Again, he had to compile a column of Literary
News, from the Athenaeum, the Academy, and so on, `with comments and
enlargements where possible.' This might have been made extremely
amusing, it sounds like a delightful task,--the making of comments
on `Mr. - has finished a sonnet:' `Mr. -`s poems are in their
fiftieth thousand:' `Miss - has gone on a tour of health to the
banks of the Yang-tse-kiang:' `Mrs. - is engaged on a novel about
the Pilchard Fishery.' One could make comments (if permitted) on
these topics for love, and they might not be unpopular. But perhaps
Murray was shackled a little by human respect, or the prejudices of
his editor. At all events he calls it `not very inspiring
employment.' The bare idea, I confess, inspirits me extremely.
But the literary follet, who delights in mild mischief, did not
haunt Murray. He found an opportunity to write on the Canongate
Churchyard, where Fergusson lies, under the monument erected by
Burns to the boy of genius whom he called his master. Of course the
part of the article which dealt with Fergusson, himself a poet of
the Scarlet Gown, was cut out.
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