Vi 
The ‘ Phytologist’ never was successful as a commercial specula- 
tion: the candid and impartial tone of the reviews, mostly written by 
men of the highest botanical standing, prevented this. The botani- 
cal public is a very small public, and a very literary public; and to 
secure its favour you must laud A with a sort of monthly judilate, 
you must conceal the blunders of B, you must insert the cauticities of 
C and the high-sounding nothings of D. An Editor of any feeling 
winces under such restrictions; an Editor of any truthfulness abhors 
such restrictions ; an Editor of any spirit throws off such restrictions. 
What is the consequence? A, B,C and D refuse to write for you, 
and refuse in a dignified manner, as men who have a right to dictate; 
they write to each other, they write to strangers, to E, F, G—Z, whose 
names they observe as contributors, and state the withdrawal of their 
patronage, and their regret that E, F, G—Z should still continue to’ 
write in such a Journal. So A—Z all withdraw their assistance, as 
far as writing is concerned, and leave only the outsiders to contribute. 
The effect is soon obvious: the quality of the article is deteriorated, 
because the producers are incompetent. A, with glittering eyes, 
writes to B, his old opponent, deeply regretting the evident deteriora- 
tion, B passes the plaint on to C, with additions; and so it goes 
down to Z. The next step is to apprise the Editor that unless better 
matter is given they must all decline to read the ‘ Phytologist ;’ they 
regret—people doing either an unjust or unkind thing always regret— 
they regret their indisposition to purchase what gives them so little 
information. They cease to take it. Still, the ‘ Phytologist’ crawls 
on, like the poor tortoise whose brains were cleared out by a crnel 
experimenter, until an event occurs beyond the reach of human skill 
or human ingenuity, and the only tie between the ‘ Phytologist’ and 
its proprietor is broken. 
EDWARD NEWMAN. 
November, 1856. 
