"And is this plan," cried Monckton, "nothing more than turning Knight-
errant to the Booksellers?"

"'Tis a Knight-errantry," answered Belfield, laughing, "which, however
ludicrous it may seem to you, requires more soul and more brains than
any other. Our giants may, indeed, be only windmills, but they must be
attacked with as much spirit, and conquered with as much bravery, as
any fort or any town, in time of war [to] be demolished; and though the
siege, I must confess, may be of less national utility, the assailants
of the quill have their honour as much at heart as the assailants of
the sword."

"I suppose then," said Monckton, archly, "if a man wants a biting
lampoon, or an handsome panegyric, some newspaper scandal, or a sonnet
for a lady--"

"No, no," interrupted Belfield eagerly, "if you imagine me a hireling
scribbler for the purposes of defamation or of flattery, you as little
know my situation as my character. My subjects shall be my own, and my
satire shall be general. I would as much disdain to be personal with an
anonymous pen, as to attack an unarmed man in the dark with a dagger I
had kept concealed."

A reply of rallying incredulity was rising to the lips of Mr Monckton,
when reading in the looks of Cecilia an entire approbation of this
sentiment, he checked his desire of ridicule, and exclaimed, "spoken
like a man of honour, and one whose works may profit the world!"

"From my earliest youth to the present hour," continued Belfield,