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riting for Temple Bar in 1885 Eliza Lynn Linton said of her past rival George Eliot, ‘...she had no passion of conviction, no aggressive flag of faith that carried her into battle and caused her to be pilloried by her opponents’ (‘George Eliot’ 552). Like many of her contemporaries, Linton had shown some hostility to the attention and reputation that Eliot had accrued, and as many surveys of the period show, Eliot had become the standard against which many women writers measured themselves. Linton’s point is a poignant one and we can only assume that she unconsciously refers to herself when she refers to the idea of being pilloried. Though Linton had a long and successful career spanning over fifty years, producing an impressive number of pieces for the periodical press, and over twenty novels, like her anti-feminist rival Margaret Oliphant, she felt that she had never really gained the reputation that she deserved.

In an interview with Linton in Temple Bar some ten years after her appraisal of Eliot, Mrs. Alec Tweedie presents a very domesticated image of Linton. This is typical of the biographical pieces and personal interviews of women writers in the press and in particular of the personal interview that had become such a popular feature of the New Journalism. She uses the familiar formula of presenting the professional woman writer in her home, usually an image of proper femininity, and in this sketch the subject, Linton, is seen darning napkins. Tweedie writes ‘...It is hardly the idea the world has of an authoress.’ (‘A Chat’ 362). However, there is more here than merely a comparison between the public and the private image. Tweedie works hard to show the contradiction between Linton’s solid reputation as a strident voice of conservative values and as a woman of kindness and humility, apparently only ever seen in the domain of the private. Anyone even vaguely familiar with Linton’s work, and most Victorian specialists are familiar with her work for this very reason, will know her as one of the most vociferous opponents of the women’s movement in the nineteenth century, and for many this makes her a difficult challenge.

Her work can be situated in a number of contexts: as an arch-conservative and critic of modern women, and this has been the pivot around which most of her work has been judged; as a writer of key texts on faith and doubt; and as an esteemed woman of letters who began her career as the first salaried woman journalist working on The Morning Chronicle, and who towards the end of her career was one of the first women members to be elected to the governing council of the Society of Authors (Onslow 184). By the end of her career there was an impressive list of periodicals to which she had contributed; she was so prolific that a glance at the titles in which her work appeared looks like the history of publishing in the second half of the century (Onslow 90) with regular contributions to such varied titles as Household Words, North British Review, The Saturday Review, Fortnightly Review, New Review, Nineteenth Century, The Daily News, The Queen, Temple Bar and Cornhill Magazine, to name just a few.

It was the work for The Saturday Review and particularly the ‘The Girl of the Period’ series, a controversial attack on modern girls, that really catapulted Linton to fame and became a springboard for her subsequent increasingly conservative attacks on modern women which were to become the hallmark of her career. Whilst this may have given her the public platform from which to speak and to build this next phase of her career, this did come at a cost. Modern authorship required publicity and Linton was a proficient self-publicist building on this reputation as a controversial speaker, and one capable of picking up on popular contemporary debates. This was evidenced in later work, such as the controversial ‘Wild Women’ articles published in Nineteenth Century. These and other articles on gender and nation secured her fame as a strident conservative and anti-feminist, so much so that she had to turn work down; but this narrow and intransigent position and an unwillingness to test new ground and ideas was a double-edged sword that may well have held her back as a writer.

All the critics who have come to her work agree that she was a resourceful writer who understood the role and power of the press and who understood how to manipulate it to her own advantage. Andrea Broomfield’s careful revision of Linton’s journalistic career suggests that Linton did much more than promote debate about gender through her anti-feminism, but that she understood the periodical press and that she played a significant part in the development of popular journalism (268). It is my aim to take this reappraisal of Linton’s work further. The fact that she was so successful over a long career bears further scrutiny. How did Linton not only survive but thrive in a competitive and saturated market (which went through enormous changes between publication of her first piece in 1846 and her last in 1898) when so many had failed? Did she continually adapt her work for different audiences? How did she manage to work what appears to be a limited number of themes over many years which covered so many new audiences and new market trends? And if so, why did her work remain so marketable? These are complex questions and issues such as the length of her career, the prolific nature of her output, the number and variety of periodicals for which she worked, and the fact that much of her key work was anonymous and has not yet been, nor will perhaps ever be, attributed (namely contributions to The Morning Chronicle, Daily News, and The Queen to name just a few) makes for difficult terrain.

