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LITERARY BYWAYS.
Literary Byways
By William Andrews
LONDON:
WILLIAM ANDREWS & CO., 5, FARRINGDON AVENUE, E.C.
1898.
Preface.
In the following pages no attempt has been made to add to the many
critical works authors bring under the notice of the public. My aim in
this collection of leisure-hour studies is to afford entertaining reading
on some topics which do not generally attract the reader's attention.
It is necessary for me to state that three of the chapters were originally
contributed to the columns of the _Chambers's Journal_, and by courtesy of
the Editor are reproduced in this volume.
WILLIAM ANDREWS.
THE HULL PRESS,
_July 5th, 1898_.
Contents.
PAGE
AUTHORS AT WORK 1
THE EARNINGS OF AUTHORS 43
DECLINED WITH THANKS 67
EPIGRAMS ON AUTHORS 76
POETICAL GRACES 90
POETRY ON PANES 94
ENGLISH FOLK-RHYMES 100
THE POETRY OF TOAST LISTS AND MENU CARDS 110
TOASTS AND TOASTING 120
CURIOUS AMERICAN OLD-TIME GLEANINGS 131
THE EARLIEST AMERICAN POETESS: ANNE BRADSTREET 143
A PLAYFUL POET: MISS CATHERINE FANSHAWE 149
A POPULAR SONG WRITER: MRS. JOHN HUNTER 160
A POET OF THE POOR: MARY PYPER 167
THE POET OF THE FISHER-FOLK: MRS. SUSAN K. PHILLIPS 176
A POET AND NOVELIST OF THE PEOPLE: THOMAS MILLER 186
THE COTTAGE COUNTESS 199
THE COMPILER OF "OLD MOORE'S ALMANAC": HENRY ANDREWS 206
JAMES NAYLER, THE MAD QUAKER, WHO CLAIMED TO BE THE MESSIAH 213
A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE: SWAN'S STRANGE STORY 222
SHORT LETTERS 228
INDEX 237
LITERARY BYWAYS.
Authors at Work.
The interest of the public in those who write for its entertainment
naturally extends itself to their habits of life. All such habits, let it
be said at once, depend on individual peculiarities. One will write only
in the morning, another only at night, a third will be able to force
himself into effort only at intervals, and a fourth will, after the manner
of Anthony Trollope, be almost altogether independent of times and places.
The nearest approach to a rule was that which was formulated by a great
writer of the last generation, who said that morning should be employed in
the production of what De Quincey called "the literature of knowledge,"
and the evening in impassioned work, "the literature of power."
But habits, however unreasonable they may be, are ordinarily very powerful
with authors. One of the most renowned writers always attired himself in
evening dress before sitting down to his desk. The influence of his
attire, he said, gave dignity and restraint to his style. Another author,
of at least equal celebrity, could only write in dressing gown and
slippers. In order that he might make any progress, it was absolutely
essential that he should be unconscious of his clothes. Most authors
demand quiet and silence as the conditions of useful work. Carlyle padded
his room, in order that he might not be annoyed by the clatter of his
neighbours. On the other hand, Jean Paul Richter, whose influence is
visible throughout nearly the whole of Carlyle's writings, would work
serenely in the kitchen with his mother attending to her domestic duties,
and the children playing around him. In an article contributed by Carlyle
to the _Edinburgh Review_ on Richter, we get some interesting facts about
this truly great man. The following is reproduced from Doering. "Richter's
studying or sitting apartment, offered about this time (1793),[1] a true
and beautiful emblem of his simple and noble way of thought, which
comprehended at once the high and the low. Whilst his mother, who then
lived with him, busily pursued her household work, occupying herself about
stove and dresser, Jean Paul was sitting in a corner of the same room, at
a simple writing-desk, with few or no books about him, but merely with one
or two drawers containing excerpts and manuscripts. The jingle of the
household operations seemed not at all to disturb him, any more than did
the cooing of the pigeons, which fluttered to and fro in the chamber--a
place, indeed, of considerable size." Carlyle, commenting on the preceding
passage, says--"Our venerable Hooker, we remember, also enjoyed 'the
jingle of household operations,' and the more questionable jingle of
shrewd tongues to boot, while he wrote; but the good thrifty mother, and
the cooing pigeons, were wanting. Richter came afterwards to live in fine
mansions, and had the great and learned for associates, but the gentle
feelings of those days abode with him: through life he was the same
substantial, determinate, yet meek and tolerating man. It is seldom that
so much rugged energy can be so blandly attempered, that so much vehemence
and so much softness will go together."
Dr. Johnson's "Dictionary" is one of the most familiar books in the
English language, and the particulars of the way in which it was compiled
are of considerable interest. He agreed with a number of leading London
booksellers to prepare the work for L1,775, and spent seven years over the
task. When he undertook it, he expected to finish it in three years. His
friend, Dr. Adams, called upon him one day, and found him busy with his
book, and, says Boswell, a dialogue as follows ensued. "Adams: 'This is a
great work, sir. How are you to get all the etymologies?' Johnson: 'Why,
here is a shelf with Junius and Skinner, and others; and there is a Welsh
gentleman who has published a collection of Welsh proverbs, who will help
me with the Welsh.' Adams: 'But, sir, how can you do this in three years?'
