_Author._ You say well. But no man of honour, genius, or spirit, would
make the mere love of gain, the chief, far less the only, purpose of
his labours. For myself, I am not displeased to find the game a
winning one; yet while I pleased the public, I should probably
continue it merely for the pleasure of playing; for I have felt as
strongly as most folks that love of composition, which is perhaps the
strongest of all instincts, driving the author to the pen, the painter
to the pallet, often without either the chance of fame or the prospect
of reward. Perhaps I have said too much of this. I might, perhaps,
with as much truth as most people, exculpate myself from the charge of
being either of a greedy or mercenary disposition; but I am not,
therefore, hypocrite enough to disclaim the ordinary motives, on
account of which the whole world around me is toiling unremittingly,
to the sacrifice of ease, comfort, health, and life. I do not affect
the disinterestedness of that ingenious association of gentlemen
mentioned by Goldsmith, who sold their magazine for sixpence a-piece,
merely for their own amusement.

_Captain._ I have but one thing more to hint.--The world say you will
run yourself out.

_Author._ The world say true: and what then? When they dance no
longer, I will no longer pipe; and I shall not want flappers enough to
remind me of the apoplexy.

_Captain._ And what will become of us then, your poor family? We shall
fall into contempt and oblivion.

_Author._ Like many a poor fellow, already overwhelmed with the number