Moving away from her best known work, namely that for The Saturday Review, Fortnightly Review and Nineteenth Century, the work from which her reputation currently derives and on which there is a fair amount of scholarship, I am going to look at her work for three particular titles: Household Words, Temple Bar and The Queen. All three featured at different points in her career, inhabited different places in the market, were aimed at different audiences, and were in their various ways quite different to the prestigious intellectual journals in which she placed her most famous and controversial work. A look at titles other than those for which she was well-known may give some further insight into her career and success.

Household Words

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fter a promising start to her career with the publication of three novels in as many years and the post as a staff writer for The Morning Chronicle Linton experienced a downturn in fortune with poor reviews of her 1851 novel Realities and her sacking from the paper. In 1853 she moved to Paris working as a newspaper correspondent whilst also contributing to Household Words. She continued writing for it until 1859 when it became All The Year Round, where once again she obtained regular work. Household Words was a successful, respectable 3d weekly conducted by Dickens, one of the most celebrated literary men of the day. Because of its content, price and tone it appealed to a mixed audience and, along with titles such as Eliza Cook’s Journal and The People’s Journal, stood somewhere between the unrespectable penny papers aimed at a working-class audience and respectable shilling monthlies aimed at a middle-class audience such as Temple Bar and The Cornhill Magazine. These cheap respectable weeklies provided a forum for debates around the leading issues of the day for a cross-class readership. Laurel Brake’s definition of journalism as a form which ‘may be seen as the commercial and ideological exploitation of the transient and the topical, a ceaseless generating or production of “news” and novelty’ (Brake 1), sums up Linton’s role and contribution to Household Words. Of the sixty pieces she wrote about a fifth were fiction and the remainder were a combination of general essays, sometimes of an instructional nature, the most prevalent being those on human foibles and popular science. As one of Dickens’ most reliable writers, though not apparently one of his favourites, she not only delivered copy in a timely fashion but, in the main, wrote essays of a topical and informative nature. That Linton should start the second significant phase of her early career contributing regularly to a successful journal is testimony to her skill and flexibility as a writer and her ability to exploit the central tenets of journalism to the full.

In ‘Passing Faces’ Linton takes a walk down a London street stating that we do not need to study human ethnology when we can observe ‘specimens of every human variety known’ (261). This was the first of what was to become a career-long interest in human observation which included an interest in both the physical and cultural aspects of humanity. Indeed what was to become her trademark, the perennial fixation with women, with what she saw as their ‘essential nature’ is also part of this interest. She compares women to animals; as her biographer Anderson argues, this becomes one in a long line of pieces on her ‘satiric misogynistic style’ (72). However, Linton also attributes animal characteristics to men and she remarks that whilst the Negro is easily noticed and others not, nevertheless Jews of three or four generations back can be spotted by not only their facial features but also by their ‘crafty’ and ‘sensual’ demeanour. On ugly people she states ‘One wonders where they can possibly have come from, - from what invading tribes of savages or monkeys?’ (262).

This is one of a number of articles where we see an engagement in aspects of popular science, in this case human ethnology, and comments on the nature of human evolution and progress. These are usually with a xenophobic slant and they became, like the misogyny, a trademark of her work. Articles such as these had a useful place in a magazine like Household Words which found its origins in the cheap and democratic tradition of The Penny Magazine and The Saturday Magazine, which were devoted to instruction and the pursuit of knowledge. Whilst Household Words was at the top end of what we might term these cross-class cheap, respectable family magazines it still aimed to provide a useful forum in which to discuss topics of an instructive nature. While she was writing for Household Words Linton was also a regular contributor to The National Magazine where she produced a similar diet of material, including material on popular science, with much of this early work for both titles focusing on issues related to evolutionary theory.

