abilities; how happy I should be, in devoting them to your information and instruction. I should, with much pleasure, sir, on any important question, make such speeches, as would astonish the senate, if you were to speak them.” “That sir, I am convinced you could,” “and in any manner that you chuse.” “I am very happy in imitating Burke; but that’s not difficult; Burke is, after all, only shallow. I could enliven a speech with better wit than Sheridan’s;--indeed, that’s no great matter. His School for Scandal, that the world so much admired, is but a poor performance; I, myself, could far surpass it, were I to _descend_ to writing for the stage, but that I despise.” “Did you never write for the stage, doctor?” “I once wrote a tragedy.” “What was the subject?” “The death of Colebrand, or the history of Guy, Earl of Warwick.” “And how was it received, doctor?” “Whatever I write, has numberless enemies;--they had the insolence to damn it. Pit, boxes, galleries, all hired to join against poor Guy;--there was a great deal of nature and of wit in the dialogue, for it made them laugh a good deal; but it was damned. The whole world were in a confederacy against me; but I wrote and published an address, which proved every one that spoke or hissed against me, to be a dunce.” “How did you prove that, doctor?” “How did I prove that;--how do I prove any thing? but by giving my own judgment, that it is so. I declare they were all dunces, and God confound them all for dunces. They had the insolence to say Dr. Scribble was a dunce;--the whole audience called out, Dicky was a dunce:--could flesh and blood bear it? Was it not a libel?--I believe Lord Mansfield would declare it so.” Without attending to this legal illustration, the doctor proceeded; “I published a work a few days after, proving them all to be in a conspiracy against me, for my superior genius; but to return, I again proffer you, Sir Edward, my political services.” “Doctor Scribble,” replied the Baronet, “I have a just sense of the importance of your offer; but I am sorry, that I cannot think of shining by a borrowed light, and must make the best of my own powers and knowledge;--but there comes your friend Sir Joseph, shall we go and meet him?” “Not at present,” said the Doctor, “being engaged very particularly on the other side of the town.” Sir Edward now joined the other baronet, and after the common salutations, “I have just parted with your friend, Dr. Scribble.” “My friend!” returned Sir Joseph, “I do not know him;--I know there is such a man, and that he pretends to be a kind of an antiquarian.” “I thought you had been extremely intimate,” said Sir Edward. “Oh no, I have not the least acquaintance with the man.” Not long after the baronet was joined by our hero, and communicated the discourse that had passed between him and Dr. Scribble. Our hero was amused by the oratorial propositions of this learned person; but soon forgot the doctor and all his concerns,