the publisher to recognise the man of genius in the young man who
presented himself before him, ragged, gaunt, and hungry. Rags are not
a proof of genius; whereas capital is absolute, as times go, and is
perforce the bargain-master. It has a right to deal with the literary
inventor as with any other;--if I produce a novelty in the book trade,
I must do the best I can with it; but I can no more force Mr. Murray to
purchase my book of travels or sermons, than I can compel Mr. Tattersall
to give me a hundred guineas for my horse. I may have my own ideas of
the value of my Pegasus, and think him the most wonderful of animals;
but the dealer has a right to his opinion, too, and may want a lady's
horse, or a cob for a heavy timid rider, or a sound hack for the road,
and my beast won't suit him."

"You deal in metaphors, Warrington," Pen said; "but you rightly say
that you are very prosaic. Poor Shandon! There is something about the
kindness of that man, and the gentleness of that sweet creature of a
wife, which touches me profoundly. I like him, I am afraid, better than
a better man."

"And so do I," Warrington said. "Let us give him the benefit of our
sympathy, and the pity that is due to his weakness: though I fear that
sort of kindness would be resented as contempt by a more high-minded
man. You see he takes his consolation along with his misfortune, and
one generates the other or balances ii, as the way of the world. He is a
prisoner, but he is not unhappy."

"His genius sings within his prison bars," Pen said.

"Yes," Warrington said, bitterly; "Shandon accommodates himself to a
cage pretty well. He ought to be wretched, but he has Jack and Tom to
drink with, and that consoles him: he might have a high place, but, as
he can't, why, he can drink with Tom and Jack;--he might be providing
for his wife and children, but Thomas and John have got a bottle of
brandy which they want him to taste;--he might pay poor Snip, the
tailor, the twenty pounds which the poor devil wants for his landlord,
but John and Thomas lay their hands upon his purse;--and so he drinks
whilst his tradesman goes to gaol and his family to ruin. Let us pity
the misfortunes of genius, and conspire against the publishing tyrants
who oppress men of letters."

"What! are you going to have another glass of brandy-and-water?" Pen
said, with a humorous look. It was at the Black Kitchen that the above
philosophical conversation took place between the two y