I REJECTED MSS. NEVER would do for a publisher. I don't mean to say that I could'nt work for the public for nothing, and find myself. That I could do, in the usual way: I could deceive myself year after year with the idea that the time was coming when my efforts would be appreciated, and paid for in some way. I'm not without experience in that sort of self-deceit. I was once agent of a charitable association. Neither do I mean that I could'nt carry on a business where every one, on both sides, producer and consumer, considered me, as go-between, fair game;where all taken from me was looked on as a hard-earned right, and all rendered me as an undeserved favor. Oh no! I don't mean that that would frighten me off. I once taught school. I don't mean that I could'nt go into a business where endless detail was a necessity, and exactness of calculations and accounts an impracticability;-where the second duty was always over-due before the first was commenced-where adding to your force of assistants, and thus to your expenses, seemed to add also to your load; lightening only that of those below you-where the choice of occupation was limited to the exercise of judgment, as to which job was farthest behind-hand. Far be it from me. Reader, I have been, for some time, in some sort, editor of a paper! By the by, as for this last sort of work, the making up for lost time-the levelling down of the obstacles that stick up highest-it is the kind that pays best, for there the least labor makes the most show. The higher the grass, the more hay you can cut in a day. Set no more copies, "Procrastination," &c. It's not the thief, it's the purchaser, and it pays well, too. The horse that keeps ahead, half drags his wiser mate, who keeps behind. But this by the way. Those things are what I don't mean. If they were all (but they are not half) I could be a publisher. What I do mean, is: I never would do for a publisher, because I never could refuse a manuscript. My shelves would be crammed with a frightful mass of trash, of the sort facetiously known as "good stock to keep on hand;" and my store would be as notorious in the trade as the hospital for the gratuitous support of authors. In two years the trade-sale people would have made their fortunes out of me. I might occasionally, if a man did not send his work, drop his letter surreptitiously into the basket, and give him a silent refusal; but even then I could not make the refusal the rule, and the acceptance the exception; and if he only brought the tangible evidence of his toil and his many-a-wearyhour-enduring faith and hope-my fortress would be carried at once. In every one of those various-looking reams of spoiled paper, that I ought to look at as so much merchandise, I should see lamplight-work; and early-morning-work; and note-book-thoughts copied out and amplified; and ideas, or their substitutes, conned over and brought forth with that intent frown that indicates brain-throes; and whole pages rewritten merely to give a more felicitous turn to a sentence; and paragraphs read aloud to the family with strict injunctions of secresy, (violated by loving, second-person vanity, for the sake of mysterious hints about our book ;) and corrections made solely for the sake of encouraging the timorous critic-who, in fact, made the criticism solely for the sake of showing her affectionate interest;-all these things should I see, and many more, where I ought only to see so many pages of manuscript, which would make a book of so many pages, which such and such booksellers would buy at such and such a price, in such and such quantities. Neither would selfish reasons alone deter me from setting up my hospital-my dispensary of out-door relief, to save callow clients from the tender mercies of my successful neighbor. But it would be no kindness to any body. At the end of the two years aforesaid I should fail, and then the whole lot of authors (each reckoning what a sale of 10,000 copies would have brought him), would think they had lost by me all the money I hadn't paid them; instead of having made out of me all I had paid them! Any time for twenty years afterward, you might hear Thomas, Richard, and Henry, making mysterious allusion to fabulous sums they had lost by their publisher. Poor fellows! The money they lost was a myth, but their real loss was the loss of a publisher. Never again-but I am getting quite sentimental on a hypothesis. It's only because poor authors are concerned. me But suppose my friends set up again, to use the common phrase; which being done and interpreted, signifieth that I am joined in bonds (though neither holy nor matri-) monial with somebody who will give me all the work and none of the pay-all the blame and none of the discretion. Then it would be the old story of so many "successful part nerships" over again. A miserable rich man without leniency, dragging