Probably there were many duties more exacting, and less agreeable,
than the turning out of epigrams. Indeed there was other work of
some more or less mechanical kind, and the manufacture of `leader
notes' was the least part of Murray's industry. At the end of two
years there was `the prospect of a very fair salary.' But there was
`night-work and everlasting hurry.' `The interviewing of a half-
bred Town-Councillor on the subject of gas and paving' did not
exhilarate Murray. Again, he had to compile a column of Literary
News, from the Athenaeum, the Academy, and so on, `with comments and
enlargements where possible.' This might have been made extremely
amusing, it sounds like a delightful task,--the making of comments
on `Mr. - has finished a sonnet:' `Mr. -`s poems are in their
fiftieth thousand:' `Miss - has gone on a tour of health to the
banks of the Yang-tse-kiang:' `Mrs. - is engaged on a novel about
the Pilchard Fishery.' One could make comments (if permitted) on
these topics for love, and they might not be unpopular. But perhaps
Murray was shackled a little by human respect, or the prejudices of
his editor. At all events he calls it `not very inspiring
employment.' The bare idea, I confess, inspirits me extremely.

But the literary follet, who delights in mild mischief, did not
haunt Murray. He found an opportunity to write on the Canongate
Churchyard, where Fergusson lies, under the monument erected by
Burns to the boy of genius whom he called his master. Of course the
part of the article which dealt with Fergusson, himself a poet of
the Scarlet Gown, was cut out. The Scotch do not care to hear about
Fergusson, in spite of their `myriad mutchkined enthusiasm' for his
more illustrious imitator and successor, Burns.

At this time Edinburgh was honouring itself, and Mr. Parnell, by