Johnson: 'Sir, I have no doubt that I can do it in three years.' Adams:
'But the French Academy, which consists of forty members, took forty years
to complete their dictionary.' Johnson: 'Sir, thus it is--this is the
proportion. Let me see: forty times forty is sixteen hundred. As three to
sixteen hundred, so is the proportion of an Englishman to a Frenchman.'"
This pleasantry is not reproduced to show Johnson's vanity, but to give a
glimpse of some of the books he used, and his own ideas as to the period
he expected to spend over the undertaking.
Johnson fitted up an upper room like a counting house, in which were
employed six copyists; and in spite of his asserted aversion from
Scotchmen, he engaged no less than five of them on his book, so that his
objection to the sons of Caledonia cannot have been very deeply rooted.
Many of his words were drawn from previously published dictionaries, and
others he supplied himself. He spent much time in reading the best
informed authors, and marked their books with a pencil when he found
suitable material for his work. He would not under any consideration quote
the productions of an author whose writings were calculated to hurt sound
religion and morality. The marked sentences were copied on slips of paper,
which were afterwards posted into an interleaved copy of an old dictionary
opposite the words to which they related.
At the commencement of the work he made a rather serious mistake by
writing on both sides of his paper. He had to pay twenty pounds to have it
transcribed to one side of the paper only.
It has been truthfully observed that Dr. Johnson's "Illustrations of the
meanings and uses of words" is the most valuable part of the work, and
shows an extraordinary knowledge of literature. Some of the definitions
were characteristic of the man. Take for example the following, to be
found in the first edition:--"Excise. A hateful tax levied upon
commodities, adjudged, not by the common judges of property, but wretches
hired by those to whom the excise is paid.--Network. Anything reticulated
or decussated at equal distances, with interstices between the
intersections.--Oats. A grain which in England is generally given to
horses, but which in Scotland supports the people." Sir Walter Scott
related the happy retort by Lord Elibank, who said, when he heard the
definition--"Yes; and where else will you see _such_ horses, and _such_
men."--Patron. Commonly, a wretch, who supports with insolence, and is
paid with flattery.--Pension. In England, it is generally understood to
mean pay given to a state hireling for treason to his country.
Mr. Andrew Miller, bookseller, of the Strand, took the chief management of
the publication, and appears to have been much disappointed at the slow
progress the compiler made. He frequently pressed Johnson for more "copy,"
and towards the latter part of the work became most anxious, for Johnson
had drawn all his money in drafts long before he had completed the
"Dictionary."
According to Boswell, "When the messenger who carried the last sheet to
Miller returned, Johnson asked him, 'Well, what did he say?' 'Sir,'
answered the messenger, 'he said, "Thank God I have done with him."' 'I am
glad,' replied Johnson, 'that he thanks God for anything.'"
The Dictionary was published in 1755 in two volumes at L4 4s. 0d., and
soon went through several editions. The expenses of producing the work
left Johnson a small margin of profit. It firmly established his fame.
Having referred at some length to Johnson's "Dictionary," let us pay some
little attention to another important work of reference, the "Encyclopaedia
Britannica." The first edition was issued in weekly numbers commenced in
1771, and was completed in 1773. It consisted of three small quarto
volumes. The first editor was William Smellie, a studious man who made his
start in life as a compositor, and left the printing office for an hour or
two daily to attend the classes of the Edinburgh University. At nineteen
he was employed as proof-reader, conductor and compiler of the _Scots'
Magazine_ at a salary of sixteen shillings a week. He devised and wrote
the chief articles in the "Encyclopaedia Britannica." The agreement of the
work is a curiosity of literature, and reads as follows:
"Mr. Andrew Bell to Mr. William Smellie.
"Sir,--As we are engaged in publishing a 'Dictionary of the Arts and
Sciences,' and as you have informed us that there are fifteen capital
sciences, which you will undertake for, and write up the sub-divisions and
detached parts of them, conforming to your plan, and likewise to prepare
the whole work for the press, etc., etc. We hereby agree to allow you L200
for your trouble."
A second edition was called for in 1776, and the proprietors offered
Smellie a share in the undertaking if he would edit it; but having other
pressing work on hand, he declined the proposal, and Joseph Tytler, a man
of varied attainments, was engaged. He was born in 1747, and was the son
of a minister of a rural parish in Scotland. After receiving a liberal
education, he was placed with a surgeon at Forfar. He subsequently made a
couple of voyages as a doctor in a whaling-ship to Greenland. Next he
proceeded to Edinburgh with the money he had earned, with a view of
completing his medical education at the University. He had no sooner got
nicely settled in the Northern capital, than he married a girl in humble
circumstances, a step which did not help to advance his worldly interests.
He made many attempts to succeed, but always failed. Keen poverty kept his
nose to the grindstone. His faculty in projecting works was much larger
than his energy in carrying them out. Before he had reached the age of
thirty, he commenced his labours as the editor of the "Encyclopaedia
Britannica." The remuneration he received was very small; and while the
work was in progress, he lodged, with his wife and family, with a poor
washerwoman at the village of Duddingston, and for his writing-desk turned
her wash-tub upside down.