along an unhappy poor man without obduracy, and no one, not even the authors, but would be worse off than ever. When there were no publishers they didn't write books. Very good. When I was alone, When I was alone, I with a bland face accepted them. Very good. When he was alone, he with a stern face refused them. Very good. But now, they do write books, and the firm does refuse them, but not as before he alone did; in an appropriate manner-a manner that says, "I won't publish your book because I don't want to-because the public wouldn't buy it-because you have'nt got talent enough to write a book." That puts a man at his ease. He does not go lingering away, thinking how unlucky he is-which is a very hard thought to bear. He goes away briskly, thinking what a deuced fool he must have been, which is a comparatively comforting one. Oh no. He of the frozen face says stonily to me, "No!" I of the melting face say sympathizingly to the expectant, 66 'My dear sir-I hardly know what to say-the book is excellent on many accounts-it has given me great pleasure to read it-it would no doubt have a large sale-" then finding myself getting nearer and nearer to acceptance, and further and further from rejection, I begin again, and beg him to excuse the trouble we have put him to-but-we are so full of businessand then I feel as if I would like to cry, or run away down the street without my hat, as hard as I could go, or do something desperate. But it doesn't stop till he has, with fatal facility, removed all my objections, and we've had an unhappy time a good deal longer. What a humbug this sympathy is! Verily, it's sea-water to thirst-it's oil to flames-it's ipecacuanha to sea-sickness ! Of course the man's wretched. Might he not better be repulsed with the handle of the awl than the point? Wouldn't the back-track be better over rock than over sand? He sees from my air how much cause I think he has to be miserable, and he believes me. I see in him the embodiment of all the humanities herein before mentioned, so he sees it too. If I saw only the four hundred and eighty-second rejected applicant, he couldn't do less than agree with me again, or, if he didn't, it wouldn't be my fault. Sympathy is a humbug-in literary misfortunes. So I never was made for a publisher. There being no one to dispute the proposition is of course no reason for not repeating it. On the contrary it removes the strongest reason I could have against urging the matter.) There is only one effort to be compared to the offering of my book to a publisher, and that is scarcely enough unlike to serve as an illustration. It is the offering of a man's self to a maiden. The lover and I both stake our all on a single throw, feeling as if we should never do it but once. We both impart for the first time to others what has been our own staple of thought for months or years. Even our follies in the management of our venture are similar. We both attach an exaggerated importance to the influence that trifles may have on its success, whereas it is probably decided long beforehand, in his case and in mine. There will be no more doubt in the mind of the publisher ten minutes after he has opened my budget than there will be in the mind of the girl ten seconds after she has opened his. If it is by letter, we both make many revises; tearing up the first because it looks as if we had been too solicitous about its exact wording; and the last, because it looks as if we had made several copies before completing this fair one without blot or blemish. Even the color of the envelop-his person and my parcel—are offered in are the subjects of anxious delibera tion! We both think of the possibility of a rejection—or at least we try to. We do think of it bravely when we are in firstrate spirits after a strong cup of coffee, for instance-bravely-fearlessly-for then it looks so very small. But, when it comes to the point, we have to turn our backs on this same possibility, to keep it from overshadowing us entirely:-it has grown like a night-mare. We both hang our destinies on an idol we ourselves have made, which would never have been a deity without us, and others like us. us. In case of a rejection we both are grievously distressed at what is probably the best thing that could have happened to Not but what publishers make mistakes. Indeed they do! They have before now refused books that would have made their fortunes! (The particular one, who will understand the allusion, will please take notice that I bear no malice. No indeed! I only pity him!) I wonder if W. C. Bennett wrote this poem before he had published any thing. I think not, however. Men write such things, looking back on the feeling that prompted them. "The scholar, he sits in his lonely room "The scholar, he lies in his lonely room, On the bare cold floor he lies, And where are the fame and the laughing home No, I