if not altogether sound reason, for the much talent, as there is none which diffuses such a vast class-contempt. * nttiilit PS, 99,7437 1 Jouni amount of knowledge and intelligence through the world. They are the class, indeed, which are the enlighters, and
Mr. Howitt, at this interview, overheard the modellers, and movers of society. Yet, strange to say, publisher forbidding his clerks to open an account invineibly powerful in the public cause, they are weak as with a bookseller, when informed that the mant water in their own--capable of challenging offenders in was also .“ an author." --- But this, after all, the very highest places; arraigning at the public tribunal, might neither be “contempt' of authorship, as, lords, peers, or the very crowned heads themselves ; and sure, when they have truth on their side, of being vic
a profession, nor' suspicion of the applicant's tarióusyet they fie prostrate in individual weakness at honesty, but the prudent (apprehension of the foot of overy well-fed seller of a book, and receive experienced tradesman, who well knew, that in hie kicks with an astonishing patience. Nay, they have London, at least, the two callings are not likely, not the shrewdness of our butchers and bakers, who hang to thrive in the same -firm.A very popular aut. together and grow rich ; they are a set of Ishmaelites, whose hands are against every man of their own class, and thor was next announced, and the publisher re-i every man's hand is against them. - Frota behind the tired with him for a few minutes, after whichi