WE are damn’d!
Not the facetious epilogue could save us. For, as the
editor of the “Morning
Post,” quick-sighted gentleman! hath this morning truly observed,
(I beg pardon if I falsify his words, their profound sense I am sure I retain,)
both prologue and epilogue were worthy of accompanying such a piece; and indeed
(mark the profundity, Mister Manning)
were received with proper indignation by such of the audience only as thought
either worth attending to. Professor, thy glories wax dim! Again, the
incomparable author of the “True
Briton” declareth in his paper (bearing same date) that the
epilogue was an indifferent attempt at humour and character, and failed in
both. I forbear to mention the other papers, because I have not read them. O
Professor, how different thy feelings now
(quantum mutatus ab illo professore, qui in
agris philosophiæ tantas victorias aquisivisti),—how
different thy proud feelings but one little week ago,—thy anticipation of thy
nine nights,—those visionary claps, which have soothed thy soul by day and thy
dreams by night! Calling in accidentally on the Professor while he was out, I
was ushered into the study; and my nose quickly (most sagacious always) pointed
me to four tokens lying loose upon thy table, Professor, which indicated thy
violent and satanical pride of heart. Imprimis, there caught mine eye a list of
six persons, thy friends, whom thou didst meditate inviting to a sumptuous
dinner on the Thursday, anticipating the profits of thy Saturday’s play
to answer charges; I was in the honoured file! Next, a stronger evidence of thy
violent and almost satanical pride, lay a list of all the morning papers (from
the “Morning
Chronicle” downwards to the “Porcupine,”) with the places of their
respective offices, where thou wast meditating to insert, and didst insert, an
elaborate sketch of the story of thy play—stones in thy enemy’s hand to
bruise thee with; and severely wast thou bruised, O Professor! nor do I know
what oil to pour into thy wounds. Next, which convinced me to a dead conviction
of thy pride, violent and almost satanical pride—lay a list of books, which
| 204 | LETTERS OF C. AND M. LAMB | Dec. |