never would do for a publisher— or if I did, any body could do for a publisher; and I, as a publisher, should incontinently be "done for." RUSSIAN DESPOTISM AND ITS VICTIMS-LEO, PRINCE OF ARMENIAIVAN GOLOVIN. SOME few months since, the curiosity of the habitués of the London theatres was piqued by flaming posters put out by the lessee of one of the minor houses, announcing the speedy production of a new five act piece, under the title of Leo the Terrible. The lover of the marvellous promised himself a treat; and as his eye took in the colossal letters that formed the fiery centre-piece of one of Francis's most elaborate affiches, the historical student puzzled his memory to fix its application. Of the numerous Leos inscribed upon the roll of fame as warriors, philosophers, pontiffs, and patrons of letters, he could not hit upon one whose atrocities would have made out a satisfactory title to this formidable appellation. The mystery remained unsolved until the production of the piece. Never was a public more completely sold. Leo the Terrible turned out to be one of the tamest and most harmless of quadrupeds. Scarcely had the amusement excited by this incident begun to subside, when the appearance of a truculent proclamation addressed to the Armenians, by an individual signing himself Leo, a sovereign prince, residing in the broken-down locality of Mortimer-street, raised some doubts in the minds of the London gobemouches, whether their theatrical friend were not getting up another excitement, and contemplating a second edition of Leo the Terrible. So little, in fact, is known of the personage who presents himself under such a cloud of titles, and claims almost to be heaven-born, that our cockney friends may well be excused for being doubtful as to its authenticity. Now, as none of our London contemporaries have thought proper to satisfy the general desire to know who this new potentate really is, who throws his weight into the balance of the Turkish question, it becomes imperative upon us to supply the omission by laying before our readers such facts as personal opportunities have placed within our reach. * * * * In a small and dingily furnished apartment on the second floor of a house in Bond-street, formerly one of the most fashionable, but now one of the most rapidly declining business streets of London, are seated two persons, whose appearance presents a remarkable contrast both in physical and intellectual development. The elder of the two, a small but compact and well-formed man of about five and thirty, sat carelessly lounging on a sofa placed at right angles with the fireplace, and listening with a sort of impatient interest to the observations of his companion. From the strongly marked Oriental cast of his features, and large flashing black eyes, he might have been taken for an Israelite, a supposition strengthened by the characteristic precision of dress and love of ornament which distinguish the more opulent classes of the London Jews. The face, on the whole, was what would be styled by most people a handsome one, but it did not satisfy the critical observer, who looks for beauty rather in those traits that indicate mental power, than in the regular outlines that captivate women. There was an unsteadiness, too, about the eye, and a nervous restlessness about all the movements of this otherwise faultless personage, that left an impression far from favorable to the strength and earnestness of his character. Opposite him, buried in the depths of a huge leathern arm-chair, and enveloped in the folds of a picturesque-looking dressing-gown, evidently foreign both in its texture and cut, sat a young man some few years the junior of the other, whose massive square head, high cheek bones, and expansive forehead, instantly arrested one's attention. From the Calmuck-like conformation of his features, and sluggish repose of manner, it was evident that he was one of those slow-blooded children of the North, in whose veins the fire of their Asiatic origin had been chilled down by the influences of climate. His words fell slowly and with apparent effort from his lips, and it was difficult at first to determine whether this heaviness of expression was the result of constitutional indolence, or of a studied control over his speech. This latter supposition became confirmed when you found yourself subjected to the steady scrutinizing gaze of his cold gray eye, and had time to analyze the practical good sense and logical force of his observations. At times, too, when certain political topics were introduced, it became evident that there was no latent deficiency of energy in his character. He would forget for the moment the severe discipline of his usual manner, and give way to a burst of vehement declamation that carried every thing before it. When in these moods, it became difficult to identify the fierce, thrilling