The English Spy | Page 7

peasant, politician meet, And beard each other in
the public street; ~6~~ Where ancient forms, though still admired, Are
phantoms that have long expired; Where science droops 'fore sovereign
folly, And arts are sick with melancholy; Where knaves gain wealth,
and honest fellows, By hunger pinch'd, blow knav'ry's bellows; Where
wonder rises upon wonder--
Friend. Hold! Or you may leave no wonders to be told. Your book, to
sell, must have a subtle plot--Mark the Great Unknown, wily *****

****: Print in America, publish at Milan; There's nothing like this
Scotch-Athenian plan, To hoax the cockney lack-brains.
Author. It shall be: Books, like Madeira, much improve at sea; 'Tis said
it clears them from the mist and smell Of modern Athens, so says sage
Cadell, Whose dismal tales of shipwreck, stress of weather, Sets all
divine Nonsensia mad together; And, when they get the dear-bought
novel home, "They love it for the dangers it has overcome."
Friend. I like your plan: "art sure there's no offence?"
Author. None that's intended to wound common-sense. For your
uncommon knaves who rule the town, Your M.P.'s, M.D.'s, R.A.'s and
silk gown, Empirics in all arts, every degree, Just Satire whispers are
fair game for me.
Friend. The critic host beware!
Author. Wherefore, I pray? "The cat will mew, the dog will have his
day." Let them bark on! who heeds their currish note Knows not the
world--they howl, for food, by rote.
[Illustration: page007]
~7~~

REFLECTIONS, ADDRESSED TO THOSE WHO CAN THINK.
Reflections of an Author--Weighty Reasons for writing-- Magister artis
ingeniique largitor Venter--Choice of Subject considered--Advice of
Index, the Book-seller--Of the Nature of Prefaces--How to commence a
new Work.
Author (solus). I must write--my last sovereign has long since been
transferred to the safe keeping of mine hostess, to whom I have the
honor to be obliged. I just caught a glance of her inflexible countenance
this morning in passing the parlour door; and methought I could

perceive the demon aspect of suspicion again spreading his corrosive
murky hue over her furrowed front. The enlivening appearance of my
golden ambassador had for a few days procured me a faint smile of
complacency; but the spell is past, and I shall again be doomed to the
humiliation ~8~~ of hearing Mrs Martha Bridget's morning lectures on
the necessity of punctuality. Well, she must be quieted, (i.e.) promise
crammed, (satisfied, under existing circumstances, is impossible): I
know it will require no little skill to obtain fresh supplies from her
stores, without the master-key which unlocks the flinty heart; but nil
desperandum, he who can brave a formidable army of critics, in pursuit
of the bubble fame, may at least hope to find wit enough to quiet the
interested apprehensions of an old woman. And yet how mortifying is
the very suspicion of inattention and disrespect. I have rung six times
for my breakfast, and as many more for my boots, before either have
made their appearance; the first has indeed just arrived, with a lame
apology from mine hostess, that the gentleman on the first floor is a
very impetuous fellow, requires prompt attention, gives a great deal of
trouble--but--then he pays a great deal of money, and above all, is very
punctual: here is my quietus at once; the last sentence admits of no
reply from a pennyless author. My breakfast table is but the spectre of
former times;--no eggs on each side of my cup, or a plate of fresh Lynn
shrimps, with an inviting salt odour, that would create an appetite in the
stomach of an invalid; a choice bit of dried salmon, or a fresh cut off
the roll of some violet-scented Epping butter;--all have disappeared;
nay, even the usual allowance of cream has degenerated into skimmed
milk, and that is supplied in such cautious quantities, that I can scarce
eke it out to colour my three cups of inspiring bohea.
(A knock at the door.) That single rap at the street door is very like the
loud determined knock of a dun. The servant is ascending the stairs--it
must be so--she advances upon the second flight;--good heavens, how
stupid!--I particularly told her I should not be in town to any of these
people for a month. The inattention of servants is unbearable; they can
tell fibs ~9~~ enough to suit their own purposes, but a little white one
to serve a gentleman lodger, to put off an impertinent tradesman, or
save him from the toils of a sheriffs officer, is sure to be marred in the
relation, or altogether forgotten. I'll lock my chamber door, however,

by way of precaution. (Servant knocking.) "What do you want?" "Mr.
Index, sir, the little gentleman in black." "Show him up, Betty,
directly." The key is instantly turned; the door set wide open; and I