in want of money," he says
in a letter to his mother, "I certainly would not write any more, for I
am rather tired of it. I should like to disengage myself from the
fraternity of authors, and be known in future only in my profession as a
good officer and seaman." He had hoped to see some service in Canada,
but the opportunity never came.

In England, to which he returned in 1839, the want of money soon came to
be felt more seriously. His father's fortune had been invested in the
West Indies, and began to show diminishing returns. For this and other
reasons he led a very wandering existence, for another four or five
years, until 1843. A year at 8 Duke Street, St James, was followed by a
short stay with his mother at Wimbledon House, from which he took
chambers at 120 Piccadilly, and then again moved to Spanish Place,
Manchester Square. Apparently at this time he made an unsuccessful
attempt to return to active service. He was meanwhile working hard at
_Poor Jack, Masterman Ready, The Poacher, Percival Keene,_ etc., and
living hard in the merry circle of a literary Bohemia, with Clarkson
Stanfield, Rogers, Dickens, and Forster; to whom were sometimes added
Lady Blessington, Ainsworth, Cruickshank, and Lytton. The rival
interests served to sour his spirits and weaken his constitution.

The publication of _The Poacher_ in the _Era_ newspaper involved its
author in a very pretty controversy. A foolish contributor to _Fraser's
Magazine_ got into a rage with Harrison Ainsworth for _condescending_ to
write in the weekly papers, and expressed himself as follows:--

"If writing monthly fragments threatened to deteriorate Mr Ainsworth's
productions, what must be the result of this _hebdomadal_ habit?
Captain Marryat, we are sorry to say, has taken to the same line. Both
these popular authors may rely upon our warning, that they will live
to see their laurels fade unless they more carefully cultivate a
spirit of _self-respect._ That which was venial in a miserable
starveling of Grub Street is _perfectly disgusting_ in the
extravagantly paid novelists of these days--the _caressed_, of
generous booksellers. Mr Ainsworth and Captain Marryat ought to
disdain such _pitiful peddling._ Let them eschew it without delay."

Marryat's reply was, spirited and manly. After ridiculing _Fraser's_
attempt "to set up a standard of _precedency_ and _rank_ in literature,"
and humorously proving that an author's works were not