The poor fellow never attempted to hide his poverty. It is said by a
gentleman who once waited upon him, that he found him making a repast on a
cold potato, which he continued eating with as much composure as if he
were dining in the most sumptuous style.
The Encyclopaedia was a great success, and sold to the extent of ten
thousand copies; the owners of the copyright cleared L42,000. Moreover
two of the owners, one a printer and the other an engraver, were paid for
their respective work; yet in spite of this handsome profit, the result of
Tytler's ability, they permitted him to live with his wife and children in
penury.
He could write almost on any topic, and at any time. As a proof of this,
his biographer tells a good anecdote. "A gentleman in Edinburgh," he
states, "once told him he wanted as much matter as would form a junction
between a certain history and its continuance to a later period. He found
Tytler lodged in one of those elevated apartments called garrets, and was
informed by the old woman with whom he resided that he had gone to bed
rather the worse for liquor. Determined, however, not to depart without
fulfilling his errand, he was shown into Mr. Tytler's apartment by the
light of a lamp, where he found him in the situation described by the
landlady. The gentleman having acquainted him with the nature of the
business which brought him at so late an hour, Mr. Tytler called for pen
and ink, and in a short time produced about a page and a half of
letterpress, which answered the end as completely as if it had been the
result of the most mature deliberation, previous notice, and a mind
undisturbed by any liquid capable of deranging its ideas."
Tytler was a poet of some skill, and wrote a number of popular songs,
three of which find a place in "The Celebrated Songs of Scotland." He
enjoyed the friendship of Robert Burns. In 1792 he published a prospectus
of a paper to be named the _Political Gazetteer_; when it came under the
notice of Burns he wrote to him as follows:--"Go on, sir; lay bare with
undaunted heart and steady hand that horrid mass of corruption called
politics and state-craft." At the time he penned this he was an officer in
the Excise, and for this and similar expressions he was rebuked by the
Board of Excise. Burns described Tytler as an "obscene, tippling, but
extraordinary body; a mortal who, though he drudges about Edinburgh with
leaky shoes, a skylighted hat, yet that same drunken mortal is author and
compiler of three-fourths of the 'Encyclopaedia Britannica,' which he
composed at half-a-guinea a week."
We must, before dismissing Tytler, give another anecdote, although it does
not relate to literature. We read that "he constructed a huge bag, and
filled it full of gas, and invited the inhabitants of Edinburgh to witness
his flight through the regions of space." Mr. Tytler, it appears, slowly
rose in his bag as high as a garden wall, when something went wrong with
the machinery, and he was deposited head foremost "softly on an adjoining
dunghill." The "gaping crowd nearly killed themselves with laughter." He
was afterwards known as "Balloon Tytler." He wrote a seditious placard,
and had to flee to save his neck. He found a home in America, and for some
time edited a paper at Salem. After a life of toil and trouble, he died in
the year 1803.
Much has been said about the habits and earnings of Sir Walter Scott, and
it is only necessary for us to observe that he wrote in his
neatly-arranged library, where at any moment he could refer to his books.
He was a most methodical man, and never had to waste time hunting up lost
papers and books. He usually commenced writing between five and six, and
worked until ten in the morning, and during this period it was his
practice to fast. When pressed with work, he would often take breakfast at
nine, and lounge about until eleven, and then write with a will until two
o'clock. During the closing years of Sir Walter Scott's life he employed
William Laidlaw as his amanuensis. Laidlaw was a poet and prose writer of
some merit, possessed of superior shrewdness, and highly esteemed by Sir
Walter and his family. He was for many years steward at Abbotsford.
Another famous son of the North was Professor Wilson, perhaps more widely
known as "Christopher North," of _Blackwood's Magazine_. He entered in a
large ledger skeletons of intended articles; when he felt in the humour
for working, he turned to his skeletons, selected one, and quickly clothed
it with flesh and nerve. Wilson in a short time could produce a
considerable quantity of original matter. Mr. J. S. Roberts, the editor of
the volume of "Scottish Ballads" in the Chandos Classics series, was a boy
at Blackwood's when Wilson was the chief contributor to "_Maga_." It was
one of Roberts' duties to go to Christopher North for his "copy." He was
wont to sit and amuse himself whilst the great, lion-headed man wrote or
furnished an article on all manner of scraps of waste paper. One day there
was a high wind, and Roberts was indiscreet enough to put Professor
Wilson's article in his hat. The result was hugely disastrous. The
head-gear was blown off, and Wilson's article was distributed in small
portions over all the streets of Edinburgh. It was a frightful thing to
have to go to the author and explain the catastrophe. John Wilson would
swear, as the boy knew; and for a while he swore most stormily, but
eventually calmed his choler, and wrote the article over again.
Professor Wilson was the author of a severe critique on the earlier poems
of Alfred Tennyson, and in reply to it the poet wrote the following
lines:--
"TO CHRISTOPHER NORTH.
