lation,
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 am again seated in
comfort at my table: the solicitude, fear, and anxiety, attendant upon
the apprehensions of surprise, a bailiff, and a prison, all vanish in a
moment.

"My dear Index, you are welcome; the last person I expected, although
the first I could have wished to have seen: to what fortunate
circumstance am I to attribute the honor of this friendly visit?"

"Business, sir; I am a man of business: your last publication has sold
pretty well, considering how dreadfully it was cut up in the reviews;
I have some intention of reprinting a short edition, if you are not too
exorbitant in your demands; not that I think the whole number will be
sold, but there is a chance of clearing the expenses. A portrait by
Wageman, the announcement of a second edition, with additions, may help
it off; but then these additional costs will prevent my rewarding your
merits to the extent I am sensible you deserve."

"Name your own terms, Index, for after all you know it must come to
that, and I am satisfied you will be as liberal as you can afford." Put
in this way, the most penurious of the speculating tribe in paper and
print would have strained a point, to overcome their natural infirmity:
with Index it was otherwise; nature had formed him with a truly liberal
heart: the practice of the trade, and the necessary caution attendant
upon bookselling speculations, only operated as a check to the
noble-minded generosity of the
~10~~
man, without implanting in his bosom the avarice and extortion generally
pursued by his brethren.

The immediate subject of his visit arranged to our mutual satisfaction,
I ventured to inquire what style of work was most likely to interest the
taste of the town. 'The town itself--satire, sir, fashionable satire.
If you mean to grow rich by writing in the present day, you must first
learn to be satirical; use the lash, sir, as all the great men have
done before you, and then, like Canning in the Cabinet, or Gifford
and Jeffery as reviewers, or Byron and Southey as poets, you will be
followed more from the fear of your pen than from the splendour of
your talents, the consistency of your conduct, or the morality of your
principles. Sir, if y