of Pickwick to
an Edinburgh publisher, that sagacious old individual would shake
his prudent old head, and refuse (with the utmost politeness) to
publish it!' There is a good deal of difference between Pickwick
and a translation of old French sermons about Madame, and Conde, and
people of whom few modern readers ever heard.
Alone, in Edinburgh, Murray was saddened by the `unregarding'
irresponsive faces of the people as they passed. In St. Andrews he
probably knew every face; even in Edinburgh (a visitor from London
thinks) there is a friendly look among the passers. Murray did not
find it so. He approached a newspaper office: `he [the Editor whom
he met] was extremely frank, and told me that the tone of my article
on--was underbred, while the verses I had sent him had nothing in
them. Very pleasant for the feelings of a young author, was it not?
. . . Unfavourable criticism is an excellent tonic, but it should be
a little diluted . . . I must, however, do him the justice to say
that he did me a good turn by introducing me to -, . . . who was
kind and encouraging in the extreme.
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