s, I should add, which should be
sent to it; for, of course, the Review would not acknowledge the
existence of publications, the authors of which did not acknowledge the
existence of the Review. I don't think, however, that the Review had
much cause to complain of being neglected; I have reason to believe that
at least nine-tenths of the publications of the day were sent to the
Review, and in due time reviewed. I had good opportunity of judging--I
was connected with several departments of the Review, though more
particularly with the poetical and philosophic ones. An English
translation of Kant's philosophy made its appearance on my table the day
before its publication. In my notice of this work, I said that the
English shortly hoped to give the Germans a _quid pro quo_. I believe at
that time authors were much in the habit of publishing at their own
expense. All the poetry which I reviewed appeared to be published at the
expense of the authors. If I am asked how I comported myself, under all
circumstances, as a reviewer--I answer,--I did not forget that I was
connected with a Review established on Oxford principles, the editor of
which had translated Quintilian. All the publications which fell under
my notice I treated in a gentlemanly and Oxford-like manner, no
personalities--no vituperation--no shabby insinuations; decorum, decorum
was the order of the day. Occasionally a word of admonition, but gently
expressed, as an Oxford undergraduate might have expressed it, or master
of arts. How the authors whose publications were consigned to my
colleagues were treated by them I know not; I suppose they were treated
in an urbane and Oxford-like manner, but I cannot say; I did not read the
reviewals of my colleagues, I did not read my own after they were
printed. I did not like reviewing.

Of all my occupations at this period I am free to confess I liked that of
compiling the "Newgate Lives and Trials" the best; that is, after I had
surmounted a kind of prejudice which I originally entertained. The
trials were entertaining enough; but the lives--how full were they of
wild and racy adventures, and in what racy, genuine language were they
told. What struck me most with respect to these lives was the art which
the writers, whoever they were, possessed of telling a plain story. It
is no easy thing to tell a story plainly and distinctly by mouth; but to
tell one on paper is difficult indeed, so many snares lie in the