Volume 1 - Electric Scotland

MEN OF LETTERS. 397
know a quantum suff. of such things is of great use in spreading
a sale, but there is a limit. Secondly, occasional coarseness,
which annoys the Englishman. Thirdly, the attempts of minor
correspondents to imitate the audacious puffery of the Magazine,
which can be done by W. only. To correct the three faults, let
every number henceforward be written exclusively for London,
forgetting that there is' such a city in the world as Edinburgh.
The ' Noctes ' will be sufficient for locality.
With respect to Gififord, I never have seen him ; but I know
that his conversation, particularly since his health began to
decline, is excessively splenetic. He is a fanatical Ministerialist,
and retains even now his old hatred of the Jacobins, Delia
Cruscans, &c. His information on all points is prodigious, and
he pours it forth very freely. I am told he dislikes all his
associates—Croker, J. Murray, &c.—but I do not know how true
that is. He would be a hard card to manage in a dialogue.
I of course heard an immensity of your Mag. ; in London you
are blamed for attacking obscure Londoners, most particularly
Hazlitt. He is really too insignificant an animal. Make it a
rule that his name be never mentioned by any of your friends
I for one will keep it. Croly is quite shocked at Tickler's
attack on the gentlemen of the press, little suspecting that he
was giving me a rap over the knuckles. He evidently has a
vast veneration for the power of that company, and takes great
credit to himself for suppressing the squib of B.'s blackguards.
God help us ! I dined with him in company with an insuffer-
able wretch of the name of , who knows everything of
' Maga ' that Croly knows, and who boasts of enjoying the con-
fidence of L. I hope this is impossible, for the creature con-
ducts some unheard-of paper in London, and is one of the press
gang. He told me many other things, that he knew L. to be Z.,
for he had it from his own lips. Surely L. could not be such
a spoony. I denied it flatly, saying that I had good reason to
know that the gentleman who wrote Z. is now in Germany.
He knew something about me, picked up among the pressmen,
particularly my rumpus with Conway. The man is a cursed
bore. I put your friends on their guard against him. He
speaks of Scott as if they had been pickpockets together at
Calder Fair.
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