"Female literature seems to be all the rage now," remarked a gentleman,
who was turning over the volumes in Mr. Develin's book store, No. 6
Literary Row. "Who are your most successful lady authors?"
"Miss Pyne," said Mr. Develin, "authoress of 'Shadows,' Miss Taft,
authoress of 'Sunbeams,' and Miss Bitman, authoress of 'Fairyland.'"
"I have been told," said the gentleman, "that 'Life Sketches,' by
'Floy,' has had an immense sale--a larger one, in fact, than any of the
others; is that so?"
"It has had a _tolerable_ sale," answered Mr. Develin, coldly. "I
might have published it, I suppose, had I applied; but I had a very
indifferent opinion of the literary talent of the authoress. The little
popularity it _has_ had, is undoubtedly owing to the writer being a
sister of Hyacinth Ellet, the Editor of 'The Irving Magazine.'"
"But _is_ she his sister," said the gentleman; "there are many rumors
afloat; one hardly knows what to believe."
"No doubt of it," said Mr. Develin; "in fact, I, myself, _know_ it
to be true. 'Floy' is his sister; and it is altogether owing to the
transferring of her articles, by him, to the columns of his paper, and
his liberal endorsement of them, that she has had any success."
"Indeed," said the gentleman; "why I was a subscriber both for 'The
Standard,' when her first article appeared in it, and also for 'The
Irving Magazine,' and I am very sure that nothing of hers was copied in
the latter until she had acquired an enviable popularity all over the
Union. No, sir," said Mr. Walter, (for it was he,) "I know a great deal
more about 'Floy' and her writings than _you_ can tell me, and some
little about yourself. I have often heard of the version you give of
this matter, and I came in to satisfy myself if it had been correctly
reported to me. Now, allow me to set you right, sir," said he, with a
stern look. "The Editor of 'The Irving Magazine' never recognized 'Floy'
as his sister, till the universal popular voice had pronounced its
verdict in her favor. Then, when the steam was up, and the locomotive
whizzing past, he jumps on, and says, 'how fast _we_ go!'"
"I think you are mistaken, sir," replied Mr. Develin, with a faint
attempt to retain his position.
"I am not mistaken, sir; I know, personally, that in the commencement of
her literary career, when one or two articles of hers were copied into
his paper by an assistant in the office, he positively forbade her _nom
de plume_ being again mentioned, or another of her articles copied into
the Irving Magazine. He is a miserable time-server, sir. Fashion is his
God; he recognizes only the drawing-room side of human nature. Sorrow in
satin he can sympathize with, but sorrow in rags is too plebeian for his
exquisite organization.
"Good morning, Mr. Develin; good morning, sir. The next time I hear of
your giving a version of this matter, I trust it will be a correct one,"
added he with a stern look.
"Well," exclaimed Mr. Walter, as he walked down street, "of all mean
meanness of which a man can be guilty, the meanest, in my estimation, is
to rob a woman of her justly-earned literary fame, and I wish, for the
credit of human nature, it were confined to persons of as limited mental
endowments and influence as the one I have just left."