On the other hand, his was a high ideal; he
believed, with Andre Chenier, that he had `something there,'
something worthy of reverence and of careful training within him.
Consequently, as we shall see, the drudgery of the pressman was
excessively repulsive to him. He could take no delight in making
the best of it. We learn that Mr. Kipling's early tales were
written as part of hard daily journalistic work in India; written in
torrid newspaper offices, to fill columns. Yet they were written
with the delight of the artist, and are masterpieces in their genre.
Murray could not make the best of ordinary pen-work in this manner.
Again, he was incapable of `transactions,' of compromises; most
honourably incapable of earning his bread by agreeing, or seeming to
agree with opinions which were not his. He could not endure (here I
think he was wrong) to have his pieces of light and mirthful verse
touched in any way by an editor. Even where no opinions were
concerned, even where an editor has (to my mind) a perfect right to
alter anonymous contributions, Murray declined to be edited. I
ventured to remonstrate with him, to say non est tanti, but I spoke
too late, or spoke in vain.
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