“I have just made arrangements for a story to be contributed to ‘The Dublin University Magazine,’ but at the same instant I have received the most alarming tidings of M’Glashan’s health. I am, in fact, informed—and on such authority as I must believe—that disease of the brain has displayed itself, and aberration already become apparent. Total loss of memory I could collect from his letters to myself,—they were latterly nothing but a repetition of the same queries, and occasionally almost incoherent.
“It is a great pity, for, without being an original mind or one of high order, it was the rarest intellect I ever met for the gift of identifying others, looking out for the right man, and making him do the thing he was capable of. He overworked to a dreadful extent, and then, by gradual cultivation, he had so elevated his faculties above those of his associates, that he left himself companionless. Hence all the mischief.
“I hope—but I scarcely have courage to assure myself—that you like ‘Cro-Martin.’ At the same time, I think its more reflective characters will please you, and I own I wrote it with due thought.
“It is just possible that events might bring the Magazine into the market. If so, there is nothing I’d make such an effort to obtain. It would be in my hands a property—a great one.
“Charley is dallying at Corfu, and anxiously hoping to see the Crimea. I tell him not to hurry: he’ll be in good time for the taking of Sebastopol—in ‘56 or ‘57.”
Early in September Lever received a pitiful letter from M’Glashan: “I am utterly ruined in health and fortune; they have given me a pittance to live on, but taken away the Magazine and all that I care to live for. You have always treated me generously and never made hard bargains with me. Now I hope you will look to yourself, and not give ‘Glencore’ away without being well and handsomely paid.”
To Mr Alexander Spencer.
“Spezzia, Sept. 1855.
“My contract for ‘Tiernay’ and ‘Carew’ was £20 a sheet, the copyright remaining mine, and my name not to be disclosed as author. These were terms conceded to M’Glashan out of personal regard to himself. So disadvantageous were they to me, that when pressing me to contribute my present tale of ‘Glencore’ M’Glashan said, ‘Make the arrangement as will suit and fairly reimburse you, and do in all respects what you think right between us.’ In this way, and without any more definite understanding, I began, nor have we to this hour any real contract between us.
“I want you to see Mr Wardlaw, and (amongst other inquiries) demand £2 per page—£32 per sheet—for ‘Glencore,’ copyright to be preserved to me.