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Burlesques William Makepeace Thackeray

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64<br />

invention. He and an advertisement agent fell out about a question of money, the affair was<br />

brought before the courts, and the little plot so got wind. But there is no reason why you<br />

should not take the plot and act on it yourself. You are a known man; the public relishes<br />

your works; anything bearing the name of Snooks is eagerly read by the masses; and<br />

though Messrs. Hookey, of Holywell Street, pay you handsomely, I make no doubt you<br />

would like to be rewarded at a still higher figure.<br />

"Unless he writes with a purpose, you know, a novelist in our days is good for nothing.<br />

This one writes with a socialist purpose; that with a conservative purpose: this author or<br />

authoress with the most delicate skill insinuates Catholicism into you, and you find yourself<br />

all but a Papist in the third volume: another doctors you with Low Church remedies to work<br />

inwardly upon you, and which you swallow down unsuspiciously, as children do calomel in<br />

jelly. Fiction advocates all sorts of truth and causes—doesn't the delightful bard of the<br />

Minories find Moses in everything? M. Gonzales's plan, and the one which I recommend to<br />

my dear Snooks, simply was to write an advertisement novel. Look over The Times or the<br />

'Directory,' walk down Regent Street or Fleet Street any day—see what houses advertise<br />

most, and put yourself into communication with their proprietors. With your rings, your<br />

chains, your studs, and the tip on your chin, I don't know any greater swell than Bob<br />

Snooks. Walk into the shops, I say, ask for the principal, and introduce yourself, saying, 'I<br />

am the great Snooks; I am the author of the "Mysteries of May Fair;" my weekly sale is<br />

281,000; I am about to produce a new work called "The Palaces of Pimlico, or the Curse of<br />

the Court," describing and lashing fearlessly the vices of the aristocracy; this book will<br />

have a sale of at least 530,000; it will be on every table—in the boudoir of the pampered<br />

duke, as in the chamber of the honest artisan. The myriads of foreigners who are coming to<br />

London, and are anxious to know about our national manners, will purchase my book, and<br />

carry it to their distant homes. So, Mr. Taylor, or Mr. Haberdasher, or Mr. Jeweller, how<br />

much will you stand if I recommend you in my forthcoming novel?' You may make a noble<br />

income in this way, Snooks.<br />

"For instance, suppose it is an upholsterer. What more easy, what more delightful, than the<br />

description of upholstery? As thus:—<br />

"'Lady Emily was reclining on one of Down and Eider's voluptuous ottomans, the only<br />

couch on which Belgravian beauty now reposes, when Lord Bathershins entered, stepping<br />

noiselessly over one of Tomkins's elastic Axminster carpets. "Good heavens, my lord!" she<br />

said—and the lovely creature fainted. The Earl rushed to the mantel-piece, where he saw a<br />

flacon of Otto's eau-de-Cologne, and,' &c.<br />

"Or say it's a cheap furniture-shop, and it may be brought in just as easily, as thus:—

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