any superfluity of knowledge or sense, and with no more reasoning powers than my dog.

I have frequently heard that the quarrels of religious men, of politicians, of actors, and doctors, were carried on with extraordinary bitterness In embracing a literary life I confess I had cherished a hope that it obviated all necessity for unkind feeling. My little trumpeter taught me the extent of my error. Editors are but men placed in situations calculated to draw out their worst passions. My rival carried on his periodical with great spirit, and left no means untried of ruining me. He gave his paper a form precisely similar to mine, but issued it at half the price, which I knew he could not do without sinking vast sums of money. He wrote to my agents, and offered them higher commissions, and finally induced many of my subscribers to discontinue. My Moscow correspondent, too, while taking supper in an oyster cellar in Chatham row, fell into a dispute with my resident agent in Paris, and each attempted to convince the other by hitting him on the nose, till they were both compelled to take to their beds: and the man who used to do all my sentimental poetry went over to the enemy in a most treacherous and ungrateful manner. Several of my other most valuable prose correspondents took offence, I knew not wherefore. I could not steer clear through all these quicksands, when the little trumpeter injured himself one night before a fashionable audience, by attempting to execute a flourish upon his instrument, too much for the strength of mortal man. He died-his paper shared his fateand I was left once more to stand upon my own merits.

INDEPENDENCE OF THE PRESS.

THE field was now clear, the little trumpeter dead, Colonel Jackson and his high minded friends gave me no further trouble, I had completely appeased the wrath of the Cahawba Democrat, the Macdonough Jacksonian, and all that gang-and, as a distant relation died and left me an estate, I paid off my debts, and began to be called a 66 good man" in Wall street. The president of the New York Botanical Bank took off his

hat to me in the street; and it was no sooner generally understood that my name was valuable on paper, than it was whispered about that I was a young man of talent. Now let the reader, who, in the foolishness of his soul, envies the prosperity of my affairs, tax his imagination to conceive the most extraordinary of all misfortunes that ever happened to mortal. It shows, however, what a stupid monster the public is, for whom I once cherished such profound respect. There was a time when the public was to me a monarch, gifted with the most sublime attributes. I approached him only with the deepest reverence, listened to his words as wisdom, and submitted to his decisions without presuming to dream of questioning their most unimpeachable correctness. I felt even as the lowest and most insignificant Turkish slave that ever crawled forth from the meanest abode of poverty and ignorance, when brought into the presence of his magnificent sovereign, whose glance could instantaneously consign him to the bow string. But now I look upon him as a great, uncouth, senseless creature, who has not wit enough to see which side his bread is buttered. He is perfectly managed by a few sly rogues, who act as keepers, and bestow every exterior mark of respect upon him, bowing their heads down to the ground, and saluting him with swelling titles, but laughing all the while in their sleeves, and making merry at his expense as soon as they are fairly behind his back. He is the common butt of those, who, before his face, treat him with the greatest reverence, and who derive the most profit from his friendship. The manager condemns his bad taste, and then writes his bill," the public is respectfully informed," &c. The player, angry that his benefit is a poor one, utters an imprecation behind the scenes, smooths his brow, goes out, lays his hand upon his heart, and babbles about eternal gratitude" and "profound respect.' The publisher sends forth his book, and says, "it's wretched stuff, but it will do for him; pockets the proceeds, and searches for more "stuff," to satisfy his craving appetite; and when something really meritorious comes before him, there is every probability that he will show his teeth, and growl at it, at the instigation of some of his keepers.

I soon surmounted the obstacles, which, in conjunction with the trumpet, had hitherto impeded my progress, and concentrated my exertions upon the paper. I excluded from its columns every thing common place, and filled it with the best written essays upon scientific subjects. Men of education sent me complimentary notices, with requests to put down their names among my subscribers; and it was gravely pronounced by the critics, that my journal was worthy the perusal of the most learned classes, when my list of patrons began suddenly to diminish with fearful rapidity. The more praise I received, the worse the pecuniary aspect of my affairs grew. I only wanted a little more of the genuine spirit of poetry-a few just reviews of popular living authors-some impartial criticism on the theatres, and a series of essays, in the style of Addison, to ruin me beyond reparation. In a sudden attack of independence one day, I gave publicity to a critique upon pulpit oratory, wherein several ministers were handled according to their merits, and their whole congregations, with their cousins and friends, discontinued in one morning. At another time an admirable article on landlords and tenants, which I obtained with great exertion and expense, caused a fat gentleman with a cane to come into my office in a passion.

