Dryden. Oh no, Mr. Tonson; no matter for that. It is a charge to you, and I care not for it...No, Congreve, I see nothing to object to in this agreement, except that, in speaking of the probability of a second payment, he has omitted to mention my executors... Pray insert the words, Mr. Tonson. I scarcely think that I shall live myself to receive any more of this much loved money of yours; so hardly laboured for, and so reluctantly paid.

When Doctor Johnson was engaged upon his Life of Dryden, he found among Jacob Tonson's papers, entrusted to him by his grand-nephew, "the late amiable Mr. Tonson," the following written memorial of this interview :

"I do hereby promise to pay to John Dryden, Esq., or order, on the 25th of March, 1698-9, the sum of two hundred and fifty guineas, in consideration of ten thousand verses, which the said John Dryden, Esq., is to deliver to me, Jacob Tonson, when finished, whereof seven thousand five hundred verses, more or less, are already in the said Jacob Tonson's possession. And I do hereby further promise, and engage myself, to

make up the said sum of two hundred and fifty guineas, three hundred pounds sterling, to the said John Dryden, Esq., his executors, administrators, or assignees, at the beginning of the second impression of the said ten thousand verses. In witness whereof I have hereunto set my hand and seal, this 20th day of March, 1698-9.

"JACOB TONSON.

"Sealed and delivered, being

first duly stampt, pursuant to

the acts of parliament for that purpose, in the presence of

"BEN. PORTLOCK.

"WILL. Congreve."

It had meanwhile found a printed memorial in one of the most enchanting books of the English language, The Fables; the noblest monument of the genius of their writer. In their original form, they contained upwards of seventeen hundred verses beyond the quantity guaranteed by Congreve. It was thus amid the most grinding incidents of poverty, and in immediate contrast to the remorseless and close-shut coffers of the publisher, that the superabundant wealth of the poet's genius overflowed all restraints at last, and, regardless of such things as Tonsons in the world

around it, poured itself freely forth to gladden future generations.

Dryden did not live to see the second impression called for. He died at daybreak on the 1st of May, 1700. His great spirit had burnt brightly to the last. To the last he was writing in all the force and brilliancy of his powers, and in assertion of that unapproached supremacy as the literary sovereign of his age, which he had steadily maintained for nearly half a century. Tonson survived him some years, and died at last, in the circumstances related, at his country seat in Surrey.

It has not been attempted to set up class-distinctions, or imply invidious comparisons, in this illustration of a point of literary history. It would be absurd to do so. The public have quite altered these matters since the days of Dryden. Their direct interference has placed upon a basis entirely different the whole question of literature and literary pursuits. A writer of any merit is now as little dependant on the generosity of a publisher, as on the more degrading charity of a patron. At the same time, I am far from supposing that even if this were not so, such examples as Mr. Jacob Tonson's would be at all generally followed. Reasons for imagining the direct reverse exist in abundance.

But so

84

JOHN DRYDEN AND JACOB TONSON.

many absurd things had been said of the Tonsons, especially of this Jacob, and of the patronage experienced at his hands by literature and learned men, that I thought it worth while to look into the matter a little more closely, and took the case of Dryden as including innumerable others of infinitely greater hardship. In extenuation of the conduct to Dryden, considerations taken from the habits of the time will no doubt suggest themselves; in varying number to various readers. They will not invalidate the inference of these pages, that, let the aids of patronage or of trade fall off as they will, the highest order of genius is under a bond to itself to survive them all. It is a bond...a sacrament... which the weak alone have been known to celebrate in the loaf of Otway, or the cup of Chat

terton.

I. F.

SOME ACCOUNT OF MARCUS BELL,

THE CONVICT.

BY LEITCH RITCHIE.

I CHANCED to be present at the trial of this young man and his companions, and was rather wearied than interested by the detail of the daring, yet common crimes of which they had been guilty. A female witness, however, at length aroused my attention; not by her beauty, so much lauded by the newspapers, but by a singularity of manner, which escaped the observation of all the reporters, with one exception. Her calmness appeared to me to have something of desperation. When desired to look at the prisoner, Bell, she obeyed; but her glance was instantaneously withdrawn, and never again returned to the same object.

When going out of the court, the same young woman passed me-pale and composed no more, but with flushed cheeks, and crushing her fingers within each other, as if to counteract some agony