--"No, no--anything but that-on the Great Western."

Pisistratus relapses into gloom. Blanche steals up coaxingly, and gets
snubbed for her pains. A pause.

_Mr. Caxton_--"There are two golden rules of life; one relates to the
mind, and the other to the pockets. The first is--If our thoughts get
into a low, nervous, aguish condition, we should make them change the
air; the second is comprised in the proverb, 'it is good to have two
strings to one's bow.' Therefore, Pisistratus, I tell you what you must
do--Write a Book!"

_Pisistratus_.--"Write a Book!--Against the abolition of the Corn Laws?
Faith, sir, the mischief's done. It takes a much better pen than mine to
write down an Act of Parliament."

_Mr. Caxton_.--"I only said, 'Write a Book.' All the rest is the addition
of your own headlong imagination."

_Pisistratus_, with the recollection of The Great Book rising before
him.--"Indeed, sir I should think that would just finish us!"

_Mr. Caxton_, not seeming to heed the interruption.--"A book that will
sell! A book that will prop up the fall of prices! A book that will
distract your mind from its dismal apprehensions, and restore your
affection to your species, and your hopes in the ultimate triumph of
sound principles--by the sight of a favorable balance at the end of the
yearly accounts. It is astonishing what a difference that little
circumstance makes in our views of things in general. I remember when the
bank in which Squills had incautiously left L1000 broke, one remarkably
healthy year, that he became a great alarmist, and said that the country
was on the verge of ruin; whereas, you see now, when, thanks to a long
succession of sickly seasons, he has a surplus capital to risk in the
Great Western--he is firmly persuaded that England was never in so
Prosperous a condition."

_Mr. Squills_, rather sullenly.--"Pooh, pooh."

_Mr. Caxton_.--"Write a book, my son--write a book. Need I tell you that
Money or Moneta, according to Hyginus, was the mother of the Muses? Write
a book."

_Blanche_ and my _Mother_, in full chorus.--"Oh yes, Sisty--a book-a
book! you must write a book."

"I am sure," quoth my Uncle Roland, slamming down the volume he had just
concluded, "he could write a devilish deal better book than this; and how
I come to read such trash, night after night, is more than I could
Possibly explain to the satisfaction of any intelligent jury, if I were
put into a witness-box, and examined in the m