"You did late review my lays,
Crusty Christopher;
You did mingle blame and praise,
Rusty Christopher.
"When I learnt from whom it came,
I forgave you all the blame,
Musty Christopher;
I could _not_ forgive the praise,
Fusty Christopher.
After penning the foregoing, the Laureate does not appear to have troubled
himself further respecting Professor Wilson.
Let us now look at the method of a famous French author. Like many able
writers, Balzac thought out every detail of a story before he commenced
writing it. The places he proposed describing were visited, and the
special features carefully noted. His note-books were filled with
particulars of all classes of characters, for reproduction in his novels.
No sooner had he made up his mind to write on a certain subject, and
collected materials for his work, than he retired from the haunts of men,
and declined to see even his closest friends. Letters might come, but they
were not opened; he was dead to the outer world. His blinds were drawn,
the sunlight shut out, and candles lighted. His ordinary costume was
changed for a loose white monkish gown. The round of his daily toil was as
follows:--At two in the morning he commenced writing, and continued it
until six; a bath was then indulged in; at eight he took coffee, and
rested until the clock marked the hour of nine. He resumed writing until
noon, when an hour was occupied over breakfast. He again laboured with his
pen from one to six, when his work closed for the day. He dined and
conferred with his publisher, and at eight o'clock he retired to rest.
This daily round often occupied two months, in which period he furnished
the first rough draft of his work. The matter was usually re-written, and
even when in type he would frequently alter three or four proofs. We are
not surprised to learn "that he was the terror of the printers; few could
decipher his 'copy,' and it is said that those few made a stipulation with
their employer to work on it for one hour at a time."
He was a most painstaking writer, but was never satisfied with his
productions. "I took," he said, "sixteen hours out of twenty-four over the
elaboration of my unfortunate style, and I am never satisfied with it when
done."
Carlyle's productions gave the printers much trouble, on account of the
many alterations he made, and his cramped penmanship. His changes were not
confined to his manuscripts; he revised his proofs to such an extent that
it was frequently found easier to reset the matter than to alter it. Miss
Martineau told a good story anent this subject. "One day," she said,
"while in my study, I heard a prodigious sound of laughter on the stairs,
and in came Carlyle, laughing aloud. He had been laughing in that manner
all the way from the printing office in Charing Cross. As soon as he
could, he told me what it was about. He had been to the office to urge the
printer, and the man said: 'Why, sir, you really are so very hard upon us
with your corrections; they take so much time, you see.' After some
remonstrance, Carlyle observed that he had been accustomed to do this sort
of thing; that he had got works printed in Scotland, and--'Yes, indeed,
sir,' interrupted the printer, 'we are aware of that. We have a man here
from Edinburgh, and when he took up a bit of your copy he dropped it as if
it had burnt his fingers, and cried out, 'Lord have mercy! Have you got
that man to print for? Lord knows when we shall get done all his
corrections.'"
Mrs. Gore was the author of many fashionable novels and other works, which
won much favourable notice in her day. She did not confine all her
attention to story-writing; she contributed very largely to the leading
magazines, and wrote successfully for the stage. The list of her works is
a long one, yet, in spite of all her tireless toil with the pen, she
entered very freely into the pleasures of society. Mr. Planche visited her
in Paris in 1837, and in course of a conversation she explained how she
managed to find time to write so much. Said Mrs. Gore: "I receive, as you
know, a few friends at dinner at five o'clock nearly every evening. They
leave me at ten or eleven, when I retire to my own room, and write till
seven or eight in the morning. I then go to bed till noon, when I
breakfast, after which I drive out, shop, pay visits, and return at four,
dress for dinner, and as soon as my friends have departed, go to work
again all night as before." Mrs. Gore died in 1861, at the age of
sixty-two years. Her first book was issued in 1823, and it was followed by
no less than seventy separate works. She lived for many years on the
Continent, and supported her family with her pen.
Mrs. Trollope did not commence her career as an author until she had
"reached the sober season of married and middle life," yet she managed to
produce no less than one hundred and fifteen volumes of fiction. In an
autobiographical work, entitled "What I Remember," by her son, Thomas
Adolphus Trollope, we get some touching pictures of this wonderful woman
writing her books. He speaks of her passing an extended period by the
bedside of her invalid son. From about nine in the morning until eight in
the evening, with "a cheerful countenance and a bleeding heart," she
entertained and nursed her patient. He generally slept about eight, when
she went to her desk and wrote her fiction to amuse light-hearted readers.
She worked from two to three in the morning. This was all done with the
aid of green tea and sometimes laudanum. Mrs. Trollope died at the age of
eighty-three years, so that it cannot be said that hard work killed her,
although she did an immense quantity.
We believe that hard work seldom kills anyone. Some say that it does, and
point to the fate of Southey, one of the most industrious of English men
of letters, to support their assertion. The mention of his name brings to
the mind scenes of sunshine and shadow. He was a lover of books, and his
charming house in Lake-land contained a fine library. Here he read and
worked, and life passed happily. Nothing could tempt him to leave it, not
even the editorship of _The Times_. When bereft of reason, Southey would
linger lovingly amongst the companions of happier days, his beloved books.
