obbett of his day; the
factious Sir Roger L'Estrange; and the bantering and
profligate Sir John Birkenhead.

[6] An ample view of these lucubrations is exhibited in the early
volumes of the _Gentleman's Magazine_.

[7] It was said of this man that "he had submitted to labour at the
press, like a horse in a mill, till he became as blind and as
wretched." To show the extent of the conscience of this class
of writers, and to what lengths mere party-writers can
proceed, when duly encouraged, Oldmixon, who was a Whig
historian, if a violent party-writer ought ever to be
dignified by so venerable a title, unmercifully rigid to all
other historians, was himself guilty of the crimes with which
he so loudly accused others. He charged three eminent persons
with interpolating Lord Clarendon's History; this charge was
afterwards disproved by the passages being produced in his
Lordship's own handwriting, which had been fortunately
preserved; and yet this accuser of interpolation, when
employed by Bishop Kennett to publish his collection of our
historians, made no scruple of falsifying numerous passages in
Daniel's Chronicle, which makes the first edition of that
collection of no value.

[8] Smollett died in a small abode in the neighbourhood of Leghorn,
where he had resided some time in the hope of recovering his
shattered health; and where he wrote his "Humphrey Clinker."
His friends had tried in vain to procure for him the
appointment of consul to any one of the ports of the
Mediterranean. He is buried in the English cemetery at
Leghorn.--ED.

[9] It stands opposite Dalquhurn House, where he was born, near the
village of Renton, Dumbartonshire. Had Smollett lived a few
more years, he would have been entitled to an estate of about
1000_l._ a year. There is also a cenotaph to his memory on the
banks of Leven-water, which he has consecrated in one of his
best poems.--ED.

THE CASE OF AUTHORS STATED,

INCLUDING THE HISTORY OF LITERARY PROPERTY.

JOHNSON has dignified the booksellers as "the patrons of literature,"
which was generous in that great author, who had written well and
lived but ill all his life on that patronage. Eminent booksellers, in
their constant int