demagogue before you with the cold, self-possessed, passionless being whose monotonous accents had been falling so listlessly upon your ear. In the first of the personages thus briefly sketched, we have introduced to our readers Leo, Prince of Armenia; and in the second, Ivan Golovin, Prince of Howra, an ardent republican despite of his origin; both men in whose persons the most sacred rights have been violated by the Russian despot. Before entering, however, upon the chapter of Prince Leo's wrongs, it will be necessary for us to quote the document above referred to, and then to take a rapid review of the historical evidence upon which his claims are founded: To the "Leo, by the grace of God, Sovereign Prince of Armenia, Prince of Korinos, Prince de Lusignan, Prince of Georgia, Prince of Gassan, Duke of Tyr, Count d'Almarie, and Defender of the Armenian Faith. Armenians in Turkey:-Beloved brothers and faithful countrymen :-Our will and our ardent wish is that you should defend, to the last drop of your blood, your country and the Sultan against the tyrant of the north. Remember, my brothers, that in Turkey there are no knouts; they do not tear your nostrils, and your women are not flogged secretly or in public. Under the reign of the Sultan there is humanity, while under the tyrant of the north there are nothing but atrocities. Therefore, place yourselves under the protection of God, and fight bravely for the liberty of your country and your present sovereign. Pull down your houses to make barricades, and if you have no other arms, break your furniture and defend yourselves with it. May Heaven guide you on your path to glory! My blessings and prayers shall attend you wherever you go. My only happiness will be to fight in the midst of you against the oppressor of your country and our creed. May God incline the Sultan's heart to sanction my demand, because under his reign our religion remains in its pure form, while under the northern tyrant it will be altered. Remember, at least, brothers, that the blood that runs in the veins of him who now addresses you is the blood of twenty kings; it is the blood of Neros, Lusignans, and defenders of our faith; and we say to you, let us defend our creed and its purity from invasion until our last drop of blood." The country formerly subject to the rule of the Armenian monarchs, although its limits have varied from time to time, may be described generally as lying be tween the Kur on the north, and the Khurdistan mountains on the south, having the Euphrates from the ridge of Mount Taurus or Erzingan on the west, and approaching to near the Caspian Sea on the east. The soil is in general fertile, and where irrigation is practised, the produce is varied and abundant. In addition to the Armenians, or native inhabitants, the population is composed of Turks, Persians, Russians and pastoral hordes of Turkomans and Kurds. After being long governed either by independent princes or vassals of the Assyrian and Persian empire, Armenia became the theatre of fierce and protracted struggles between the Persians and Romans. Its monarchs were engaged in perpetual contests to preserve the independence and integrity of their territories, and although their reigns present scarcely any thing but a long list of disasters, they exercised an important influence upon the destinies of Western Asia. Leo the First, who ascended the throne in 1123, at the death of Theodore his eldest brother, became so formidable that the Emperor John Comnenus was compelled to raise a powerful army against him. Leo was taken prisoner, with his wife and two sons, and died in captivity at the end of four years. Thoros, or Theodore II., his eldest son, succeeded in effecting his escape, and ascended the throne in 1144. Leo II., surnamed the Great, and grandson of the preceding monarch, succeeded to Rhoupen, his eldest brother, in 1183. He waged a successful war with the Turkoman emir Roustan, added considerably to his dominions, and obtained from Pope Celestin III., and the Emperor Henry VI., permission to assume the title of king. He was crowned by Conrad, Archbishop of Mayence, and anointed by the patriarch Gregory in 1198. He espoused, immediately after, the sister of Guy de Lusignan, King of Cyprus, and distinguished himself by his victories over the Sultan of Iconium, and the Mussulmen of Syria and Asia Minor. Leon III. succeeded in 1269 to his father, Heythorn I., who retired into a monastery. Leo IV., son of Theodore III., succeeded to his uncle Heythorn II., who abdicated in his favor. He was massacred in cold blood by Bilarghou, a Mogul general, who surprised him in his capital. Leo V., son of Oschin and nephew of Heythorn II., succeeded to his father in 1320. The Mamelukes, Tartars, and Turkomans, successively invaded and ravaged his kingdom; whilst a fugitive and confined a prisoner in inaceessible