He would play with them as a child plays with a toy. It is generally
believed that hard literary labour killed him. When Dr. Charles Mackay
visited Wordsworth he named the matter to him, and was told that there was
no truth in it. Said Wordsworth of Southey: "He was a calm and methodical
worker, and calm, steady work never kills. It is only worry and hurry that
kill. Southey wrote a great deal; but he wrote easily and pleasantly to
himself. Besides, only those who have tried know what an immense deal of
literary work can be got through comfortably by a man who will work
regularly for only four or even three hours a day. Take the case of Sir
Walter Scott, for instance. What an immensity of work he got through; and
yet he was always idle at one o'clock in the afternoon, and ready for any
amusement, or for such change of labour as the garden or the field
afforded. Southey was like him in that respect, and, though he worked
hard, he always contrived to enjoy abundance of leisure. Scott died of
pecuniary trouble, not of work. Southey died of grief for the loss of his
wife."
Lord Byron puzzled his friends by continual production whilst appearing to
occupy himself with everything else but writing.
Hans Christian Andersen had to be alone when he composed his fairy tales.
He was never able to dictate a contribution for the press. All his matter
for the printer was in his own handwriting. This circumstance he named to
Thiers, by whom he was informed that he dictated to an amanuensis the
whole of his "History of the Consulate and the Empire."
Miss Edgeworth wrote her stories in the common sitting-room, surrounded by
her family. Some authors are able to concentrate their attention on a task
and remain unconscious of anything going on around them. Says a recent
writer on this topic: "Dr. Somerville told Harriet Martineau that he once
laid a wager with a friend that he would abuse Mrs. Somerville in a loud
voice to her face, and she would take no notice; and he did so. Sitting
close to her, he confided to his friend the most injurious things--that
she rouged, that she wore a wig, and such nonsense uttered in a very loud
voice; her daughters were in a roar of laughter, while the slandered lady
sat placidly writing. At last her husband made a dead pause after her
name, on which she looked up in an innocent manner saying, "Did you speak
to me?"
Southey too could write in the presence of his family. A more remarkable
method of composition was that of Barry Cornwall. He composed his best
poems in the busy streets of London, only leaving the crowd to enter a
shop to commit to paper the verses he had made.
The poet Gray usually worked himself into the "mood" by reading some
other poet, generally Spenser.
Shelley always composed out of doors sometimes on the roof tops. Trelawney
describes how he found him in a grove near Florence by a pool of water; he
was gazing unconsciously into the depths. Trelawney did not disturb him,
but when Shelley came out of his trance he had written one of his finest
lyrics, in a hand-writing that no other man could decipher.
Wordsworth mainly composed his poems during his rural rambles. It was not
an unusual circumstance for him to write with a slate pencil on a smooth
piece of stone his newly made lines. Surely the hillsides and lovely dales
of Lake-land were fitting places for the great high priest of nature to
give birth to his poetry. He repeated his poems aloud as he composed them,
a practice which greatly puzzled the common people. We cannot perhaps
better illustrate the strange impression it made on the country folk than
by repeating an anecdote told to Dr. Charles Mackay by an American
gentleman. He said--"One of his countrymen had lost his way in a vain
attempt to discover Rydal Mount; had taken a wrong turn and gone three or
four miles beyond or to the side of the point he should have aimed at.
Meeting an old woman in a scarlet cloak, who was gathering sticks, he
asked her the way to Rydal Mount. She could not tell him; she did not
know. 'Not know,' said the American, 'the house of the great Wordsworth?'
'No.' 'What, not the house of the man whose fame brings people here from
all parts of the world?' 'No,' she insisted, 'but what was he great
in?--was he a preacher or a doctor?' 'Greater than preacher or doctor--he
was a poet.' 'Oh, poet!' she replied; 'and why did you not tell me that
before? I know who you mean now. I often meet him in the woods, jabbering
his pottery (poetry) to himself. But I'm not afraid of him. He's quite
harmless, and almost as sensible as you or me.'" This is the old story--a
man, however great, is not much thought of in his own district.
It is generally understood that Lord Tennyson composed much of his poetry
during his rural rambles.
Edwin Arnold, the editor of the _Daily Telegraph_, wrote his "Light of
Asia" whilst travelling in the railway carriage to and from his newspaper
office.
Some authors appear to be able to write at any time and in any place.
Anthony Trollope did much writing in a railway train. "It was," he says,
"while I was engaged on 'Barchester Towers' that I adopted a system of
writing, which for some years afterwards I found to be very serviceable to
me. My time was greatly occupied in travelling, and the nature of my
travelling was now changed. I could not any longer do it by horseback.
Railroads afforded me my means of conveyance, and I found that I passed in
railway carriages very many hours of my existence.... If I intended to
make a profitable business of writing, and, at the same time, to do my
best for the Post Office, I must turn my hours to more account than I
could by reading. I made for myself, therefore, a little tablet, and I
found after a few days' exercise that I could write as quickly in a
railway carriage as I could at my own desk. I worked with a pencil, and
what I wrote my wife copied afterwards. My only objection to the practice
came from the appearance of literary ostentation, to which I felt myself
to be subject when going to work before four or five fellow passengers.
