It was rather a singular coincidence that at the very time I was, as it were, burnt out, the following proposal was made to embark in another undertaking (and the second offer of the kind within twelve months):—
“Dear Sir,
“I am applied to by a Literary Junto of the first respectability to become their publisher for a new Review, to be published on the first of every month. The party concerned are all men of property and all unconnected with business, and myself the only tradesman belonging to it, from which I wish you to understand it is to be a perfectly independent journal, and not subservient to any bookseller, as my publications are such as hold criticism at defiance. I should like to consult you respecting the Editorship of it. There is a fund of ten thousand pounds ready for its support, and of course your payments as Editor, should it be worth your while, will be certain. I shall have business in your neighbourhood on Saturday evening, betwixt six and seven o’clock, and if you are at home shall feel obliged by five minutes of your time to discuss the matter.
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“Its divisions will be three—English Literature, Foreign Literature, the Classics and Mathematics.
I was, however, more inclined to stick to my first love, especially as I was courting a bit of change by way of variety; and the new plan, consequently, fell to the ground.
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