R. F. Murray [13]
visitor from London thinks) there is a friendly look among the passers. Murray did not find it so. He approached a newspaper office: `he [the Editor whom he met] was extremely frank, and told me that the tone of my article on--was underbred, while the verses I had sent him had nothing in them. Very pleasant for the feelings of a young author, was it not? . . . Unfavourable criticism is an excellent tonic, but it should be a little diluted . . . I must, however, do him the justice to say that he did me a good turn by introducing me to -, . . . who was kind and encouraging in the extreme.'
Murray now called on the Editor of the Scottish Leader, the Gladstonian organ, whom he found very courteous. He was asked to write some `leader-notes' as they are called, paragraphs which appear in the same columns as the leading articles. These were published, to his astonishment, and he was `to be taken on at a salary of--a week.' Let us avoid pecuniary chatter, and merely say that the sum, while he was on trial, was not likely to tempt many young men into the career of journalism. Yet `the work will be very exacting, and almost preclude the possibility of my doing anything else.' Now, as four leader notes, or, say, six, can be written in an hour, it is difficult to see the necessity for this fatigue. Probably there were many duties more exacting, and less agreeable, than the turning out of epigrams. Indeed there was other work of some more or less mechanical kind, and the manufacture of `leader notes' was the least part of Murray's industry. At the end of two years there was `the prospect of a very fair salary.' But there was `night-work and everlasting hurry.' `The interviewing of a half- bred Town-Councillor on the subject of gas and paving' did not exhilarate Murray. Again, he had to compile a column of Literary News, from the Athenaeum, the Academy, and so on, `with comments and enlargements where possible.' This might have been made extremely amusing, it sounds like a delightful task,--the making of comments on `Mr. - has finished a sonnet:' `Mr. -`s poems are in their fiftieth thousand:' `Miss - has gone on a tour of health to the banks of the Yang-tse-kiang:' `Mrs. - is engaged on a novel about the Pilchard Fishery.' One could make comments (if permitted) on these topics for love, and they might not be unpopular. But perhaps Murray was shackled a little by human respect, or the prejudices of his editor. At all events he calls it `not very inspiring employment.' The bare idea, I confess, inspirits me extremely.
But the literary follet, who delights in mild mischief, did not haunt Murray. He found an opportunity to write on the Canongate Churchyard, where Fergusson lies, under the monument erected by Burns to the boy of genius whom he called his master. Of course the part of the article which dealt with Fergusson, himself a poet of the Scarlet Gown, was cut out. The Scotch do not care to hear about Fergusson, in spite of their `myriad mutchkined enthusiasm' for his more illustrious imitator and successor, Burns.
At this time Edinburgh was honouring itself, and Mr. Parnell, by conferring its citizenship on that patriot. Murray was actually told off `to stand at a given point of the line on which the hero marched,' and to write some lines of `picturesque description.' This kind of thing could not go on. It was at Nelson's Monument that he stood: his enthusiasm was more for Nelson than for Mr. Parnell; and he caught a severe cold on this noble occasion. Murray's opinions clashed with those of the Scottish Leader, and he withdrew from its service.
Just a week passed between the Parnellian triumph and Murray's retreat from daily journalism. `On a newspaper one must have no opinions except those which are favourable to the sale of the paper and the filling of its advertisement columns.' That is not precisely an accurate theory. Without knowing anything of the circumstances, one may imagine that Murray was rather impracticable. Of course he could not write against his own opinions, but it is unusual
Murray now called on the Editor of the Scottish Leader, the Gladstonian organ, whom he found very courteous. He was asked to write some `leader-notes' as they are called, paragraphs which appear in the same columns as the leading articles. These were published, to his astonishment, and he was `to be taken on at a salary of--a week.' Let us avoid pecuniary chatter, and merely say that the sum, while he was on trial, was not likely to tempt many young men into the career of journalism. Yet `the work will be very exacting, and almost preclude the possibility of my doing anything else.' Now, as four leader notes, or, say, six, can be written in an hour, it is difficult to see the necessity for this fatigue. Probably there were many duties more exacting, and less agreeable, than the turning out of epigrams. Indeed there was other work of some more or less mechanical kind, and the manufacture of `leader notes' was the least part of Murray's industry. At the end of two years there was `the prospect of a very fair salary.' But there was `night-work and everlasting hurry.' `The interviewing of a half- bred Town-Councillor on the subject of gas and paving' did not exhilarate Murray. Again, he had to compile a column of Literary News, from the Athenaeum, the Academy, and so on, `with comments and enlargements where possible.' This might have been made extremely amusing, it sounds like a delightful task,--the making of comments on `Mr. - has finished a sonnet:' `Mr. -`s poems are in their fiftieth thousand:' `Miss - has gone on a tour of health to the banks of the Yang-tse-kiang:' `Mrs. - is engaged on a novel about the Pilchard Fishery.' One could make comments (if permitted) on these topics for love, and they might not be unpopular. But perhaps Murray was shackled a little by human respect, or the prejudices of his editor. At all events he calls it `not very inspiring employment.' The bare idea, I confess, inspirits me extremely.
But the literary follet, who delights in mild mischief, did not haunt Murray. He found an opportunity to write on the Canongate Churchyard, where Fergusson lies, under the monument erected by Burns to the boy of genius whom he called his master. Of course the part of the article which dealt with Fergusson, himself a poet of the Scarlet Gown, was cut out. The Scotch do not care to hear about Fergusson, in spite of their `myriad mutchkined enthusiasm' for his more illustrious imitator and successor, Burns.
At this time Edinburgh was honouring itself, and Mr. Parnell, by conferring its citizenship on that patriot. Murray was actually told off `to stand at a given point of the line on which the hero marched,' and to write some lines of `picturesque description.' This kind of thing could not go on. It was at Nelson's Monument that he stood: his enthusiasm was more for Nelson than for Mr. Parnell; and he caught a severe cold on this noble occasion. Murray's opinions clashed with those of the Scottish Leader, and he withdrew from its service.
Just a week passed between the Parnellian triumph and Murray's retreat from daily journalism. `On a newspaper one must have no opinions except those which are favourable to the sale of the paper and the filling of its advertisement columns.' That is not precisely an accurate theory. Without knowing anything of the circumstances, one may imagine that Murray was rather impracticable. Of course he could not write against his own opinions, but it is unusual