A History of Booksellers, the Old and the New

by Henry Curwen

It is certainly humorous, after a fashion now so prevalent in America, and undoubtedly witty.

Among the Edinburgh people of that time, when every man knew his neighbour, the effect was absolutely prodigious. A yell of despairing pain arose from one portion of the Whig party, who, if they had no administrative power in their hands, had hitherto held a patent of all literary ability; and from the other portion came an equally discordant cry, which eventually culminated in a fierce accusation of blasphemy and irreligion. Perhaps, however, the strongest test we can apply to the power of this galling squib is the fact that every title bestowed in its pages has “stuck” to the individual against whom it was directed.

Blackwood was alarmed at the commotion he had caused, withdrew the obnoxious article from the second edition, suppressed it in what he could of the first, and in the second number inserted the following announcement:—“The editor has learnt with regret that an article in the first edition of last number, which was intended merely as a jeu d’esprit, has been construed so as to give offence to individuals justly entitled to respect and regard; he has, on that account, withdrawn it in the second edition, and can only add that, if what has happened could have been anticipated, the article in question certainly never would have appeared.” It was, however, too late, war had been declared to the knife, and Blackwood was nothing loath to continue the struggle.

“The conception of the Caldee MS.,” says Wilson’s son-in-law, Professor Ferrier, “and the first thirty-seven verses of Chapter I., are to be ascribed to the Ettrick Shepherd; the rest of the composition falls to be divided between Professor Wilson and Mr. Lockhart, in proportions which cannot now be determined.” Again, Mrs. Gordon tells us that this audacious squib was composed in her grandmother’s house, 23, Queen Street, where Wilson lived, “amid such shouts of laughter as made the ladies in the room above send to inquire and wonder what the gentlemen below were about;” and yet she adds, as if to protect her father from suspicion of a share in it, that she “cannot trace to her father’s hand any instance of unmanly attack, or one shade of real malignity.” Very probably not; but at the same time the fun of the squib is decidedly in Wilson’s favourite manner. “An old contributor to Blackwood,” who, in 1860, furnished a most interesting and full account of Maga and Blackwoodiana to the columns of the Bookseller, asserts, in reference to Hogg’s claim, “on the best authority (that of the man who did write it), that there is no foundation whatever for any such pretext. The hare was started by Wilson at one of those symposia which preceded and perhaps suggested the Noctes. The idea was caught up with avidity by Hogg, and some half-dozen verses were suggested by him on the ensuing day; but we are, we believe, correct in affirming that no part of his ébauche appeared in the original or any other draft of the article.” It is to be wished that this writer, whose article evidently exhibits personal knowledge, and, apart from a running attack upon Hogg, due impartiality, had, in putting forward a new version of the story, in contradiction to those already given, been enabled to give us the name of the writer, apparently, from the wording of the context, a new claimant.

Not only were Blackwood’s “enemies” discomforted, but even his friends were sore dismayed. The first number of Blackwood bore the imprint of John Murray, but the “Caldee MS.” caused him to withdraw his name, but after passing through the hands of three different London agents, the sixth again appeared under his countenance. This number, however, contained some unpalatable strictures on Gifford and the Quarterly Reviewers, and the Albemarle Street patronage was again withdrawn, only to be renewed in the eleventh number; but by the time it reached the seventeenth he washed his hands of it entirely, and in future it appeared without the ornamental appendage of any London bookseller’s name; the agency, distinctly one of sale only, was given to Cadell and Davies, who found it profitable enough to occupy the greater part of their attention. Cadell, naturally as nervous as Murray of giving, or being in any way instrumental in giving, offence, kept a stereotyped reply in readiness for any angry victim who rushed into his shop for redress—“I know nothing of the contents of the magazine; I am merely the carrier of a certain portion of its circulation to its English readers.”

From the commencement of the new series—from the foundation that is of Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine—Blackwood’s fortunes and even the story of his life are inextricably bound up in the progress of the periodical; for he did not again, once he had got rid of Pringle and Cleghorne, entrust its charge and conduct to the care of any editor. For a long time Wilson was supposed to occupy the editorial chair. This supposition is treated in a letter, printed by his daughter: “Of Blackwood I am not the editor, although I believe I very generally got both the credit and discredit of being Christopher North. I am one of the chief writers, perhaps the chief writer, but never received one shilling from the proprietor, except for my own compositions. Being generally on the spot, I am always willing to give him my advice, and to supply such articles as are most wanted, when I have leisure.” “From an early period of its progress,” says Lockhart, speaking of Blackwood and the magazine, “it engrossed a very large share of his time; and though he scarcely ever wrote for its pages himself (three articles, we believe, he did contribute), the general management and arrangement of it, with the very extensive literary correspondence which this involved, and the constant superintendence of the press, would have been more than enough to occupy entirely any man but one of his first-rate energies.”

Before we follow up the chronicle of the life of Blackwood and its proprietor, it will be necessary to take a retrospective glance at the causes which rendered it possible to convert the snug, orthodox, and more than slightly Whiggish Edinburgh Monthly Magazine into the slashing, defiant, jovial, dare-devil of Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine. This change was chiefly due to the influence of two men, Wilson and Lockhart, who, together with Hogg, had, under the old régime, contributed all there was of wit and sparkle. With these three writers, and the promise of further support, Blackwood had changed his mind as to putting his ill-fated periodical to the untimely end he had announced; and we have seen something, and shall see more, as to how far this determination was justified by success. In the meantime, it is essential to know a little of these two men, to whom primarily all the success was due.

John Wilson, the great Tory champion, was descended, not from a county family, but from a wealthy Paisley manufacturer; and, after taking all possible prizes at Glasgow University, went to conquer fresh worlds at Oxford, where he not only won the Newdigate prize of £50 by one of the best prize poems extant, in fifty lines, but excelled in all sports, to which a magnificent frame, a temper universally good, a wild exuberance of animal spirits, and a thirsty love of adventure could contribute.

Strange tales are told of his Oxford escapades; of recess rambles with strolling players; of wanderings, when smitten by the charms of a gipsy-girl, for weeks together with her tribe; of sojournings as a waiter at a country inn, to be close to one of the fair waitresses.

However, his dreams of adventure were surrendered only after having planned an expedition to Timbuctoo, and he purchased an estate at Windermere, to be near the Lake school of poets, with whom he soon threw in his fortune. After the publication of the “Isle of Palms,” and the “City of the Plague,” he joined the Scotch Bar, and in the Parliament House struck up an acquaintance with another briefless barrister—Lockhart, seven years younger than himself.