F. U.-Yes! for he consulted you in every thing, and a word or a wink might have prevented it. S.-(Smiling, while he hesitates.)-And-so-it-might,Madam; at least, a dash of my pen could have done so, since it created not only him, but all the members of his family and friends of his circle. M. & F. U.-What's that you say? Do you mean to insinuate that there's no such family as the Heron one in existence? S.-Yes, Madam, except in the Original Volume of "The Ant." M. U.-The devil there isn't! F. U.-Preserve us a'! And are you Charles and Mrs. Heron, and her daughter also? M. U.-(Aside.)—What shall I say to those young ladies to whom I pretended that I was one of the party! F. U.-(Aside.)-Old wretch !-What excuse can I make to Miss Crawfucrouse for telling her that Charles had a six months' flirtation with me! M. U.-Then perhaps you have come often enough before the readers of your work, after all, although you seemed to dislike the old-fashioned method of keeping up a constant dialogue with them. S.-Your "perhaps" is not far from the truth, Sir; for I found, soon after I opened "The Ant". hillock, that I would have to come forward so often, for lack of better company to introduce to my guests, that unless I played Proteus, and became a man beside myself, I would very soon weary them. F. U.-Am I to understand, then, that your weazened face is that of the debonnair" Back-Shop Lounger," and the sentimental "Jasper," as well as of old "Archy M'Crony" and the wandering "Hermit of the West?" S.-I fear you must come to some such conclusion, Madam. The fact is, (with important dignity,) I AM THE ALPHABET! and indeed, my friends, I have, for a twelvemonth, had as many names and signatures which may be tacked by an alias to my own, as any hero of the Newgate Kalendar. F. U.-Then you are "Ivan," "Bide-a-Wee," and every body else who is mentioned in your Correspondents' Notices? S.-O no, Ma'am! not " L. M'L." nor the "Rose Doctor in Stirling-Street," nor yet the fair correspondent whose "Lines I could not insert!" F. U.-And why could you not? M. U.-Would not, I suspect? S.-(Seating himself, but very erectly.)-The truth is, ninetenths of the communications sent to me were trash; and any part of the other tythe that was not worse than what I had previously inserted, came after I had been obliged to go on so far with the Mathews-plan of being my own Dramatis Persona, that I thought it a pity to stop the "monypologue” in the middle, and begin an every-day-manager's joint stock piece. To speak apart from metaphor, when I found I had, almost without knowing it, become the sole author of one-half of the contemplated volume, I judged it as well to be able to say-which now I can-" "Twas I that did it! feeling a pride like that of Bailie Jarvie, when made "sole agent," in being able to make the boast, trifling as it is, that I am" sole author" of the work! M. U. Then all the articles, short or long, are from your pen? S.-Every line-good or bad-from the title to the colophon! F. U.-(Aside.)—What is to become of my assertion, that such and such articles were mine! S.-O, spare your regrets, and say that your pieces are in the Selections, to which two or three admirable and unpublished articles were contributed by friends-while others were withheld. There they find more fitting companionship than my hasty snatches at composition could furnish. M. U.-No wonder, then, that you are wearied of your task! F. U.-Is that your reason for ending the work? S.-(Taking snuff, and looking snuffy.)-I am not tired of the task, Sir; nor do the public seem to be so, which is better still. Nor is that, Madam, my reason for stopping the work. On the contrary, its circulation, which has never been beneath six, and has often ran to eight hundred copies per number—although, shabbily enough, one copy was frequently made to serve two families, and twelve readers, and eagerly borrowed by those that should have bought it—averages more for the concluding three numbers than any other of the six-and-twenty; while all that considerable sale which arises from admitted authors and their friends buying the book for their own portions of it, could form no part of ours, and only twenty copies were sent out "on sight," at the suggestion of one who knew such had been done with "Attic Stories," &c. The exertions of either of our publishers, if publishers we can be said to have other than the printer, until grown voluminous, were cramped up by a delicacy that will easily be guessed at. M. U. Once more, then-Why stop? S. From this: Arrangements were originally made with the printer, that the work should finish in one-and-twenty numbers, and before this month of October; and it is to his kindness in extending the period of the contract, that the insect is indebted for its protracted existence, as well as for the exceeding neatness of its appearance, and general accuracy, which will render that odious thing, a table of errata, almost needless; while nothing could surpass his unwearied diligence in superintending its details. F. U. Then you have proved the truth of one of your maxims; must have realized a handsome sum; and, if so, why refuse to continue what is profitable? S.