But I got used to it."
Trollope never attached any importance to a writing mood; to use his own
phrase, he sat down to work just "as a cobbler sits down to make shoes."
When at home he rose at from half-past four to five o'clock daily, and,
attired in his dressing-gown, he went to his writing-room. During the cold
weather his old and favourite Irish servant made a fire in it before he
arrived. He placed his watch before him, and he trained himself to write
two hundred and fifty words every fifteen minutes, and he says that he was
able to perform the feat as regularly as his watch went.
He believed that a serial was spoilt if written month by month as
published. Only once during his long career did he commence publishing a
story before the manuscript was completed, and that was "Framley
Parsonage," in the pages of _Cornhill Magazine_. It is admitted to be one
of his best books. He wielded the pen of a ready writer for nearly forty
years, and in this period produced an enormous quantity of work. He stands
in this respect almost on a level with Sir Walter Scott. No writer of the
highest genius writes like Trollope, though it was Keats' habit to write a
certain number of lines a day when he was engaged on "Endymion." Emerson
remarks "a poet must wait many days in order to glorify one."
The late Bishop Wilberforce managed to write in his chaise even when
driven over rough roads, as well as in railway carriages. His lordship
appeared to be able to use his pen in most unlikely quarters.
Amongst authors noted as early risers must be included Charles Dickens. He
has told us how the solemn and still solitude of the morning had a charm
for him. It was seldom that he wrote before breakfast; as a rule he
confined his writing between the hours of breakfast and luncheon. Dickens
was by no means a rapid writer. When engaged on a novel he regarded three
of his not very large pages of manuscript as a good day's work, and four
as excellent. He did not recopy his writings, although they contained
numerous corrections which, however, were clearly made. Prior to
commencing a new story he suffered much from despondency. He spoke of
himself as "going round and round the idea, as you see a bird in his cage
go about his sugar before he touches it."
Dickens' love of order was very marked; his writing materials were always
neatly arranged, and his household was a model of order.
The highways and byways of London were familiar to him, and many happy
hours were spent rambling in them. He had a theory that the number of
hours engaged in literary labour should have a corresponding time spent in
pedestrian exercise, and he frequently enjoyed a twenty miles' walk.
Thackeray was not very particular as to the place or time when he wrote.
He liked to perform his literary labours in a pleasant room. It is
certain, from the large number of books that he produced in a limited
time, that he must have written at a considerable speed. He had also the
happy facility of being able to dictate his works when composing them.
Previous to commencing a book George Eliot would read all she could find
bearing on the subject. Sometimes she would study over a thousand works to
write one book. She spared no pains in perfecting her productions.
Charles Reade wrote much and well. He rose at eight o'clock, took
breakfast at nine, and at ten commenced his literary work, which usually
lasted until two in the afternoon. He wrote in his drawing-room, and when
the French windows were closed no sounds from the street could be heard.
When once fairly on the way with a novel he worked with rapidity. He
wrote with a large pen, with very black ink, on large sheets of
drab-coloured paper. Each sheet was numbered as written, and thrown on the
floor, which, after a few hours' writing, was completely covered. A maid
servant gathered up the manuscript, which, after being put in order, was
sent to a copyist, who made, in a round hand, a clear copy. Mr. Reade then
went carefully over it, making improvements by omissions and additions.
The revised sheets were once more copied for the printer. He seldom
dictated a story, but had not any objection to the company of a friend in
his room when busy with his pen. He would sometimes relieve the monotony
of his work by watching a game of tennis on his lawn, or the gambols of
his tame hares, or the traffic passing in the street at the bottom of his
garden. Mr. Reade did not take any lunch; he dined late, and generally
finished the day by a visit to the theatre.
Alphonse Daudet, the greatest of living French novelists, is a painstaking
man, and usually spends a year in writing a story. He takes a deep
interest in his work; indeed, it seems to get the mastery over him; and
when engaged on "Le Nabob" he worked about twenty hours a day. He related
to an interviewer his method of work, and it transpired that he carries
about with him a small book, and enters in it notes bearing on his
subject. Next he reproduces his jottings and expands them, and as he
completes the items he severs them out of his list. His wife then takes
the manuscript in hand and makes a clear copy, and, at the same time,
corrects any slight errors of redundancy. Daudet goes carefully over it,
making additions and polishing according to his fancy. It is afterwards
rewritten for the press.
Shortly after the death of Mrs. Henry Wood, her son, Mr. Charles W. Wood,
published in the _Argosy_ some very interesting particulars of her
literary life. She was a born author, and at the age when children play
with dolls she was composing stories. She was a ready writer. Her powerful
prize temperance tale "Danesbury House" was commenced and completed in
twenty-eight days.
