50 and his blessing, and that he
was going to London to improve himself in his art.

My father was taken ill with severe attacks of gout, and, in a touching
conversation, assured me that his end was approaching. Before that sad
event happened, my brother, whom he longed to see, arrived home. My
father died with the name of Christ on his lips. The brave old soldier,
during intervals between his attacks, had told me more of his life than
I had ever learned before, and I was amazed to find how much he knew and
had seen. He had talked with King George, and had known Wellington, and
was the friend of Townshend, who, when Wolfe fell, led the British
grenadiers against the shrinking regiments of Montcalm.

_II.--An Adventure with a Publisher_

One damp, misty March morning, I dismounted from the top of a coach in
the yard of a London inn. Delivering my scanty baggage to a porter, I
followed him to a lodging prepared for me by an acquaintance. It
consisted of a small room in which I was to sit, and a smaller one still
in which I was to sleep.

Having breakfasted comfortably by a good fire, I sallied forth and
easily found my way to the place I was in quest of, for it was scarcely
ten minutes' walk distant. I was cordially received by the big man to
whom some of my productions had been sent by a kind friend, and to whom
he had given me a letter of introduction, which was respectfully read.
But he informed me that he was selling his publishing business, and so
could not make use of my literary help. He gave me counsel, however,
especially advising me to write some evangelical tales, in the style of
the "Dairyman's Daughter." As I told him I had never heard of that work,
he said: "Then, sir, procure it by all means." Much more conversation
ensued, during which the publisher told me that he purposed continuing
to issue once a month his magazine, the "Oxford Review," and to this he
proposed that I should attempt to contribute. As I was going away he
invited me to dine with him on the ensuing Sunday.

On Sunday I was punctual to my appointment with the publisher. I found
that for twenty years he had taken no animal food and no wine. After
some talk he requested me to compile six volumes of Newgate lives and
trials, of a thousand pages each, the remuneration to be L50 at the
completion of the work. I was also to make myself generally useful to
the "Review," and, furthermore, to translate into German a book of
philosophy which