able steady hand, though with humility, I laid The Proofs
before him.

"Gracious Heavens!" he cries out, leaping up, and catching hold of his
hair. "What's this? Print!"

"Sir," I replied, in a calming voice, and bending forward, "I humbly
acknowledge to being the unfortunate cause of it. But I hope, sir, that
when you have heard the circumstances explained, and the innocence of my
intentions--"

To my amazement, I was stopped short by his catching me in both his arms,
and pressing me to his breast-bone; where I must confess to my face (and
particular, nose) having undergone some temporary vexation from his
wearing his coat buttoned high up, and his buttons being uncommon hard.

"Ha, ha, ha!" he cries, releasing me with a wild laugh, and grasping my
hand. "What is your name, my Benefactor?"

"My name, sir" (I was crumpled, and puzzled to make him out), "is
Christopher; and I hope, sir, that, as such, when you've heard my ex--"

"In print!" he exclaims again, dashing the proofs over and over as if he
was bathing in them.--"In print!! O Christopher! Philanthropist!
Nothing can recompense you,--but what sum of money would be acceptable to
you?"

I had drawn a step back from him, or I should have suffered from his
buttons again.

"Sir, I assure you, I have been already well paid, and--"

"No, no, Christopher! Don't talk like that! What sum of money would be
acceptable to you, Christopher? Would you find twenty pounds acceptable,
Christopher?"

However great my surprise, I naturally found words to say, "Sir, I am not
aware that the man was ever yet born without more than the average amount
of water on the brain as would not find twenty pounds acceptable.
But--extremely obliged to you, sir, I'm sure;" for he had tumbled it out
of his purse and crammed it in my hand in two bank-notes; "but I could
wish to know, sir, if not intruding, how I have merited this liberality?"

"Know then, my Christopher," he says, "that from boyhood's hour I have
unremittingly and unavailingly endeavoured to get into print. Know,
Christopher, that all the Booksellers alive--and several dead--have
refused to put me into print. Know, Christopher, that I have written
unprinted Reams. But they shall be read to you, my friend and brother.
You sometimes have a holiday?"

Seeing the great danger I was in, I had the presence of mind to answer,
"Never!" To make it more final, I added, "Never! Not from the cradle to
the grave."