Humphrey Clinker telling his own tale without the softening intervention of Mr. Charles Dickens or Mr. Tobias Smollett.
Let us further suppose not England but Russia to be the theatre of our hero's miseries and adventures, and the interest of the story will at once be infinitely enhanced. The odds would now be a thousand to one against our hero's attaining to manhood at all, and a hundred thousand to one against his ever attaining to authorship. His risks would be out of all proportion to his chances. From first to last starvation would constantly dog his footsteps, and Siberian exile would be the least terrible of a score of those administrative measures by means of which the servants of the Tsar wage unintermittent warfare against the vagrant population of their master's immense Empire. The career, then, of a professional tramp in Russia must needs be of tragic intensity, and it was my good fortune, some eighteen months ago, in the pages of "The Pilot" to be the first to call the attention of English readers to the strange history of a Russian tramp of genius, who is, moreover, his own chronicler. Maksim Gorky—Maximus the Bitter—is the pseudonym deliberately chosen, at the outset of his career, by the young Muscovite author who is at the present moment (and I do not even except the revered name of Tolstoi) by far the most popular story-teller in the Russian Empire. The following brief biographical sketch of this remarkable man is