So, that Linton had an eye for the topical, the ideological and commercial bent of the title she was working for, so important to successful journalism, is in evidence in this early part of her career. Another such topic was the Woman Question; this topic had received significant coverage in the press at the time and notwithstanding Dickens’s personal views on this question he recognised its importance as a live topic. Linton’s first piece of journalism for Household Words was on this very theme. The ‘Rights and Wrongs of Women’ is an anti-‘Emancipated woman’ piece urging women to ‘rest in the shade’ and to ignore the Transatlantic utopians who encourage women to wear Bloomers and become doctors. She castigates what she calls the ‘Public damagers of a good cause by loading it with ridicule - ye assassins of truth, by burying it beneath exaggeration!’ (159). This article has a catchy title, is well argued, employs rhetorical devices to good effect and is the first piece of journalism (attributed anyway) to demonstrate what was to become her stock-in-trade. It was a style that was to come close to performance. Two subsequent pieces on women ‘One of Our Legal Fictions’ and ‘Marriage Gaolers’ are supportive of the reform of marriage law, highlighting the current injustices meted out to women; however, they do not advocate women’s emancipation, but rather a fair legal system. In spite of Nancy Fix Anderson’s claim that Linton was a radical before she began writing for Household Words, there is no evidence for this. Contributions to Ainsworth’s Magazine and The New Monthly Magazine in the 1840s are fairly innocuous and an article on Mary Wollstonecraft for the radical The English Republic published while working on Household Words was not at all typical; apparently it attracted little attention, and Linton never mentioned it subsequently (Anderson, 71).

Much of Linton’s work at this stage of her career was on human foibles and observation, particularly those relating to women as I have suggested, and they were often with presented with a misogynistic or xenophobic slant; they demonstrate that Linton was developing what was to become her trademark in the very first phase of her career and like most resourceful writers she had favourite ideas that she liked to re-work. In ‘Revivals’ one of the ‘Chips’ features written either by Dickens himself or one of his regular contributors, she recounts several allegedly true stories of people who lived hundreds of years only to recover their lost youth; this was to become a theme she returned to at the very end of her life with the posthumously published autobiographical fantasy The Second Youth of Theodora Desanges.

Temple Bar

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he span of Linton’s career meant that her work moved from the old to the new journalism, and this is seen through her work for Temple Bar. One crucial aspect of the old journalism is the emphasis on anonymity and the fictional unity of the periodical. That Linton wrote pieces that were in-line with Dickens’ editorial vision in Household Words is seen through her success as a regular contributor. The move towards signature sought to disrupt the monolithic authority of the magazine and writers had the opportunity to build a name and a reputation through their name and signature work. Of course the authors of pieces published anonymously were often soon revealed, as was the case with Linton’s infamous ‘Girl of the Period’ series in the Saturday Review; but the move towards signature meant that self-publicists like Linton were able to showcase their work and monopolise on a growing reputation.

Her work for Temple Bar began when the journal was inaugurated in 1861 with Sala as its first editor, and she continued writing for it until she died. Like its competitors, it was a family literary magazine with some cultural pretensions, publishing topical pieces from popular writers of the day and it provided a forum for middle-brow serialised novels (Phegley). In spite of Matthew Arnold’s criticism of Sala’s aims, Sala was bullish about his ability to create a market, provide popular appeal and make money; thus a fellow traveller like Linton was good to have on board. Linton went on to publish four of her novels here which was unprecedented in her career. Aimed at a broadly middle-class audience which included women, this genre of magazine was particularly amenable to women writers, editors and readers alike. It saw women as important participants and disseminators of the nation’s culture, and like its rivals, Mary Elizabeth Braddon’s Belgravia and Mrs. Henry [Ellen] Wood’s Argosy, this genre contributed to the successes women achieved as professional writers during the period (Robinson). A number of women edited these magazines, yet Linton was not one of them and she was not to edit any titles during her long career.

