"
I am their humble jackal, too busy in providing food for them, to have
time for considering whether they swallow or reject it.--To the
public, I stand pretty nearly in the relation of the postman who
leaves a packet at the door of an individual. If it contains pleasing
intelligence, a billet from a mistress, a letter from an absent son, a
remittance from a correspondent supposed to be bankrupt,--the letter
is acceptably welcome, and read and re-read, folded up, filed, and
safely deposited in the bureau. If the contents are disagreeable, if
it comes from a dun or from a bore, the correspondent is cursed, the
letter is thrown into the fire, and the expense of postage is heartily
regretted; while all the time the bearer of the dispatches is, in
either case, as little thought on as the snow of last Christmas. The
utmost extent of kindness between the author and the public which can
really exist, is, that the world are disposed to be somewhat indulgent
to the succeeding works of an original favourite, were it but on
account of the habit which the public mind has acquired; while the
author very naturally thinks well of _their_ taste, who have so
liberally applauded _his_ productions. But I deny there is any call
for gratitude, properly so called, either on one side or the other.
_Captain._ Respect to yourself, then, ought to teach caution.
_Author._ Ay, if caution could augment the chance of my success.
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