erness, I read to the following effect:--

Buckshank bold and Elfinstone,
And more than I can mention here,
They caused to be built so stout a ship,
And unto Iceland they would steer.

They launched the ship upon the main,
Which bellowed like a wrathful bear;
Down to the bottom the vessel sank,
A laidly Trold has dragged it there.

Down to the bottom sank young Roland,
And round about he groped awhile;
Until he found the path which led
Unto the bower of Ellenlyle.

"Stop!" said the publisher; "very pretty, indeed, and very original;
beats Scott hollow, and Percy too: but, sir, the day for these things is
gone by; nobody at present cares for Percy, nor for Scott, either, save
as a novelist; sorry to discourage merit, sir, but what can I do? What
else have you got?"

"The songs of Ab Gwilym, the Welsh bard, also translated by myself, with
notes critical, philological and historical."

"Pass on--what else?"

"Nothing else," said I, folding up my manuscript with a sigh, "unless it
be a romance in the German style; on which, I confess, I set very little
value."

"Wild?"

"Yes, sir, very wild."

"Like the Miller of the Black Valley?"

"Yes, sir, very much like the Miller of the Black Valley."

"Well, that's better," said the publisher; "and yet, I don't know, I
question whether any one at present cares for the miller himself. No,
sir, the time for those things is also gone by; German, at present, is a
drug; and, between ourselves, nobody has contributed to make it so more
than my good friend and correspondent; but, sir, I see you are a young
gentleman of infinite merit, and I always wish to encourage merit. Don't
you think you could write a series of evangelical tales?"

"Evangelical tales, sir?"

"Yes, sir, evangelical novels."

"Something in the style of Herder?"

"Herder is a drug, sir; nobody cares for Herder--thanks to my good
friend. Sir, I have in yon drawer a hundred pages about Herder, which I
dare not insert in my periodical; it would sink it, sir. No, sir,
something in the style of the _Dairyman's Daughter_."

"I never heard of the work till the present moment."

"Then, sir, procure it by all means. Sir, I could afford as much as ten
pounds for a well-written tale in the style of the _Dairyman's Daughter_;
that is the kind of literature, sir, that sells at the present day! It
is not the Miller of the Black Valley--no, sir, nor H