Linton’s first contribution, in the inaugural year, was an unsigned short story and thereafter her work appeared both anonymously and with signature. Early contributions were articles on human foibles and women; this as I have argued, was already becoming her trademark well before her work for this particular title. She published on this theme regularly until 1867, returning to the magazine in 1874 with the anonymous novel Patricia Kemball. In this gap Linton was busy with the ‘Girl of the Period’ articles for The Saturday Review and with her controversial novel The History of Joshua Davidson. Her anonymous re-appearance was the result of Bentley’s decision not to remind his readers of the notoriety of Joshua Davidson (Anderson 151) and arguably also of that of the ‘Girl of the Period’. During the next ten years she published fiction only, including the signed serialisation of her 1880 novel The Rebel of the Family, and in 1884 she picked up the journalism again which was then to continue until she died.

The 1861-1867 pieces were all signed and in one such piece ‘Faces in the Crowd’ she states ‘A crowd is my museum, my living library, my animated specimen-case; and the study it affords me, and the amusement, are infinite and inexhaustible’. (530). Thus, once again Linton writes on her observation of humanity from a quasi-scientific angle and many other essays from this period work this idea. There are also a number of essays on modern women, notably ‘Domestic Life’ and ‘Fuss and Feathers’ which with their acerbic style and focus on wanton women are undoubtedly the precursors of her ‘Girl of the Period’ (Broomfield). The first set of essays on modern women actually appeared in the London Review between 1860-62 but these, like those for Temple Bar never attracted the attention of the Saturday Review essays and the term ‘Girl of the Period’ was actually coined much earlier in her work for London Society (Anderson 96, 121). However, these essays on human foibles and particularly women were being published at the same time as Braddon’s Aurora Floyd and Sala’s Captain Dangerous, proof that Temple Bar was asserting its place in the market as a magazine of light and lively entertainment. In ‘Out Walking’ Linton takes on a recent debate in The Times about women being harassed in the street. She suggests that most women who are harassed deserve it, and like her observations in ‘Passing Faces’ for Household Words she sees brazen women who court men’s attention as types of garish butterfly. One of the examples of a girl who courts this attention is one who reads Temple Bar whilst walking in the street; the apparent humour and self-reflexivity in this comment is lost in the startling invectives and caustic tone. Thus, one might also read this as a caution to women about the perils of ‘light’ reading; in this sense the errant female is reading Aurora Floyd.

By the time Linton shot to fame in The Saturday Review she had already made her mark and found her niche in the burgeoning market as a writer who could produce a powerful, well-written and controversial essay on a current topic. Work on The Saturday Review gave her the opportunity to write for a more ‘politically charged readership’ but also to participate first-hand in a periodical whose influence on journalism itself would prove significant (Broomfield 274). That her perennial ‘current topic’ was the Woman Question is not in doubt, what is less easy to answer is why her work was so marketable for so long. As Broomfield argues ‘Linton’s authorative voice, wit, and fast-paced arguments discourage readers from thinking carefully about her logic; instead, they become mesmerised by her dazzling verbal displays’ (273).