"Let me tell you, Mr. Editor," said he, "that I am a holder of real estate in this city. I have fourteen houses, sir; free, unincumbered property. They are mine. I've worked forty years for them like a dog, and I support my family out of the rents, and I'll do with them just what I please, in spite of you, so don't send. your miserable paper to me any more.

And about sixteen other fat holders of real estate, with canes, came around, one after the other, and discontinued their subscriptions.

I began to give up my theory of the independence of the press. It can never be independent, except it be rendered so by the public support. Its independence, I once believed, consisted in its willingness and its ability to express just opinions, without reference to the local interests of any party. Soon I found, however, that it consisted in something very different. If I had gone on improving the paper much longer, I should not have

had a single reader; but a short fit of sickness comI was no longer enabled to pay for valuable communications; I took up with whatever came in my way; praised every body, and every thing, through thick and thin, and my prospects began to revive a little.

pelled me to neglect it for a few weeks.

One of my contemporaries found something to displease him in an article which I published, and in a very coarse and insulting paragraph, held it up to public scorn. In reply, I remonstrated with him very temperately, and assured him that he had given the phrase an erroneous construction. In his next paper I read the following, which I suppose I am to consider as characteristic of the independence of the press:

of the

"Mr. is a base assassin. He is one of your half horse, half alligator, and a little of the steam boat men. He always goes the whole hog. This polluted wretch, whom I would not take hold of with a pair of tongs, nor then, unless to give him the chastisement his impudent audacity so richly merits; this degraded outcast from all human society, who talks about our institutions and our country, is himself an Englishman; and if he possessed sufficient wit to know the name of the corrupt party, whose filthy principles he circulates like a vile tool, would be a tory. We shall horsewhip him as soon as our leisure will permit us to visit the city which he infests with his pestilential presence. Nor must he suppose that until then he can escape the exposure his long train of cowardly falsehoods deserves. We, Thomas Jenkins, pledge ourselves to show our readers that he is a perjured scoundrel, so totally destitute of every common feeling of humanity, that the earth groans under him as he walks."

Now Mr. Thomas Jenkins may be a very decent name, but I never heard of it before. I was naturally very indignant, and inwardly vowed that if I should ever meet with the gentleman I would give him some slight testimonial of my regard.

One afternoon I was waited on by a little, diminutive dandy, with a rattan and whiskers. He was pale and consumptive looking, and had that kind of cough which reminds a man of a quiet corner in a country churchyard, and makes him inclined to moralize. Yet a long

collar protruding over his chin, and the air of studied grace with which he rapped his slender instruments of perambulation with his rattan, taught the observer that while the precarious personage before him did remain on earth, it was his wish to appear to every possible advantage.

"Pray, sir," said he, taking off his hat, and looking very amiable and interesting, "have I the honor of addressing the editor of the?"

"I am the editor," said I.

"I am very happy to know you, sir," he said.

"This is my first visit to your city, and my friends have been so kind as to furnish me with letters to many of your citizens. Do me the favor to peruse this."

He handed me a letter, tapped his boots with his rattan, yawned, and cast his eyes about, with the air of a self-satisfied fop, while I read the following:

"DEAR SIR-This will make you acquainted with my excellent friend, Mr. Thomas Jenkins, editor of the of this place. He is a gentleman of education, and I should esteem myself greatly obliged by any attentions you may have it in your power to render him during his stay in your city. Yours truly, P. B."

66

Why, you impudent scoundrel," said I, as soon as my surprise suffered me to speak; "how dare you, sir, presume to trust your body within reach of one whom you have so deeply insulted and aggrieved?"

I laid my hand on his collar, and paused at the expression of utter astonishment which appeared in his face, as he replied

"Insulted! aggrieved! who? I? My dear sir, I beg your pardon. Some mistake, I presume. You have mistaken the person: my name, as you will perceive by the letter which you hold in your hand-my name, sir, is-Jenkins-Mr. Jenkins-Mr. Thomas Jenkins." I took down a file of his paper. "Are you, sir," I asked, "the editor of this infamous, coarse, brutal, disgraceful, and licentious journal ?"

"Why, here's my paper, sure enough," said Mr. Thomas Jenkins. "Yes, sir, I am the editor of this journal; but, sir, upon my soul-why, you use language in reference to it, I confess-I-"

"Look here," said I, dragging Mr. Jenkins by his