—“It is to thee, Sterne, I first humbly bend my knee, and solicit thy most powerful aid. If thou didst not use up all thy stock of Sensibility before thou wert called away to enjoy the reward of thy exertions in the bowers of Elysium, pray tell me where thou didst deposit that most precious bottle, that I may with an eagerness unexampled, uncork its treasures and apply every drop after thy rich felicity: I have great need of it. And Fielding, too, thou true delineator of Human Nature, if only a small remnant of thy Mantle has been left behind, let me but know it, that I may ransack every piece-broker’s house in the kingdom, till I become the master of such an invaluable stimulus to exertion. And, although another Sophia Western, perhaps, is not to be met with in the walks of the present day, if it were my precise object, yet, let me but produce some similarity towards the double of a Tom Jones or a Booth, and the highest pinnacle of my ambition is attained. Smollett, thy touching heartfelt qualities break in upon me so penetratingly, that I must also invoke thy friendly shrine. And if a Rory Random or a Lieutenant Bowling should ever cross my path, instruct me to portray their noble traits with all that richness of colouring, and peculiar happiness of style, that once embellished thy truly characteristic pen.

—“Advance, also the Metropolitan Heroes of Literary Renown, whether of Genius great, either of romantic style, or of Poetry exquisite, of Don Juan or Lalla Rookh quality, it matters not, if generosity lie within thine inkstands, and ye put forth your good wishes for my success; show me your passports to excellence, and put me in the right road, that I may ultimately obtain your proud signatures and arrive safe at the end of my journey.

—“Reviews, those terrific Censors of the timid writer, and arbiters of the press, whether Quarterly,[2] or at Edinburgh,[3] you who apply the knife, bear it in mind that Van Butchell[4] advertises to perform cures without cutting; and that Abernethy[5] is himself alone! and also remember, thou sages of the quill, that many an unfortunate homo who has been ‘damned to everlasting Fame’ and disposed of in a Jef, in thy most omnipotent pages; yet has, from the resuscitating glossy aid of Messrs. Day & Martin, become a shining Literary Character in Paternoster Row, and formed one of the real Portraits of Life in London.

—“Come forth, my Mag of Blackwood[6]; thee, too, I must invoke! thou chiel of Satire, whose lively sallies and ‘laughing-in-the-sleeve greatness’ that would have paralysed the pencil of a Hogarth, or struck dumb the piquant ridicule of a Churchill, if the grim King of Terrors had not deprived us of their talents; I challenge thee to the scratch! ’Tis One of the Fancy calls! But, from thy lamb-like qualities and playful artillery, it must only be a private set-to with the gloves. My hand grapples with you in friendship—it possesses not weight enough to combat with thee, although the pluck, perhaps, attached to it may be always gay. Be it remembered, that Blackwood is always in training—he hits so very hard—and his Backers are likewise so numerous amongst the Greeks, Latins, Hebrews, and Classics, that it would be two to one against an open contest: therefore, good Mr. Blackwood, be just, nay, be more, ‘be merciful. It is doubly bless’d’; and you know Blacky, ‘it blesseth him that gives and him that takes.’ Then floor me not; but instead:—

Shoot thine arrow o’er thy house,—
And do not wound thy brother;

but whisper to the Pack, and particularly to the whipper-in, Old Christopher North, that ‘’Tis I’—(your flash-y