LETTER VII.

FROM MESSRS. LACKINGTON AND CO. TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ.

Per Post, Sir, we send your MS.--look it thro'-- Very sorry--but can't undertake--'twouldn't do. Clever work, Sir!--would _get up_ prodigiously well-- Its only defect is--it never would sell. And tho' _Statesmen_ may glory in being _unbought_, In an _Author_ 'tis not so desirable thought.

Hard times, Sir, most books are too dear to be read-- Tho' the _gold_ of Good-sense and Wit's _small-change_ are fled, Yet the paper we Publishers pass, in their stead, Rises higher each day, and ('tis frightful to think it) Not even such names as Fitzgerald's can sink it!

However, Sir--if you're for trying again, And at somewhat that's vendible--we are your men.

Since the Chevalier Carr[1] took to marrying lately, The Trade is in want of a _Traveller_ greatly-- No job, Sir, more easy--your _Country_ once planned, A month aboard ship and a fortnight on land Puts your Quarto of Travels, Sir, clean out of hand.

An East-India pamphlet's a thing that would tell-- And a lick at the Papists is _sure_ to sell well. Or--supposing you've nothing _original_ in you-- Write Parodies, Sir, and such fame it will win you, You'll get to the Blue-stocking Routs of Albinia![2] (Mind--_not_ to her _dinners_--a _second-hand_ Muse Mustn't think of aspiring to _mess_ with the _Blues_.) Or--in case nothing else in this world you can do-- The deuce is in't, Sir, if you can not _review_!

Should you feel any touch of _poetical_ glow, We've a Scheme to suggest--Mr. Scott, you must know, (Who, we're sorry to say it, now works for _the Row_.[3]) Having quitted the Borders to seek new renown, Is coming by long Quarto stages to Town; And beginning with "Rokeby" (the job's sure to pay) Means to _do_ all the Gentlemen's Seats on the way. Now, the Scheme is (tho' none of our hackneys can beat him) To start a fresh Poet thro' Highgate to _meet_ him; Who by means of quick proofs--no revises--long coaches-- May do a few Villas before Scott approaches. Indeed if our Pegasus be not curst shabby, He'll reach, without foundering, at least Woburn Abbey. Such, Sir, is our plan--if you're up to the freak, 'Tis a match! and we'll put you _in training_ next week. At present, no more--in reply to this Letter, A line will oblige very much Yours, _et cetera_.

_Temple of the Muses_.

[1] Sir John Carr, the author of "Tours in Ireland, Holland. Sweden," etc.

[2] This alludes, I believe, to a curious correspondence, which is said to have passed lately between Albina, Countess of Buckinghamshire, and a certain ingenious Parodist.

[3] Paternoster Row.