a perilous escapade

I shall not soon forget that moment when I, Joseph Darby, Esq., known in parts of this great city simply by my last name...Darby of London...decided to publish a small broadside for the common consumption out of a printing shop owned by the father of my late wife, my father-in-law, Mr. Hodges.

Little is known of this journal, for it dissappeared almost as quickly as it was born...printed on a single page, and oftentimes with the remaining ink from what had been the profits of the previous day's run at Mr. Hodges' shop....such are the limits of the not-so-independent publisher.

But fame was not to be caught in my frail net. And what little observations I had to make upon the stories of the day were always overshadowed by the importance I assigned to subjects that were not so bold, so noticed, nor bourne on the tongues of lords of court. Simply put, I was a press man hard-pressed to push, and pushed to my own peril to pay attention to the popular. And so my little broadside seemed to shrivel for want of readership.

One morning, a sheaf of the penultimate issue in the crook of my arm, I set off to the public square to hawk it there...and despite my lack of balance, general unease in the midst of the throng, and my soft voice, not well-suited to barking, crying or even indulging that last resort of the marketplace hack...the confident hiss of the whispered entreaty which proposes to sell by revealing a secret to vulnerable ears....I waded into the thick of the crowd, broadside held high.

Whatever strategy I had been intending to employ, however, was put to vain end when a young beggar immediately bowled me over and made off with the entire days run. I am sure he sold many more copies of my efforts than I might ever have, and justly so. How often is that the fate of the quick, the easy and the ephemeral in this world!

Such was the last issue of the Daily Darb. Abandoning it, I dedicated myself to the writing of weightier and longer-lasting fare. I must say, Mr. Hodges was quite relieved...seeing me returning to print shop empty handed so soon after I had left, he prodded my firmly upon the shoulder..."Why sell for pennies what others will pay for in pounds?"

Which, indeed, gave me a great deal to think about.