he bookseller will have been supplied with a
tale or a novel. Is it probable that, in a town like this, where talent
is so abundant--hungry talent too--a bookseller can advertise for a tale
or a novel, without being supplied with half a dozen in twenty-four
hours? I may as well fling down my pen--I am writing to no purpose. And
these thoughts came over my mind so often, that at last, in utter
despair, I flung down the pen. Whereupon the tempter within me said:
"And, now you have flung down the pen, you may as well fling yourself out
of the window; what remains for you to do?" Why, to take it up again,
thought I to myself, for I did not like the latter suggestion at all--and
then forthwith I resumed the pen, and wrote with greater vigour than
before, from about six o'clock in the evening until I could hardly see,
when I rested for awhile, when the tempter within me again said, or
appeared to say: "All you have been writing is stuff, it will never do--a
drug--a mere drug"; and methought these last words were uttered in the
gruff tones of the big publisher. "A thing merely to be sneezed at," a
voice like that of Taggart added; and then I seemed to hear a
sternutation,--as I probably did, for, recovering from a kind of swoon, I
found myself shivering with cold. The next day I brought my work to a
conclusion.

But the task of revision still remained; for an hour or two I shrank from
it, and remained gazing stupidly at the pile of paper which I had written
over. I was all but exhausted, and I dreaded, on inspecting the sheets,
to find them full of absurdities which I had paid no regard to in the
furor of composition. But the task, however trying to my nerves, must be
got over; at last, in a kind of desperation, I entered upon it. It was
far from an easy one; there were, however, fewer errors and absurdities
than I had anticipated. About twelve o'clock at night I had got over the
task of revision. "To-morrow, for the bookseller," said I, as my head
sank on the pillow. "Oh me!"

CHAPTER LVII.

On arriving at the bookseller's shop, I cast a nervous look at the
window, for the purpose of observing whether the paper had been removed
or not. To my great delight the paper was in its place; with a beating
heart I entered, there was nobody in the shop; as I stood at the counter,
however, deliberating whether or not I should call out, the door of what
seemed to be a back-parlour opened, and out came a well-dressed