After publication of three of the four of her serialised novels she returned to journalism for Temple Bar in 1884 and returned again to the perennial concerns and to her trademark style. She also produced a lot of material on Italy for this and other magazines including Belgravia and The Queen. Many of these are travelogues of her journeys through Italy where she had lived for eight years (1876-84) and much of this enabled her to write about her own experience as well as catering to a demand for information about a popular topic. In spite of Linton’s claim to leave Italy to her rival Ouida she produced a significant amount of material on this topic in both her journalism and her fiction (Anderson). What is notable about what appears to be fairly uncontroversial territory is Linton’s inability to refrain from inserting xenophobic observations of the Italians. On a tour of a Sicilian vineyard she observes that the ‘men look like brigands, and the women are repulsive hags’ (‘Bronte on Mount Etna’ 230) and in ‘Some Sicilian Customs’ that Italian civilisation is still in a ‘quasi mythical, fetishistic state’ (393). The year before these articles she had serialised her Italian novel Ione Stewart (1883) in this magazine and here she presents a startlingly anti-Catholic and xenophobic work, and this was not her first (she had also published other such ideas already in Under Which Lord and The Atonement of Leam Dundas). That Linton was a good storyteller, wrote strong and lively plots, had pace, an observant eye, humour and wit and an understanding of current topical debates and concerns is not in doubt, but she often went too far in her views on what she considered to be deviants, and these types did not just include fast women. In these articles on Italy and in much of her fiction, the ultra-conservatism and hectoring tone of what she considered aberrant, in this case foreigners and Catholics, was also to become a feature of her second most notable phase of controversy in the ‘Wild Women’ pieces for the Nineteenth Century in her late career where the deviants are also ‘new women’, foreigners and ‘aesthetes’. Linton’s later contributions to Temple Bar including ‘The Cult of Cant’ and ‘The Decay of Discipline’ continue in this vein.

Her biographer Anderson suggests that by the last phase of her career Linton had become somewhat of a caricature and yet she continued to write for a host of prestigious journals. It seems that in spite of the narrowness of her topics and the consistency of her satirical tone, her work was still sought after and was still seen as making a positive contribution to a journal’s remit. Bentley’s decision to place the hysterical essay ‘The Cult of Cant’ next to a story by Sarah Grand was no accident and endorsed Linton’s reputation as a reliably controversial and pugnacious journalist. Nevertheless, whilst this ensured work and fame, it may well have held her back as a writer. Between 1885 and 1889 Linton was the author of a number of the critical essays that Temple Bar was running on a range of authors both living and dead. She had already established herself as a critic, and her first work for the Saturday Review was as a reviewer (Anderson 119). In 1890 she wrote a number of key essays for more prestigious titles such as ‘Candour in English Fiction’ and ‘Anonymity Versus Signature’ for The New Review and ‘Literature Then and Now’ for Fortnightly Review and these have attracted critical attention. In two less well-known essays for Temple Bar on contemporary British writers she looks at George Eliot and Rhoda Broughton. What is notable here is that she challenges the current critical view of Eliot as a genius and as a literary role model and writes enthusiastically and supportively of the success and popularity of Rhoda Broughton’s fiction. Of the novel-reading public she writes ‘It does not trouble itself about the canons of good taste, artistic composition, harmony of situation, balance of interest, nor any of the points which strike the critic on the look out for faults as well as merits, and more attentive to the workmanship than the drama’ (‘Miss Broughton’s Novels’ 209). Commending Broughton’s skill as a ‘good story-teller’ and a ‘smart writer’ she suggests that although critical acclaim did not follow this success Broughton could afford to dispense with it, such was the approbation of the public. Notwithstanding that Broughton was one of Temple Bar’s authors and the journal had a vested interest in the promotion of her work, there is enough evidence to assume that Linton, who too had tried her hand at popular fiction and had decided that as the adulation accorded to Eliot had eluded her, would settle for the reputation like Broughton’s of a writer whose work sold well.

Sandwiched between these two critical essays is the last of her serialized novels for this magazine, Paston Carew: Millionaire and Miser. In this novel Linton works with a rare male protagonist, the self-made illegitimate millionaire of the title; he is a man driven by greed and is a prototype for Corelli’s Geoffrey Tempest in The Sorrows of Satan. However, this book was never to come even close to Corelli’s bestseller status and has since sunk into oblivion. Paston Carew is one of a number of serialized novels published in mid-to-late career such as Ione Stewart, also in Temple Bar, The Atonement of Leam Dundas for Cornhill Magazine and My Love for the Bolton Evening News where Linton employs various strategies in order to make her work appealing and accessible to a broad public; this includes the championing of a particular topic so redolent of the journalism, and an engagement with popular genres such as sensation and romance.

