t being acquainted with the way, I missed the turning which should
have brought me to the latter. Suddenly I found myself in a street of
which I had some recollection, and mechanically stopped before the window
of a shop at which various publications were exposed; it was that of the
bookseller to whom I had last applied in the hope of selling my ballads
or Ab Gwilym, and who had given me hopes that, in the event of my writing
a decent novel, or a tale, he would prove a purchaser. As I stood
listlessly looking at the window, and the publications which it
contained, I observed a paper affixed to the glass by wafers with
something written upon it. I drew yet nearer for the purpose of
inspecting it; the writing was in a fair round hand--"A Novel or Tale is
much wanted," was what was written.

CHAPTER LV.

Bread and Water--Fair Play--Fashionable Life--Colonel B-----Joseph
Sell--The Kindly Glow--Easiest Manner Imaginable.

"I must do something," said I, as I sat that night in my lonely
apartment, with some bread and a pitcher of water before me.

Thereupon taking some of the bread, and eating it, I considered what I
was to do. "I have no idea what I am to do," said I, as I stretched my
hand towards the pitcher, "unless"--and here I took a considerable
draught--"I write a tale or a novel--That bookseller," I continued,
speaking to myself, "is certainly much in need of a tale or a novel,
otherwise he would not advertise for one. Suppose I write one, I appear
to have no other chance of extricating myself from my present
difficulties; surely it was Fate that conducted me to his window."

"I will do it," said I, as I struck my hand against the table; "I will do
it." Suddenly a heavy cloud of despondency came over me. Could I do it?
Had I the imagination requisite to write a tale or a novel? "Yes, yes,"
said I, as I struck my hand again against the table, "I can manage it;
give me fair play, and I can accomplish anything."

But should I have fair play? I must have something to maintain myself
with whilst I wrote my tale, and I had but eighteen pence in the world.
Would that maintain me whilst I wrote my tale? Yes, I thought it would,
provided I ate bread, which did not cost much, and drank water, which
cost nothing; it was poor diet, it was true, but better men than myself
had written on bread and water; had not the big man told me so? or
something to that effect, months before?

It was true there was my lo