Toads with their venom, Doctors with their drug,
The Priest, and Hedgehog, in their robes are snug!
Oh, Nature! cruel step-mother, and hard,
To thy poor, naked, fenceless child the Bard!
No Horns but those by luckless Hymen worn,
And those, (alas! alas!) not Plenty's Horn!
With naked feelings, and with aching pride,
He bears th' unbroken blast on every side!
Vampire booksellers drain him to the heart,
And Scorpion critics cureless venom dart![19]

S. T. C."


"Manchester, Jan. 7, 1796.

My dear friend,

I arrived at Manchester, last night, from Sheffield, to which place I
shall only send about thirty numbers. I might have succeeded there, at
least, equally well with the former towns, but I should injure the sale
of the 'Iris.' the editor of which Paper (a very amiable and ingenious
young man, of the name of 'James Montgomery') is now in prison, for a
libel on a bloody-minded magistrate there. Of course, I declined publicly
advertising or disposing of the 'Watchman' in that town.

This morning I called on Mr. ---- with H's letter. Mr. ---- received me
as a rider, and treated me with insolence that was really amusing from
its novelty. 'Overstocked with these Articles.' 'People always setting up
some new thing or other.' 'I read the Star and another paper; what can I