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tion; but it is tempered to them by the sympathy, not merely of those to whom he had personally endeared himself, by his kindness of heart and devoted friendship, but of all who have read his fictions, — for no one ever read Samuel Warren's books without conceiving a liking for the author. To us his loss is especially painful, for he was almost the last of a distinguished circle of coadjutors, whose connection with "Maga" in the earlier half of this century shed a mutual lustre over themselves and on us. The pride which he took in his connection with this magazine, so frequently expressed in his writings, was as gratifying to us as it was honorable to him; and we feel a sad pleasure in now recalling the chief incidents of his literary intercourse with us.

Samuel Warren was born in Denbighshire in 1807, the son of a Wesleyan clergyman, who afterwards took orders in the Church of England. He studied medicine in Edinburgh for some time, but, changing his mind, he went to London and began to read for the bar. It was while still a student in the Inns of Court that he commenced his literary career, and his first introduction to our pages cannot be more fittingly told than in his own words, in the preface to the fifth edition of the "Diary of a Late Physician," published in 1837: —

The first chapter of this "Diary" — the "Early Struggles" — was offered by me successively to the conductors of three leading magazines in London, and rejected, as "unsuitable for their pages," and "not likely to interest the public." In despair, I bethought myself of the "great northern magazine." I remember taking my packet to Mr. Cadell's in the Strand, with a sad suspicion that I should never see or hear anything more of it: but at the close of the month I received a letter from Mr. Blackwood, informing me that he had inserted the chapter, and begging me to make arrangements for immediately proceeding regularly with the series. It expressed his cordial approval of the first chapter, and predicted that I was likely to produce a series of papers well suited for is magazine, and calculated to interest the public. It would be great affectation in me, and ingratitude towards the public, were I to conceal my belief that his expectations have been in some degree verified by the event. Here I wish to pay a brief and sincere tribute to the memory of my late friend, Mr. Blackwood. I shall ever cherish it with respect and affection. I have this morning been referring to nearly fifty letters which he wrote to me during the publication of the first fifteen chapters of the "Diary." The perusal of them has occasioned me lively emotion. All of them evidence the remarkable tact and energy with which he conducted his celebrated magazine. Harassing as were his labors at the close of every month, he nevertheless invariably wrote to me a letter of considerable length, in style terse, vigorous, and accurate, full of interesting comments on literary matters in general, and instructive suggestions concerning my own papers in particular. He was a man of strong intellect, of great practical sagacity, of unrivalled energy and industry, of high and inflexible honor in every transaction, great or small, that I ever heard of his being concerned in. But for him, this work would certainly never have been in existence; and should it be so fortunate as to live, I wish it ever to be accompanied by the tribute I here sincerely and spontaneously pay to the memory of my departed friend, William Blackwood.

So full of deep and varied experience and knowledge of life was the physician's "Diary," that Mr. Blackwood naturally concluded it must be the work of a man of mature years. What was his surprise, then, when a bright-looking young man of two or three and twenty introduced himself as the author. "Bless me," exclaimed the astonished editor, as he glanced at the glossy black curls of his visitor, "I had thought your hair must be as grey as my own!" It was in August 1830 that the "Diary" began, and it was carried through the magazine at intervals during the next seven years, until a work of greater ambition began to occupy his mind. The merits of the physician's "Diary" were speedily acknowledged. The profession was indignant at the breach of etiquette implied in the publication of records of practice, and its journals anxiously sought to discover the offender. Month after month fresh passages were eagerly expected, were critically scanned when published, and not unfrequently made the subject of warm newspaper discussion. It does not appear that any suspicion was excited regarding the reality of the author's assumed profession, until circumstances brought about a revelation of his personality. Although the popularity of the "Diary" was so great as to insure success for any other work from the same pen, Warren's next venture was also at the outset an anonymous one. The first chapter of "Ten Thousand a-Year" appeared in the magazine of October 1839, and at once excited a powerful interest, which was not exhausted until all that there was to tell of the fortunes of the Aubreys and of the career of Titmouse had been revealed. The time was one when no novel not of intrinsic strength and merit could have held its ground. Some of the great-