“To his own mind had lived a mystery,”
the contemporary rival of Banim, as an Irish novelist and dramatist, should have immediately succeeded him in the tenancy of “13 Brompton Grove,” as this house was sometimes called.
“About this period (1825) he [Griffin] took quiet, retired lodgings, at a house at Brompton, now a stonemason’s, close by Hermitage Lane, which separated it from the then residence of the editor of the ‘Literary Gazette,’ and a literary intercourse rather than a personal intimacy, though of a most agreeable nature, grew up between them.” [48]
On the 10th of November, 1824, Griffin, writing to his brother, commences a letter full of literary gossip with,—
“Since my last I have visited Mr. J--- several times. The last time, he wished me to dine with him, which I happened not to be able to do; and was very sorry for it, for his acquaintance is to me a matter of great importance, not only from the engine he wields—and a formidable one it is, being the most widely-circulated journal in Europe—but, also, because he is acquainted with all the principal literary characters of the day, and a very pleasant kind of man.”
To the honest support of the ‘Literary Gazette’ at this critical period in Griffin’s life may be ascribed the struggle which he made for fame and fortune through the blind path of literary distinction. He came a raw Irish lad to the metropolis, with indistinct visions of celebrity floating through his poetical mind; or, as he candidly confesses himself,—
“A young gentleman, totally unknown, even to a single family in London, with a few pounds in one pocket and a brace of tragedies in the other, supposing that the one will set him up before the others are exhausted,” which, he admits, “is not a very novel, but a very laughable, delusion.”
Banim’s kindness—his sympathy, indeed, for Griffin, deserves notice.
“I cannot tell you here,” writes the latter, “the many, many instances in which Banim has shown his friendship since I wrote last; let it suffice to say, that he is the sincerest, heartiest, most disinterested being that breathes. His fireside is the only one where I enjoy anything like social life or home. I go out (to Brompton Grove) occasionally in an evening, and talk or read for some hours, or have a bed, and leave next day.”