In August he went up to London and cast himself irrevocably upon the fortune of his pen.  He had accumulated some materials, and upon these he set to work.  Efforts were made at home to procure for him the position of Secretary of Legation in London, which drew from him the remark, when they came to his knowledge, that he did not like to have his name hackneyed about among the office-seekers in Washington.  Subsequently his brother William wrote him that Commodore Decatur was keeping open for him the office of Chief Clerk in the Navy Department.  To the mortification and chagrin of his brothers, Washington declined the position.  He was resolved to enter upon no duties that would interfere with his literary pursuits.

This resolution, which exhibited a modest confidence in his own powers, and the energy with which he threw himself into his career, showed the fiber of the man.  Suddenly, by the reverse of fortune, he who had been regarded as merely the ornamental genius of the family became its stay and support.  If he had accepted the aid of his brothers, during the experimental period of his life, in the loving spirit of confidence in which it was given, he was not less ready to reverse the relations when the time came; the delicacy with which his assistance was rendered, the scrupulous care taken to convey the feeling that his brothers were doing him a continued favor in sharing his good fortune, and their own unjealous acceptance of what they would as freely have given if circumstances had been different, form one of the pleasantest instances of brotherly concord and self-abnegation.  I know nothing more admirable than the lifelong relations of this talented and sincere family.

Before the “Sketch-Book” was launched, and while Irving was casting about for the means of livelihood, Walter Scott urged him to take the editorship of an anti-Jacobin periodical in Edinburgh.  This he declined because he had no taste for politics, and because he was averse to stated, routine literary work.  Subsequently Mr. Murray offered him a salary of a thousand guineas to edit a periodical to be published by himself.  This was declined, as also was another offer to contribute to the “London Quarterly” with the liberal pay of one hundred guineas an article.  For the “Quarterly” he would not write, because, he says, “it has always been so hostile to my country, I cannot draw a pen in its service.”  This is worthy of note in view of a charge made afterwards, when he was attacked for his English sympathies, that he was a frequent contributor to this anti-American review.  His sole contributions to it were a gratuitous review of the book of an American author, and an explanatory article, written at the desire of his publisher, on the “Conquest of Granada.”  It is not necessary to dwell upon the small scandal about Irving’s un-American’ feeling.  If there was ever a man who loved his country and was proud of it; whose broad, deep, and strong patriotism did not need the saliency of ignorant partisanship, it was Washington Irving.  He was, like his namesake, an American, and with the same pure loyalty and unpartisan candor.