It may seem ironic that much of Linton’s journalistic work demonstrates antipathy towards the feminization of the literary market place that was taking place in the 1880s and 1890s, and yet, in her fiction, she chose a number of popular forms associated with women as writers and as readers, in what I can only see as an attempt to improve her own rating with the general public. In spite of high profile essays where she laments the state of modern literature and particularly the democratisation of the marketplace, this period witnesses Linton navigating her way as a novelist who could at least engage her readership in the way that Broughton managed; if indeed she was ultimately unsuccessful. In spite also of an alignment with masculine values and the rejection of feminine values which she saw as weak and inappropriate for a culture moving forward as the leader of a great Empire seen in the most provocative journalistic pieces, she was sometimes seen as a novelist whose works were perilously close to the marketplace. George Gissing wondered how she had got her reputation, accusing her of writing ‘twaddle’ (Anderson 172), a charge close to Lucio’s denunciation of the woman writer Mavis Clare in Marie Corelli’s The Sorrows of Satan. Corelli was a writer who had the adulation of the public and the disapprobrium of the critics, largely as a result of her proximity to economic rather then aesthetic imperatives; or so her detractors saw anyway. Though Linton had achieved acclaim as a serious journalist and critic it seems she had not as a writer of fiction. Her alignment with the popularity of Broughton and the rejection of the ‘genius’ of Eliot may be more than merely jealousy and may actually be part of Linton’s agenda to appeal to a broad audience such as the readers of Temple Bar, her own readers, which she did so valiantly in the novels she published there for them. Gone is the subtle denunciation of Braddon and light reading some twenty-five years earlier when Linton was on a fourteen-year break from novel writing. Once she resumed service, her serialized novels for Temple Bar suggest she aimed for Broughton’s success.

The Queen

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inally, I want to look very briefly at her contributions to The Queen which like those for Household Words and Temple Bar have been somewhat neglected in studies of her journalistic output. The Queen was a weekly aimed at a middle to upper-middle-class female readership. As well as this long stint on The Queen, Linton did quite a bit of work for the women’s press and what work she did was in her trademark style; this was also the case with The Queen. She began writing regularly for it in the 1870s when her reputation as a critic of women had been set and when her popularity was at its height. Most of her work is unsigned and unfortunately no archive or study of attribution of authorship exists for this title. There are many leaders on her favourite topics that were probably authored by her, such as the numerous pieces on Italy in the late 1870s when she was living there and such as an 1891 leader on ‘The Children of the Period’, but navigating this is fraught with problems. The signed leaders are usually to promote forthcoming signed fiction suggesting her reputation as a sought-after writer, and are of a snappy, short and sensational nature fitting well with the remit of a title not renowned for its fiction but for its fashion and court and celebrity news. All of the work that is signed covers her trademark subjects. In 1882 the magazine ran a short series on ‘Literary Women’ and the feature on Linton, although beginning enthusiastically about her prominence as a brilliant essayist and novelist points out many of her faults including the fact that the world, as seen in her work is ‘steeped in conventionality, selfishness, and stupidity....depressing as the picture may be’ (521). Whilst the rather grudging appraisal of her work is not necessarily typical of the contemporary views of Linton in biographies and personal interviews, it does suggest why readers may tire of her work and certainly voices a common criticism of her approach. Nevertheless, Linton wrote for The Queen for over twenty years and it seems her topics, approach and style were the same here as in her work for other types of journals.

As a successful professional writer she enjoyed fame and a good living and managed to provide stimulating and provocative material for a whole host of periodical titles of which her early contributions to Household Words gave promise. Critical and popular acclaim as a novelist eluded her as some of her fictional and non-fictional work for Temple Bar indicates. Yet the fact that she wrote for an impressive range of different titles suggests she was a writer of skill, erudition, tenacity and even ingenuity; the fact that that she wrote similar kinds of topics for these titles suggests also, that there was a complex network of relations between writers, editors and their public. However, she did bring the women’s rights debates into the public sphere and she had an authoritative and sophisticated sense of the power of the press. More detailed consideration of Eliza Lynn Linton reveals a writer well in-tune with topical debates and trends and one more than prepared to create a stir: her life and work may challenge us at every turn but it is worth the effort.

