r of Doctor Faustus, little Tommy? or Friar
Bacon, who invented gunpowder, and set the Thames on fire?"

Mr. Swift turned quite red, almost purple. "I did not intend any
offence, sir," says he.

"I dare say, sir, you offended without meaning," says the other, dryly.

"Who are ye, sir? Do you know who I am, sir? You are one of the pack
of Grub Street scribblers that my friend Mr. Secretary hath laid by the
heels. How dare ye, sir, speak to me in this tone?" cries the Doctor, in
a great fume.

"I beg your honor's humble pardon if I have offended your honor," says
Esmond in a tone of great humility. "Rather than be sent to the Compter,
or be put in the pillory, there's nothing I wouldn't do. But Mrs.
Leach, the printer's lady, told me to mind Tommy whilst she went for her
husband to the tavern, and I daren't leave the child lest he should fall
into the fire; but if your Reverence will hold him--"

"I take the little beast!" says the Doctor, starting back. "I am
engaged to your betters, fellow. Tell Mr. Leach that when he makes an
appointment with Dr. Swift he had best keep it, do ye hear? And keep a
respectful tongue in your head, sir, when you address a person like me."

"I'm but a poor broken-down soldier," says the Colonel, "and I've seen
better days, though I am forced now to turn my hand to writing. We can't
help our fate, sir."

"You're the person that Mr. Leach hath spoken to me of, I presume. Have
the goodness to speak civilly when you are spoken to--and tell Leach
to call at my lodgings in Bury Street, and bring the papers with him
to-night at ten o'clock. And the next time you see me, you'll know me,
and be civil, Mr. Kemp."

Poor Kemp, who had been a lieutenant at the beginning of the war, and
fallen into misfortune, was the writer of the Post-Boy, and now took
honest Mr. Leach's pay in place of her Majesty's. Esmond had seen this
gentleman, and a very ingenious, hardworking honest fellow he was,
toiling to give bread to a great family, and watching up many a long
winter night to keep the wolf from his door. And Mr. St. John, who had
liberty always on his tongue, had just sent a dozen of the opposition
writers into prison, and one actually into the pillory, for what he
called libels, but libels not half so violent as those writ on our
side. With regard to this very piece of tyranny, Esmond had remonstrated
strongly with the Secretary, who laughed and said the rascals were
served quite right; and told Es