After all, Scott is
the best of them. The end of all scribblement is to amuse, and he
certainly succeeds there. I long to read his new romance.
"And how does 'Sir Edgar?' and your friend Bland? I suppose you are
involved in some literary squabble. The only way is to despise all
brothers of the quill. I suppose you won't allow me to be an author,
but I contemn you all, you dogs!--I do.
"You don't know D----s, do you? He had a farce ready for the stage
before I left England, and asked me for a prologue, which I promised,
but sailed in such a hurry, I never penned a couplet. I am afraid to
ask after his drama, for fear it should be damned--Lord forgive me for
using such a word! but the pit, Sir, you know the pit--they will do
those things in spite of merit. I remember this farce from a curious
circumstance. When Drury Lane was burnt to the ground, by which
accident Sheridan and his son lost the few remaining shillings they
were worth, what doth my friend D---- do? Why, before the fire was
out, he writes a note to Tom Sheridan, the manager of this combustible
concern, to enquire whether this farce was not converted into fuel,
with about two thousand other unactable manuscripts, which of course
were in great peril, if not actually consumed. Now was not this
characteristic?--the ruling passions of Pope are nothing to it. Whilst
the poor distracted manager was bewailing the loss of a building only
worth 300,000 _l.
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