I write to you, _confidentially_, in answer to your note of last night,
and the tenor of mine will tell you why.
You may suppose, from seeing my name in the printed letter you have
received, that I am favourable to the proposed society. I am decidedly
opposed to it. I went there on the day I was in the chair, after much
solicitation; and being put into it, opened the proceedings by telling
the meeting that I approved of the design in theory, but in practice
considered it hopeless. I may tell you--I did not tell them--that the
nature of the meeting, and the character and position of many of the men
attending it, cried "Failure" trumpet-tongued in my ears. To quote an
expression from Tennyson, I may say that if it were the best society in
the world, the grossness of some natures in it would have weight to drag
it down.
In the wisdom of all you urge in the notes you have sent me, taking them
as statements of theory, I entirely concur. But in practice, I feel sure
that the present publishing system cannot be overset until authors are
different men. The first step to be taken is to move as a body in the
question of copyright, enforce the existing laws, and try to obtain
better. For that purpose I hold that the authors and publishers must
unite, as the wealth, business habits, and interest of that latter class
are of great importance to such an end. The Longmans and Murray have
been with me proposing such an association. That I shall support. But
having seen the Cockspur Street Society, I am as well convinced of its
invincible hopelessness as if I saw it written by a celestial penman in
the Book of Fate.
My dear Sir,
Always faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Douglas Jerrold.]