mountains, he vainly implored succor from the Sultan of Persia and the Pope. He died in 1342 without posterity. Jean de Lusignan was then elected to the throne, and took the title of Leo VI. He was of the same house of Lusignan of Cyprus, a daughter of which had espoused Leo the Great. The history of this monarch presented some features of romantic interest, which would have formed a fertile theme for the novelist. Immediately after his accession to the throne, Cilicia was invaded by Shahar Ogli, a Mameluke general, who ravaged the country with fire and sword, and forced the king to take to the mountains, where he remained concealed for nearly two years. In 1375 Leo returned to Tarsus, just as his wife Marie, believing him to be dead, was on the point of wedding Otho, Duke of Brunswick. Having re-assumed the crown, he endeavored to negotiate a peace with the Sultan of Egypt, who would not listen to his propositions. War again broke out, and after a fierce, but ineffectual struggle, Leo again lost his kingdom and his liberty, the latter of which he only recovered by the mediation of the King of Castile, John I. He then tried to engage the kings of France and England to interfere in his favor, but those princes confined themselves to granting him a pension for life. He retired to Paris, where he fixed his residence, and died there in 1393. With the efforts made by this last monarch, every trace of the independence of Armenia disappeared, and she was effaced from the list of nations. The people began to seek an asylum in other countries, and were soon widely diffused over Persia, Turkey, Russia and India. Until a comparatively recent period, Armenia was divided between Persia and Turkey, but the latter ceded to Russia, by the treaty of Adrianople, a considerable portion of the Armenian territories; and in 1827 Russia acquired the entire province of Erivan. Notwithstanding the allegations contained in the proclamation above quoted, and which may be in some degree attributed to a keen sense of personal injustice, there are grounds for believing that the occupation of part of Armenia by the Russians is considered advantageous by the inhabitants. Whatever dissatisfaction may exist on the score of religion, there can be no doubt that life and property are infinitely more secure than they were under any other government which they have had for the last three centuries. Colonel Monteith says: "You may now travel in perfect security with post-horses from the mouths of the Phasis to the Kur, and the Caspian, through countries where, in 1815, the roads were all but impracticable, and exposed to the unrestrained attacks of robbers and other banditti." The consequence of this improved state of things has been an extensive emigration of Armenians from the Turkish and Persian provinces to those of Russia. Owing to its migratory character, it is difficult to estimate accurately the present population of Armenia, but it is supposed to amount to upwards of 2,000,000, of whom two-thirds are under the Ottoman rule. The Armenian religion differs little from the Greek, although, as may be seen from the vehement appeal made on this subject by Prince Leo to his countrymen, the difference is sufficient to embitter their relations with Russia. The Armenians reject the decrees of the Council of Chalcedon, and admit only of a Divine nature in Christ. In general they do not acknowledge the supremacy of the Pope, but since 1441 they have recognized as their spiritual superior the Patriarch of Echmiadzin, who resides at the famous convent of the Three Churches, near Erivan, now in possession of Russia. The descendants of the Jean de Lusignan above mentioned, although stripped of the greater portion of their hereditary possessions in the successive wars and invasions to which their unhappy country was subjected, yet continued to preserve that consideration and respect to which their ancient lineage entitled them. The Armenians could not forget that with the history of this unfortunate family were identified some of the most glorious passages in their annals, and the hope was long ardently cherished, that in the revolutions to which the Ottoman empire seemed destined, the scattered elements of nationality might be again re-united, and the descendants of this long line of warrior monarchs replaced upon the throne. The cession, however, of one of their fairest provinces to Russia, and the certainty that where that formidable power had once obtained a foothold, she would endeavor to extend her sway, crushed the last aspirations for freedom that had animated their breasts. Even in the minds of the dethroned family all hope was now extinguished, and several members of it entered the civil and military services of Russia. Prince Leo, the head of the family, and the subject of the present sketch, entered the Russian army at an early age. His |