"The whole, sir—the whole! It is a charming volume: the love verses, too,—pity that people don't care about love; no body's in love now-a-days!"
"But what do you say to the satires?" asked the author, not quite so elated.
"Dangerous things, sir—dangerous things!" exclaimed Mr. Lintot, drawing a deep breath of air from the open window: "do you know, sir, Curl published a lampoon on Lord Hervey the other day, who said that he would have horsewhipped him if he could have found his way into the city. Only think, sir, of horsewhipping a publisher!" and Mr. Lintot grew pale with excess of horror.
"To think of only horsewhipping one," muttered Walter to himself; and then added aloud, "but there is nothing personal in my satire."
"So much the worse!" exclaimed Mr. Lintot: "what is the use of denouncing a vice?—denounce the individual! What wo man thanks you for a compliment addressed to the sex in general? No, no, pay one to