Respecting her manner of writing her novels, says her son: "She first
composed her plot. Having decided upon the main idea, she would next
divide it into the requisite number of chapters. Each chapter was then
elaborated. Every incident in every chapter was thought out and recorded,
from the first chapter to the last. She never changed her plots or
incidents. Once thought out, her purpose became fixed, and was never
turned aside for any fresh departure or emergency that might arise in the
development of the story. The drama had then become to her as if it
actually existed. Every minute detail of the plot was written out before a
line of the story was begun. All was so elaborately sketched that anyone
with sufficient power would have no difficulty in writing the story with
the plot in possession. The only difference would have been the evidence
of another hand.
"The plot of each novel occupied a good many pages of close, though not
small writing. It would take her, generally speaking, about three weeks to
think it out from beginning to end. During those times she could not bear
the slightest interruption. But I have occasionally gone into her study,
though never without being startled, almost awed, by the look upon her
face. She would be at all times in a reclining chair, her paper upon her
knees, and the expression of her eyes, large, wide-opened, was so intense
and absorbed, so far away, it seemed as if the spirit had wandered into
some distant realm and had to be brought back to its tenement before the
matter, suddenly placed before her, could be attended to. It, indeed, took
many moments to recall her attention, elsewhere concentrated." Mr. Wood
observes, "Only on rare or important occasions was such intrusion ever
permitted for the thread of her ideas once broken could very seldom be
resumed the same day, and, as she never wrote a line of anything when
composing a plot, she would consider that the day had been partly lost or
wasted."
When Mrs. Wood was writing a story, on entering her study she consulted
the outline she had prepared, and then worked on the allotted portion of
her task. She did not recopy her manuscripts, yet they contained few
corrections, and were very legible and as clear as print.
Miss Braddon is the author of many widely-read novels, and it is said that
the profits on her works place her high amongst the first six of the best
paid writers of fiction. She left the Hull stage, where she performed
without any particular success under the name of Miss Seton, and took up
her residence at Beverley, where she wrote her first story, "Three times
dead; or the Secret of the Heath." It was printed and published by Mr. C.
R. Empson, and was brought out at a loss. At that time she was about
twenty years of age. In 1861 she issued "Garibaldi, and other Poems," the
contents of this book having previously appeared in a Beverley newspaper.
A year prior to that date she competed for a L5 prize, offered by Mr.
Joseph Temple, for the best ode on celebrating the first tree planted in
the Hull Public Park, and failed to win it. She contributed to several
local newspapers. Her powerful novel, "Lady Audley's Secret," published in
1862, established her reputation, and by industry and skill it has been
sustained. At the commencement of 1887 the sale of "Lady Audley's Secret"
had reached about 450,000 copies, Mrs. Henry Wood's "East Lynne" 120,000
copies, and Mrs. Craik's "John Halifax Gentleman," 90,000 copies. Miss
Braddon says "The Woman in White" inspired her to write "Lady Audley's
Secret," "a novel of construction and character." Wilkie Collins she
regards as her literary godfather. Miss Braddon had not a single note when
she wrote her most popular story. She now makes a skeleton of her tales in
a small memorandum book, often not extending over a couple of pages,
before she commences writing her novels. She usually writes four days a
week, commencing her work at ten and concluding it at seven, and takes
during that time strong tea at intervals, and occasionally a light
luncheon. The other two days are devoted to riding on horseback and when
possible to hunting. Respecting Miss Braddon's method of writing, some
interesting details appear in the "Treasury of Modern Biography," and
perhaps we cannot do better than draw upon it for a few facts. "By the
fireside," it is stated, "is a particularly low uncomfortable chair. In
this the novelist huddles herself up with a piece of thick cardboard
resting on her lap, and a little ink-bottle held firmly against it with
her left hand. This apparently cramped position appears to be favourable
to the composition, for the pen moves over the great square slips of
paper, and the corrections are few and far between." Her copy is very
clear and carefully punctuated, and is somewhat masculine in style. At one
time she wrote a bold hand, but reduced its size, because she had to cover
more paper with her pen than when she wrote a small hand. She wears a
tailor's thimble to protect the middle finger from the brand of the ink.
Mr. James Payn was for many years a busy and successful literary man. He
conducted the _Cornhill Magazine_, having previously edited for many years
_Chambers's Journal_. It was in the latter periodical that his first
story, "A Family Scapegrace," appeared. A few years later it was followed
by "Lost Sir Massingberd," which raised the circulation of the serial by
nearly 20,000 copies. Mr. Payn related some time since to Mr. Joseph
Hatton, the journalist, an outline of his daily life which is as follows:
"I rise at eight," said Mr. Payn, "breakfast, read the papers, get to the
office at ten, work at my own work until one--subject to any special call
on Smith and Elder's business--lunch at the Reform Club at one--generally
with Robinson, of the _Daily News_, and occasionally with William
Black--return to the office at two; from two until four I read manuscripts
and edit _Cornhill_; from 4.0 to 6.30 I play whist at the Reform Club--it
is a great rest, whist--home to dinner by seven--I rarely dine out now,
and never go to what are called dinner parties--to bed at ten."
It remains for us to add that his writing is very difficult to decipher,
indeed he is sometimes puzzled to read it himself; fortunately for the
printers, his daughter makes a copy of his productions by the type-writer.
