But to my book-for there lies the pith of my story now. Having found out the publisher of Mr Irving's Bracebridge Hall, for which he was paid, not merely promised, but paid, above a thousand guineas, I offered him the narrative in sheets to republish. He demurred-hesitated -asked time-and finally bowed me off, in spite of all my friend Leslie could do, or my particular friend Newton, who was hand and glove with Murray in the literary way. I then applied to Mr Miller of New Bridge Street, Black Friars —the very man who had published for Irving (on account of the author) after his Sketch Book had been refused by Murray, to whom it was first offered. But Miller was too polite by half-instead of coming down with a bushel or two of guineas, which the philosophers of New York had made me promise to stand out for, on the strength of their letters, he merely offered to look about for a publisher. A whole week passed—another—and another-before he succeeded so far as to engage a house to bring out the work at the risk of the author; during all which time I grew more and more weary of the tricks and principles and judgments of white men, taking care to say as much on every proper occasion, and making up for my loss of appetite, loss of sleep, and mortified self-love, by playing the misanthrope and the savage up to the hilt. But the moment Mr Miller had found me a publisher, I began to have another, and a different, though still a conditional, opinion of matters and things in general. Need I go further? Need I relate how my book, having been favorably reviewed, the publishers gave me about one thousand dollars for the copyright; how Mr Murray himself grew courteous and particular in his attentions, whenever I fell in his way; how I rose, step by step, from the society of engravers and hack authors, up—up—through every grade of society; how I became the companion of the Duke of Sussex, and dined every week at Kensington Palace; how I grew to be the Lion of fashionable society; how my visits at Almack's, and at dinners, soirées, and conversazioni, came to be esteemed matters of rare favor by lords and ladies of the first rank; how I attracted the particular regard of Canning, Brougham, and Herries; how I spent several weeks at the country residence of Mr Coke, and became so much a favorite that he made me a valuable present; how I went to Scotland, and produced a sensation among such men as Dugald Stewart and Francis Jeffries; how I came back to London, and bagged, powdered, and ruffled, was set face to face with the Majesty of Great Britain, by the American Ambassador; and how I never held up my head afterwards-whatever I might be to others, I saw by the monarch's clear eye and stately brow, that I was no great wonder to him; how I got away as quietly as I could; how I packed up my things in the month of May, 1824; how I fobbed all the cash that fell in my way, a trifle at best, considering the opportunities I had lost-not a fiftieth part as much, after all, as had been offered to me, over and over again, but a month before; how I turned my back forever upon London; how I arrived at Liverpool; how I did my friend Elias Norgate out of the small matter of fifty pounds, to pay duties with on the agricultural implements furnished me by Mr Coke-I having a fixed intention to refund it, the moment I had brought about the coalition we had talked of, among all the Western Indians; how I waited at New York but just long enough to enjoy the stare of the natives, while I passed about the presents and the letters of His Royal Highness, and particularly his magnificent contribution to my album of page after page from authors like Milton, Shakspeare, &c.; how I received one hundred pounds more from the liberal-hearted Mr John Smith, banker of London, with a view to relieve me from any embarrassment on account of the pretended failure of my banker at New York; how I started for the great object of my mission, passing through Baltimore, Philadelphia, and a good many other places, and gathering contributions by the cartload, if not of money, at least of wonder and admiration, meeting with no doubters now of anything I might choose to say, and trying to make up my mind whether I should cut a canal from the Atlantic to the Pacific, revolutionize Texas, or bring about a confederation of the tribes mentioned above-an event which the philanthropists and philosophers of England had begun to calculate on from my operations, as a check for the incredible growth of the United States, and a proper balance of power in the New World; how, after a variety of adventures, among which a second visit to Mr Jefferson ought to be remembered, I got back among the natives that wear feathers and scalps? Or would you have me relate, how, after a world of expostulation, I got four chiefs of some notoriety to sign a paper which I prepared for them, according to my best knowledge of what a proclamation should be; or how we kicked up a little revolutionary dust, which ended in my being taken prisoner by the government of Mexico, and put to death? I shall do no such thing. All these details may be found in the newspapers of the day. And here I throw aside the pen forever-appealing once more from the unjust and cruel judgment of this age, to that of posterity. J. D. H. April 1, 1830. ΤΟ BY O. W. B. PEABODY. Too lovely and too early lost! But doubly cold and cheerless now, Since every beacon-light is quenched I saw thee first, when hope arose Of early dawning spring. Who then could dream, that health and joy Would e'er desert the brow, So bright with varying lustre once, So chill and changeless now? |