To C. Rivington, Dr.

£s.d.
To Printing and Paper, 35,000 Copies of Sermons78556
By sale of 17 Copies of said Sermon156
Balance due to C. Rivington£78400

In a day or two he received a letter from Rivington to the following purport:—

“Rev. Sir,—I beg pardon for innocently amusing myself at your expense, but you need not give yourself any uneasiness. I knew better than you could do the extent of the sale of single sermons, and accordingly printed one hundred copies, to the expense of which you are heartily welcome.”[23]

In 1736 Rivington became an active member of a society for promoting the encouragement of learning, but as he and his colleagues sustained much injury through it, this was in the following year abandoned.

In 1737 we find him venturing in a very different path. “Two booksellers,” writes Richardson, “my particular friends (Rivington and Osborne), entreated me to write for them a little volume of letters, in a common style, on such subjects as might be of use to those country readers who were unable to indite for themselves. ‘Would it be any harm,’ said I, ‘in a piece you want to be written so low, if one should instruct them how they should think and act in common cases, as well as indite?’ They were the more urgent for me to begin the little volume for the hint. I set about it, and in the progress of writing two or three letters to instruct handsome girls who were obliged to go out to service, as we phrase it, how to avoid the snares that might be laid against their virtue, the above story occurred to me, and hence sprang ‘Pamela.’” The first two volumes of the story were written in three months, and never was a book of this kind more generally or more quickly admired. Pope asserted that it would do more good than twenty sermons, mindful, perhaps, of its publisher; Slocock and many other eminent divines recommended it from the pulpit; a critic declared that if all books were burnt, the Bible and ‘Pamela’ ought to be preserved; and even at fashionable Ranelagh, where the former was in but little request, “it was usual for the ladies to hold up the volume (the latter) to one another, to show that they had got the book that every one was talking of.” What, however, was more to Rivington’s purpose, the volume went through five editions in the year of publication, 1741.

This success closed Charles Rivington’s business life, for he died on the 25th of February, 1742.

By Ellen Pease, his wife, a native of Durham, he had six children, to whom his friend Samuel Richardson, the executor also of his will, acted as guardian.

Charles, the founder, was succeeded by John and James, who carried on the publishing business conjointly for several years, after which James joined a Mr. Fletcher, in St. Paul’s Churchyard, with whom he brought out Smollett’s “History of England,” by which £10,000 was cleared—the largest profit that had yet been made on any single book. This success, however, encouraged James to neglect his affairs, and he took to frequenting Newmarket; racing and gambling soon ended in a failure, and in 1760 he thought it advisable to start for the New World. Here, in Philadelphia, he commenced his celebrated Gazette, and, as he advocated the British interests and took the loyal side, his premises were destroyed by the rebels, and his type cast into republican bullets. James Rivington then came back to London, where he obtained the appointment of “King’s printer to America,” and furnished afresh with types and presses he returned to recommence his Royal Gazette, which he carried on boldly up to the withdrawal of the British troops; and as he had contrived somehow, it is said by forwarding early intelligence, to propitiate the enemy, he was allowed to continue his paper, which soon died for want of subscribers; but until 1802 he lived in New York, leaving many descendants there. Even in those early and unsophisticated days, Yankee gentlemen had contracted the habit of “cowhiding” obnoxious or impertinent editors, and the wit of the Royal Gazette was in its time sufficiently stinging and personal to involve its proprietor in many of these little difficulties. James Rivington relates rather an amusing story of an interview with Ethan Allen, one of the republican heroes, who came for the express purpose of administering chastisement. He says:—

“I was sitting down, after a good dinner, with a bottle of Madeira before me, when I heard an unusual noise in the street, and a huzza from the boys. I was on the second story, and, stepping to the window, saw a tall figure in tarnished regimentals, with a large cocked hat and an enormously long sword, followed by a crowd of boys, who occasionally cheered him with huzzas, of which he seemed quite unaware. He came up to my door and stopped. I could see no more—my heart told me it was Ethan Allen. I shut my window, and retired behind my table and my bottle. I was certain the hour of reckoning had come—there was no retreat. Mr. Staples, my clerk, came in, paler than ever, clasping his hands—‘Master, he has come!’ ‘I know it.’ I made up my mind, looked at the Madeira, possibly took a glass. ‘Show him up, and if such Madeira cannot mollify him, he must be harder than adamant.’ There was a fearful moment of suspense; I heard him on the stairs, his long sword clanking at every step. In he stalked. ‘Is your name James Rivington?’ ‘It is, sir, and no man can be more delighted to see Colonel Ethan Allen.’ ‘Sir, I have come——’ ‘Not another word, my dear Colonel, until you have taken a seat and a glass of old Madeira.’ ‘But, sir, I don’t think it proper—’ ‘Not another word, Colonel, but taste this wine; I have had it in glass ten years.’ He took the glass, swallowed the wine, smacked his lips, and shook his head approvingly. ‘Sir, I come——’ ‘Not another word until you have taken another glass, and then, my dear Colonel, we will talk of old officers, and I have some queer events to detail.’ In short, we finished three bottles of Madeira, and parted as good friends as if we never had cause to be otherwise.”