-Something certainly does stand upon the right side of our balance-sheet, and in that we have not resembled any local editors who have preceded us; for they only ceased their labours because the public discontinued their patronage. But, Madam, there is such a thing as waywardness, as well as curiosity, you know; and as I feel that at the present moment, I almost fear that the public at large may experience symptoms of it the next. The fact is, there is nothing you (addressing both) get so angry at as the uninterrupted success of what it was prophesied would never succeed at all-which is usually alleged of every Glasgow production. M. U.-(With a disjunctive air.)—But you have disappointed these cuckoo croakers, in printing two volumes, one of them wholly Original and containing as much matter as three fashionable octavos. S.-And myself,-for, truly, I had small hope of success, except in the extreme humility of my first pretensions. F. U.-Which were of course affected. S.-So far from that, Ma'am, that I never supposed that the Original matter would accumulate to the bulk of a volume, or be preserved to make one, if it did; and so, for the first few numbers, gave little but old articles lying by me, (for I am a Mussulman in preserving scraps of paper-a real saveall,) and so weakly in their constitutions as to be unfit for a loftier vehicle. After seeing the success of my plan, I own I took more pains, but must still confess that "The Ant" is made up chiefly of two classes of productions-either those I did not think had stamina enough to bear being sent out of my way by any other conveyance, or those that were so local and temporary, as not to be able to stand transplanting, or distant carriage. M. U.-(With great sagacity.)—We always certainly observed a great difference in merit betwixt the Selected and the Original matter. S.-You might. It was a good retort that of the mediocre opera singer, who, when hissed, said, "You cannot expect a two thousand crown voice for a salary of five-and-twenty." But was it quite fair to compare the best passages of the best writers, with the rough and round of one of " the humblest of the throng?" F. U.-(With the air of sweet seventeen.)-Oh! never mind that. Your plan gave an obvious cue to the old women of both sexes-which they, of course, took up. But have you kept all your promises? must, in virtue of my sex, examine you on that score. S.-I made only a reference in No. I. to what was contemplated, Madam, but gave no pledges. F. U.-O you -! M. U.-A pretty excuse! S.-Yet every one of these expectations that I excited, I have satisfied. F. U.-Where are the Gossip's Reminiscences? M. U.-Where the Letters to the Literati ? F. U.-Where the Life of Goldie ? S.-Here, in his Baptismal Certificate, "John Goldie, son of John Goldie, Shipmaster, Ayr, and Helen Campbell, his spouse, was born on the 22d December, 1789." for, alas! with all my exertions, nothing else regarding the noiseless tenor of the life of poor Goldie can I procure: the particulars of his sudden death were in the journals at the time it took place; and, but that he was a father, a friend, and a poet, writing almost no verses, however, after the publication of his volume-there is little I find in his blameless existence to call for expatiation. And is not M'Crony, a gossip of the last century, to your mind? And where are there any literati in Glasgow save those in the Dilletanti Society? And, in first suggestions for the Employment of Females, and for establishing Infant Schools, are not the Plans of Benevolence indicated? F. U.-I confess all these are incidentally, if not formally, taken up. S.-(Insinuatingly, to the lady.)-There will be no action for "breach of promise," then, I presume? F. U.-Not unless it be at the bar of your lady Correspondents, whom you enticed to write with "Precipitance," it may be, and yet refused their favours. S.-In verse only, Ma'am. But for all these we are grateful, as well as (to both) for your pence and patronage, gentle Public. But we leave you to a nobler candidate for both; for whom, even although it hurt us, we pray continuation of triumphant, although not exclusive, success-"The Library of Knowledge." More particularly it is incumbent to acknowledge the fostering countenance which the giants of the public press have lent their pigmy brother during his brief career-in London-in Edinburgh-in Glasgowand in the provinces. It may be believed that we are not the less grateful that such kindness has so often come from strangers, even although it has been coldly, or otherwise, kept back, where alone it might have been expected, or where it could be regarded as singular if withheld. But I hear the devil calling for the last time for copy."—Adieu, Ma'am: Farewell, Sir: Good bye, Messieurs Public. [Exit Saveall, closing the door, (volume?) and dropping these lines as he disappears.] THE BENISON; OR, L' Envoye. There! it is finished: my light task is o'er,- Nor one blue stocking o'er its dozing weeps! In quiet sip from tankards, jugs, and bowls ; Quaff at The Shakspeare-pints of heavy wet; Snatch, while they seek some book they do not want, From Græme-Street east, to Garden's western domes, Or between Births and Bankrupts gently glide; Like pills for children-must be tinselled o'er. The hundred beauties 'neath one Blackwood's brown, Would fail to draw from Twist his half-a-crown; And Jeffrey's self in vain imbues his page With wit and wisdom, if some party rage Did not incite the sluggard soul to dip Into an "article," and take a sip Of sour, and sweet, and strong, and watery there, For now amusement, let alone aught more, None may condemn of what they yet were vain |