“We should wish to be as liberal as possible, my lord,” replied Mr. Bracketts, shaking his head with a smile, “but we have other interests to consult--if I was the only person concerned it would be different--but, in short, I have already rather exceeded my powers, and I can go no farther!” “Very well,” said Lord Mount Helicon, looking at his watch, and seeing it was time for him to be at Tattersall’s; “only if it goes through another edition, we’ll have a fresh arrangement. It’s time for me to be off. Any news among the fraternity? Anything _good_ coming out soon?” “Nothing but a novel by a lady of rank,” returned Mr. Bracketts, with a meaning smile; “and we all know what that is likely to be. Capital title, though: ‘Blue-bell; or, the Double Infidelity’--the name will sell it. Good-morning; good-morning, my lord. Pray look in again, when you are this way.” And the publisher, having bowed out his noble guest, returned to his never-ending labours, whilst Lord Mount Helicon whisked into the street, with five hundred things to do, and, as usual, a dozen appointments to keep, all at the same time. Let us follow him down to Tattersall’s, whither, on the principle of “business first and pleasure afterwards,” he betakes himself at once, treading as it were upon air, his busy imagination teeming with a thousand schemes, and his spirits rising with that self-distilled elixir which is only known to the poetic temperament, and which, though springing to a certain extent from constitutional recklessness, owes its chief potency to the self-confidence of mental superiority--the reflection that, when all externals are swept away, when ruin and misfortune have done their wickedest, the productive treasure, the germ of future success, is still untouched within.