"Ah!" exclaimed Zambullo, "there is no need to ask from which door that dream proceeded; and I have not the slightest doubt of its proving one of the least deceitful visions he ever had in his life. I am perfectly acquainted with those worthy gentlemen, the booksellers. Heaven help the poor authors who fall into their hands! To cheat them, is the mystery of their craft." "Nothing can be more true," replied the Cripple; "but, it appears, you have yet to become acquainted with those as worthy gentry--the authors. They are six of one and half-a-dozen of the other: it is impossible to decide on their relative merits. By the bye, I will relate to you an adventure which occurred not a century ago, in this very town, and which will enlighten you on the subject. "Three booksellers were supping together at a tavern; and the conversation naturally turned on the scarcity of good modern authors. Thereupon, one of them said to his brethren: 'My friends, I must tell you, however, in confidence, that I have been in luck's way within these few days. I have purchased a manuscript, for which I paid rather dearly, it is true, but it is by an author--oh! it is uncoined gold.' One of those whom he addressed now interrupted him; and boasted of having been equally fortunate on the preceding day in a similar purchase. 'And I, gentlemen,' at last exclaimed the third, in his turn,--'I will not be behindhand in confidence with you; I will show you the gem of manuscripts, of which I only this morning became the happy owner.' As he finished, each drew from his capacious pocket the precious acquisition he had made; when these miracles of authorship turned out to be as many copies of a new theatrical piece, entitled the Wandering Jew, which the astonished bibliopoles found had been sold to each of them separately. "Near the bookseller, in the next house," continued the Devil, "you may perceive a timid and respectful lover just awaking. He loves one of the most sprightly of widows; and was dreaming, but this moment, that, beside her in the covert of a dusky wood, whose shade lent courage to his modest spirit, he was so tender,--so gallant in his speech, that his fair mistress could not help exclaiming: 'Ah! you are becoming absolutely dangerous! If I were not steeled against the flattery of men, I should be lost. But you are all deceivers! I never trust to words;--actions alone can win me,'--'And what actions, madam, do you ask of me?' interrupted the gentle swain: 'must I, to prove the excess of my passion, undertake the twelve labours of Hercules?' 'Lord! no, Nicaise,' replied the lady, 'much less would content me.' Thereupon--he awoke." [Illustration: the timid lover's dream]