In answer to a correspondent, Mr. Philip G. Hamerton detailed particulars
of his method of work. Said Mr. Hamerton in his interesting letter, "I
think that there are two main qualities to be kept in view in literary
composition--freshness and finish. The best way, in my opinion, of
attaining both is to aim at freshness in the rough draft, with little
regard to perfection of expression; the finish can be given by copious
subsequent correction, even to the extent of writing all over again when
there is time. Whenever possible, I would assimilate literary to pictorial
execution by treating the rough draft as a rapid and vigorous sketch,
without any regard to delicacy of workmanship; then I would write from
this a second work, retaining as much as possible the freshness of the
first, but correcting those oversights and errors which are due to
rapidity."
One of his books, he says, was penned as a private diary, then he made a
rough and rapid manuscript with a lead pencil, and subsequently rewrote
it for the printer, especially with a view to concentration. Mr. Hamerton
states that he used shorthand for one volume, which enabled him to write
it quickly, but he found much trouble in reading it, and he does not
recommend it for literary purposes.
Referring to work, "The Intellectual Life" was begun in quite a different
form (not in letters), and many pages were written before he concluded
that it was heavy, and that letters would give a lighter and less didactic
appearance. We are told that his story "Marmone" was partly written and
put aside, and it was not until solicited by Messrs. Roberts Brothers for
a book for their "No Name Series," that he completed it. The earlier part
of the novel was written three times over.
In concluding his letter, he says that "I have sometimes, instead of
rewriting, sent a corrected rough draft to a type-writer. There is an
economy of time in this, and the work can be corrected in the
type-writer's copy; but, on the whole, for very careful finished work, I
think the old plan of rewriting the whole manuscript is superior."
Mr. G. A. Sala used commonly to be regarded as a journalist, but he ranks
high as an author. He has written nearly a library of books of travel,
essays, and novels, which have been much praised by the critics, and
largely circulated. His father was an Italian gentleman, who married a
charming and accomplished English lady, famous in her day as a vocalist.
Between the ages of six and nine he was totally blind. After regaining his
sight he was placed in the College Bourbon, Paris, for a couple of years,
and subsequently removed to Turnham Green, near London, with a view of
thoroughly acquiring his mother tongue which he spoke imperfectly, in fact
he was almost ignorant of it. His parents intended him for an artist, but
circumstances compelled him to relinquish art in its highest form.
Possessing the happy faculty of effective sketching, he produced hundreds
of political caricatures and pictorial skits on passing events; these
found a ready sale. His eyesight failing, he had to give up lithographing
and engraving, and to try other means of making a living. After a variety
of engagements, an accident led to his finding his right vocation. One
night he was by an oversight locked out of his house, and had to pass the
night perambulating the streets. It occurred to him that he might make it
a subject of an article, which he accordingly wrote under the title of
"The Key of the Street," and submitted it to Charles Dickens. The famous
novelist at once recognised his genius, and encouraged him to become a
constant contributor to _Household Words_. At the suggestion of Dickens he
entered the lists of journalism, and won the highest place amongst
pressmen. He was known as "The Prince of Journalists." Sala joined the
staff of the _Daily Telegraph_, and did much to make the reputation of
that brilliant journal. He represented it in all parts of the world, and
his remuneration equalled the pay of an ambassador. Its columns have been
enriched with several thousand leading articles from his facile pen on
almost every topic.
Sala was the owner of a large and valuable library, but his chief source
of information was found in his common-place book. In it he had brought
together facts and illustrations on all kinds of subjects calculated to
aid him in his journalistic labours. This wonderful book has often been
described, the best account of it appears in "Living London." "Scarcely a
week passes," says Mr. Sala, "without bringing me letters from
correspondents who ask me to explain my own system of keeping a
common-place book. I have but one such system, and it possesses one
merit, that of rugged simplicity. Take a book, large or small, according
to the size of your handwriting, and take care that at the end of the book
there shall be plenty of space for an index. Begin at the beginning, and
make your entries precisely as they occur to you in unordered sequence.
But after each entry place a little circle, or oval, or parenthesis ( ),
and in a portion of these spaces place consecutive numbers. Here is a
model page taken at random from a book which may have been in keeping for
years:--
'The Prince of Wales wore the robes of the Garter at his marriage in
St. George's Chapel, Windsor. All the other K.Gs present wore their
robes and collars. Mr. W. P. Frith, R.A., who was to paint a picture
of the wedding for the Queen, stood close to the reredos, to the
right, looking from the organ-loft (1023). Just before the liberation
in 1859 of Lombardy from the domination of Austria, the audiences in
the Italian theatres used to give vent to their pent-up patriotism by
shouting at the close of each performance "Viva Verdi!" The initiated
knew that this was meant to signify Viva V (for Victor) E (for
Emmanuele) R (for Re) D I (for d'Italia) (1024). Old Hungerford Market
was never very successful as a fish market; but according to Seyer it
was always very well supplied with shrimps. In Hungerford Street,
leading to the market, there was a pastrycook's famous shop, at which
the penny buns were as good as those sold at Farrance's in Cockspur
Street (1025).'