Summary

Various The Galaxy, April, 1877

It is vast—it is a revolution! And no man yet sees the end.
Trade now was exaggerated beyond all former measure, and henceforth was to be the god of England and of the world. "Let us produce, let us buy cheap and sell dear, and so we shall be blessed." England had coal deep down in her bowels. Let her send her sons by thousands into the slime and darkness to dig it out. Let her make steam, and cheap cotton, and infinite iron, and let her make all mankind buy of her. "Let us," she cried, "demand free trade! for we can make cheap and sell dear, and none can rival us."
Source: Gutenberg

Various The Galaxy, April, 1877

To tell you the truth, Miss Grey, it isn't in his power now. You don't know the struggles of us, the unsuccessful men in literature, who yet have faith in ourselves. I am very poor. My utmost effort goes in keeping a decent dress-coat and buying a pair of gloves; I don't complain—I am not one bit deterred, and I only trouble you with this confession, because whatever I may have been in the past I had rather you knew me to be what I am—a wretched, penniless struggler—than believe that I left my sister to be a burden on your friendship."
"Mary is the only friend I have," said Minola.
Source: Gutenberg

Various The Galaxy, April, 1877

Novelists and foreign dramatists having no legal rights, actor-authors appear to think they have also no moral rights entitled to respect. This is the one stain on the character of actor-authors from which not one of them is free, or ever has been free, no matter what his time and nation. From Shakespeare to Brougham, from Molière to Boucicault, the lustre of all their talents has been dimmed by this one dirty vice of filching the product of other men's brains; and the only dramatists free from the reproach have been those who have come to the boards from outside, like Bulwer and Sheridan.
Source: Gutenberg

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