"
During this rhapsody of Blackstrap's, Transit on the one side, and the
English Spy on the other, endeavoured to restrain the torrent of his
satire by assuring him that the very persons he was alluding to were the
amateurs on the stage before him; and that certain critical faces behind
him were paid like the painter, of whom he had previously spoken,
to produce flattering portraits in print, and might possibly make a
satirical sketch of the bon vivant at the same time; an admonition that
had not the slightest effect in abridging his strictures upon amateur
actors. But as the English Spy intends to finish his sketches on
this subject, in a visit to the national theatres, he has until then
treasured up in his mind's stores the excellent and apposite, though
somewhat racy anecdotes, with which the comical commercial critic
illustrated his discourse.
The "liquor in, the wit's out," saith the ancient proverb; and,
although my "Spirit in the Clouds" had already hinted at the dangerous
consequences likely to result from a visit to the "Oakland Cottages,"
yet such was the flexibility of my friend Transit's ethics, his penchant
for a spree, and the volatile nature of his disposition, when the ripe
Falerian set the red current mantling in his veins, that not all my
philosophy, nor the sage monitions of Blackstrap, nor thought, nor
care, nor friendly intercession could withhold the artist from making
a pilgrimage to the altar of love.
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