the other's life of Boileau; where there is such a dull,
heavy succession of long quotations of uninteresting passages, that it
makes their method quite nauseous. But the verbose, tasteless Frenchman
seems to lay it down as a principle, that every life must be a
book,--and, what is worse, it seems a book without a life; for what do
we know of Boileau after all his tedious stuff?"

Des Maizeaux was much in the employ of the Dutch booksellers, then the
great monopolisers in the literary mart of Europe. He supplied their
"nouvelles litteraires" from England; but the work-sheet price was very
mean in those days. I have seen annual accounts of Des Maizeaux settled
to a line for four or five pounds; and yet he sent the "Novelties" as
fresh as the post could carry them! He held a confidential
correspondence with these great Dutch booksellers, who consulted him in
their distresses; and he seems rather to have relieved them than
himself. But if he got only a few florins at Rotterdam, the same
"nouvelles litteraires" sometimes secured him valuable friends at
London; for in those days, which perhaps are returning on us, an English
author would often appeal to a foreign journal for the commendation he
might fail in obtaining at home; and I have discovered, in more cases
than one, that, like other smuggled commodities, the foreign article was
often of home manufactory!

I give one of these curious bibliopolical distresses. Sauzet, a
bookseller at Rotterdam, who judged too critically for the repose of his
authors, seems to have been always fond of projecting a new "Journal;"
tormented by the ideal excellence which he had conceived of such a work,
it vexed him that he could never find the workmen! Once disappointed of
the assistance he expected from a writer of talents, he was fain to put
up with one he was ashamed of; but warily stipulated on very singular
terms. He confided this precious literary secret to Des Maizeaux. I
translate from his manuscript letter.

"I send you, my dear Sir, four sheets of the continuation of my journal,
and I hope this second part will turn out better than the former. The
author thinks himself a very able person; but I must tell you frankly,
that he is a man without erudition, and without any critical
discrimination; he writes pretty well, and turns passably what he says;
but that is all! Monsieur Van Effen having failed in his promises to
realise my hopes on this occasion, necessity compelled me to h