in the hopeless idleness and solitude of your Temple
garret--better had you burnt your wig and gown outright, with all the
airy briefs to come that fluttered round them, than have owned yourself
the author of that heretical piece of moral mawkishness--'_The Doctrine
of Defence_, by Henry Clements.'

He had with difficulty found a publisher--a chilling incident enough in
itself, considering an author's feelings for his book-child; and when
found, the scarcely satisfactory arrangement was insisted on, of mutual
participation in profit and loss: in other parlance, the bookseller
pocketing the first, and the author unpocketing the second. Thus it came
to pass, that after three months' toil and enormous collation of
cases--after extravagant indulgence of the most ardent hopes--glory,
good, and gold, consequent instantaneously on this happy
publication--after reasonably expecting that judges would quote it in
their ermine, and sergeants consult it in their silk--that London would
be startled by the event from the humdrum of its ordinary routine--and
the wondering world applaud the name of Henry Clements--O,
heart-sickening reality! what was the result of his exertions?

"So, that puppy Clements has taken upon himself to put us all to school
about whom we may defend, and how, I see---- Hang the fellow's
impudence!" grunted a fat Old Bailey counsel to his peers, well aware
that the luckless author sat nervously within ear-shot.

"I know whose junior that modest swain shall never be;" simpered
Sergeant Tiffin.

"The fellow's done for himself," was the simultaneous verdict of a
well-wigged band of brothers. And what else they might have added in
their charity poor Clements never knew, for he crept away to his garret,
stricken with disappointment. There he must encounter other trials of
the heart: two or three reviews and newspapers lay upon his table, just
sent in by the bookseller, as per order; for they contained, in
spirit-stirring print, notices of '_Clements on Defence_.' Unluckily for
his present peace of mind, poor fellow, the periodicals in question were
none of the humaner sort; no kindly encouraging '_Literary Register_,'
no soft-spoken '_Courtier_,' no patient '_Investigator_,' no
generously-indulgent '_Critical Gazette_:' these more amiable journals
would be slower in the field--some six weeks hence, perhaps, creeping on
with philanthropic sloth: but fiercer prints, which dart hebdomadal
wrath at every trembling