To show you how little the fault that you notice is attributable to
myself, I have only to tell you that I could not get a copy of _Mary
of Burgundy_ till three days after you had received it and my sister
in law writes to Mrs. James, by the post that brought your letter,
that although she had ordered the book through her own bookseller, she
has not yet been able to get it, while friends of hers have obtained
it at the circulating libraries. Not having lived in London for many
years, I am quite unacquainted with all the ins and outs of these
affairs and do not even know who is the Editor of the Athenæum; but I
think it somewhat hard measure on his part to make an author pay for
the sins of his Bookseller and very different indeed from the usual
liberal spirit that I have seen in his paper.
However, I never courted a Journalist in my life and although I know
that I have suffered greatly on this account, yet I shall pursue the
same plan; and only by endeavoring to make my works better than they
have been, force all honest writers to give them their due share
whatever it may be. At the same time I will endeavour as far as in me
lies to prevent any such instances of neglect as those of which you
complain taking place for the future, especially in regard to a paper
which deserves so well of the public. Having done so, whatever be the
result the Editor must “tak his wull o’t, as the cat did o’ the
haggis.” I never reply to criticism unless it be very absurd which is
not likely to be the case with his; so let him “pour on, I will
endure.”
In regard to the _String of Pearls_ I not only begged a copy to be
sent to you before any one else; I wrote you a long letter to be sent
with it; but this is only one out of the many shameful pieces of
negligence which Mr. Bentley has shown in my affairs.
I trust that the Editor of the Athenæum got a copy of _Mary of
Burgundy_ independent of that sent to you for I wish it clearly to be
understood that I send you my leather and prunella, as a man for whom
I have a high admiration and esteem, and not at all as a critic. When
you get them, review them yourself, let others review, praise, abuse
them, or let others abuse them as you find need; but still receive
them as a mark of regard from me; and be sure that nothing you can say
of them will diminish that regard. Whenever I have any one of them for
which I wish a little lenity I will write you a note with it and tax
your friendship upon the occasion; but still exculpate me in your own
generous mind and plead my exculpation to others, of all intriguing to
gain undue celebrity for my works or of dabbling with literary
coteries. I give in to my bookseller a list of my friends—amongst whom
your name stands high and I leave all the rest to him. For the _String
of Pearls_ I _was_ anxious both because it was given to a charity and
because I was afraid the Publisher might lose by it; but this as far
as I can remember is the only book for which I ever asked a review.
Thanks however, many thanks, for your critique in the Athenæum which
is calculated to do my book much good and is much more favorable than
it deserves. Of your light censure I will speak to you when we meet
which I am happy to say will be soon—at least I trust soon. On the
twenty-eighth we leave this place for London on our way to Germany and
Italy. My liver and stomach have become so deranged of late that I
find it necessary to put myself under the hands of a physician whose
prescription is an agreeable one. “Take the waters of Ems for two
seasons and spend the intermediate time in traveling through Italy.”
This plan I am about to pursue, and in our way we shall spend a month
in London when I will find you out.
The country round us is lovely at present. After a cold lingering
spring, summer has set in, in all its radiance and the world has burst
at once into green beauty. You cannot fancy how lovely the Cheviots
looked yesterday evening, as Mrs. James and I rode over the shoulder
of the Eildons. The sky was full of the broken fragments of a past
thunder storm and the lights and shadows were soft, superb and
dreamlike. I know I may rave about beautiful scenery to you without
fear or compunction for the Maid of Elnar made me know that you love
it as well as
My Dear Allan,
Ever yours truly,
G. P. R. JAMES.
P. S.—I have not yet got your last volume but if it be as good as its
predecessors you will have no occasion to whip your Genius.
He writes again to Cunningham:
10 JULY, 1835.
1 LLOYDS PLACE, BLACKHEATH.