Works Cited

Anderson, Nancy Fix. Woman Against Women in Victorian England: A Life of Eliza Lynn Linton. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana UP, 1987.

Brake, Laurel. “The Old Journalism and the New: Forms of Cultural Production in London in the 1880s.” Wiener 1-18.

Broomfield, Andrea. “Much More Than an Antifeminist: Eliza Lynn Linton’s Contribution to the Rise of Victorian Popular Journalism.” Victorian Literature and Culture 29 (2001): 267-83.

Linton, E. Lynn. “Anonymity Versus Signature.” The New Review (1890): 510-24.

_____. The Atonement of Leam Dundas. London: Chatto and Windus, 1877.

_____. “Bronte on Mount Etna.” Temple Bar 70 (1884): 229-41.

_____. “Candour in English Fiction.II” The New Review 2 (1890): 10-14.

_____.”The Cult of Cant.” Temple Bar 93 (1891): 189-98.

_____.”The Decay of Discipline” Temple Bar 102 (1894): 191-7.

_____. “Domestic Life.” Temple Bar 4 (1862): 462-15.

_____. “An Eastern Kingdom.” Household Words 19 (1859): 212-16.

_____.”Faces in the Crowd” Temple Bar 14 (1865): 530-9.

_____. “Fuss and Feathers.” Temple Bar 17 (1866): 192-9.

_____. “George Eliot” Temple Bar 73 (1885): 512-24.

_____. Ione Stewart, A Novel. London: Chatto and Windus, 1883.

_____. “Literature: then and now.” Fortnightly Review 53 (1890): 517-31.

_____. “Marriage Gaolers.” Household Words 13 (1856): 583-85.

_____. “Miss Broughton’s Novels.” Temple Bar 80 (1887): 196-209.

_____. My Love! London: Chatto and Windus, 1881.

_____. “One of Our Legal Fictions.” Household Words 9 (1854): 257-60.

_____. “Out Walking.” Temple Bar 5 (1862): 132-9.

_____. “Passing Faces.” Household Words 11 (1855): 261-4.

_____. Paston Carew, Millionaire and Miser. London: Richard Bentley and Son, 1886.

_____. Patricia Kemball. 3 vols in 1. London: Chatto and Windus, 1875.

_____. Realities. A Tale. 3 vols. London: Saunders and Otley, 1851.

_____. The Rebel of the Family. 3 vols. London: Chatto and Windus, 1880.

_____. “Revivals.” Household Words 15 (1856): 474-5.

_____. “The Rights and Wrongs of Women.” Household Words 9 (1854): 158-61.

_____. “Some Sicilian Customs.’ Temple Bar 72 (1884): 383-404.

_____. “Street Minstrelsy.” Household Words 19 (1859): 577-80.

_____. The True History of Joshua Davidson. London: Strachan and Co, 1872.

_____. Under Which Lord? 3 vols. London: Chatto and Windus, 1879.

_____. “Why the Negro is Black.” Household Words 15 (1857): 587-8.

Onslow, Barbara. Women of the Press in Nineteenth-Century Britain. Basingstoke: Macmillan, 2000.

Phegley, Jennifer. “Domesticating the Sensation Novelist: Ellen Price Wood as Author and Editor of the Argosy Magazine." Victorian Periodicals Review 38:2 (2005): 180-198

Robinson, Solveig. “Editing Belgravia: M.E. Braddon’s Defense of 'Light Literature.” Victorian Periodicals Review 28.2 (1995):

Tweedie, Mrs. Alec. “A Chat with Mrs. Lynn Linton.” Temple Bar 102 (1894): 355-64.

Wiener, Joel. H. Papers for the Millions: The New Journalism in Britain, 1850-1914. Westport CT, London: Greenwood, 1988.

“Literary Women of the Present Generation.” The Queen (June 1882): 521-22.

Created 29 May 2015