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Updated: June 11, 2025
Captain Marryat's gross trash sells immensely about Wapping and Portsmouth, and brings him in L500 or L600 the book but that can scarce be called literature. D'Israeli cannot sell a book at all, I hear. Is not that odd? I would give more for one of his books than for forty of the common saleable things about town.
As far as I have observed they know nothing about marling-spike seamanship, strapping blocks, fitting rigging, etc. Now I can sit down alongside of any seaman doing a bit of work and show him how it ought to be done; yes, and do it myself." It was Marryat's lieutenant, Phillott, ipsissimis verbis.
The sea stories of Captain Marryat's days abound in such illustrations, and even romance of the higher order, and poetry itself, have found subjects for picturesque and pathetic narrative in the stories of young men thus torn from their families without a moment's notice, and compelled to go on a ship of war and fight the foreign enemy at sea.
Black Tom, as he was generally called by the midshipmen, soon became great friends with his namesake and his companions, who treated him with the respect which was his due, and consequently won his affections. He had nothing of Captain Marryat's Mesty about him.
His daughters frequently read aloud to him, and he always asked for fresh flowers. At the last he became delirious, though continuing to dictate pages of talk and reflection. On the morning of August 9th, 1848, he expired in perfect quiet. "Although not handsome," says Mrs Lean, "Captain Marryat's personal appearance was very prepossessing.
Mr Prothero was reading the newspaper at a small round table, with an especial candle to himself. His worthy wife was mending or making shirts. At another round table, not very far off, Netta had some work in her hands, and one of Captain Marryat's novels open before her. 'Why don't you do your work instead of reading those trashy stories, Netta? suddenly exclaimed Mr Prothero.
The literary life is very like any other, in London, or is it that we do not see it aright, not having the eyes of genius? Well, a life on the ocean wave, too, may not be so desirable as it seems in Marryat's novels: so many a lad whom he tempted into the navy has discovered. The best part of the existence of a man of letters is his looking forward to it through the spectacles of Titmarsh.
The world would only be made to look more ridiculous if our deceased friends really rapped tables and pulled off bedclothes, as Miss Florence Marryat's do. Mrs. Where is the point of a progression through stages, if there is no continuous consciousness? What does it matter if I am not myself, but somebody else in his fifth plane or her nineteenth incarnation?
He took up a book, one of Marryat's, crossed his legs and began to read. Gee! how that old pipe smelled! I laid on the bed and watched him blowing big gray clouds out under the corner of his mustache. When I'd smoked three cigarettes he looked over at me. "Ready?" he asked. "No, I'm not ready." "Let me know when you are," he said. Then he filled the pipe again and went on reading.
To be had GRATIS, and can be sent POSTAGE FREE to any book-buyer on receipt of an address. Chandos-street, King William-street, Strand. TICKNER'S HISTORY OF SPANISH LITERATURE. With Criticisms and Biographical Notices. 3 vols. 8vo. MARRYAT'S HISTORY of POTTERY and PORCELAIN, from the Earliest Period in various Countries. With coloured Plates and 130 Woodcuts, 8vo.
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