Young Murray was at this time of a very different temperament to his partner--full of youth, fire, and energy, and uncommonly gifted with that speculative spirit which must have caused the elder man many a time to shake his head sagely, and to lift his gravely deprecating eyebrows. In fact, youth and age can never see matters with the same eyes;--the one looks as through a telescope magnifying all things within vision some hundred-fold; the other peers cautiously through spectacles, misty and begrimed, more used in guiding immediate footsteps than in gazing far ahead. Murray had attained his majority in 1799, and in four years the two partners resolved to sever their connection in a pleasant and friendly manner. By the formal deed of separation, dated 25th March, 1803, Highley retained all the medical business. But the principal act of parting was of anything but a formal nature. They drew lots for the old house and Murray was fortunate enough to secure the winning prize. Highley moved to No. 24, Fleet Street, but was able afterwards, in 1812, when Murray migrated to Albemarle Street, to move back again, and here he increased his medical connection, leaving a thriving business to his son. In this very year of separation the _Edinburgh Review_ was started, and Murray was probably reminded of the scheme in which his father had once been concerned with Smellie to produce a periodical under a similar title, but the time was not yet ripe for his own projects. In 1806, at the age of twenty-four, he married Miss Elliot of Edinburgh, a young lady descended from one of the best-known publishers in the Modern Athens, and this, perhaps, drawing his attention to household matters, led to the publication of Mrs. Rundell’s “Domestic Cookery Book.” It is said that the receipts came from the note-book of the mother of the late Admiral Burney, with whose family, be it remembered, he had been at school at Gosport. This was the first and one of the most lucrative “hits” that Murray made, and perhaps in the important items of £ _s._ _d._ rivalled “Childe Harold” itself. Byron sings of it in playful jealousy:-- “Along thy sprucest book-shelves shine The works thou deemest most divine, The Art of Cookery and mine, My Murray!”