e leisurely manner; but, as I
drew nearer and nearer to the completion of my task, dreadful fears and
despondencies came over me.--It will be too late, thought I; by the time
I have finished the work, the 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 a while, 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 FIFTY-SEVEN

NERVOUS LOOK--THE BOOKSELLER'S WIFE--THE LAST STAKE--TERMS--GOD
FORBID!--WILL YOU COME TO TEA?

On arriving at the bookseller's shop, I cast a nervous look at the
window, for the purpose of observing whether th