"I am not of your country, sir; but I have an infinite veneration for your country, as Strap said to the French soldier. Will you take a glass of wine?" "Ah, _de tout mon coeur_, as the parasite said to Gil Blas," cried the young man, laughing. "Here's to our better acquaintance!" And better acquainted we soon became; and I found that, in making the acquaintance of the young man, I had, indeed, made a valuable acquisition; he was accomplished, highly connected, and bore the name of Francis Ardry. Frank and ardent he was, and in a very little time had told me much that related to himself, and in return I communicated a general outline of my own history; he listened with profound attention, but laughed heartily when I told him some particulars of my visit in the morning to the publisher, whom he had frequently heard of. We left the house together. "We shall soon see each other again," said he, as we separated at the door of my lodging. CHAPTER XXXIII Dine with the Publisher--Religions--No Animal Food--Unprofitable Discussions--Principles of Criticism--The Book Market--Newgate Lives--Goethe a Drug--German Acquirements--Moral Dignity. On the Sunday I was punctual to my appointment to dine with the publisher. As I hurried along the square in which his house stood, my thoughts were fixed so intently on the great man, that I passed by him without seeing him. He had observed me, however, and joined me just as I was about to knock at the door. "Let us take a turn in the square," said he; "we shall not dine for half an hour." "Well," said he, as we were walking in the square, "what have you been doing since I last saw you?" "I have been looking about London," said I, "and I have bought the 'Dairyman's Daughter'; here it is." "Pray put it up," said the publisher; "I don't want to look at such trash. Well, do you think you could write anything like it?" "I do not," said I. "How is that?" said the publisher, looking at me. "Because," said I, "the man who wrote it seems to be perfectly well acquainted with his subject; and, moreover, to write from the heart." "By the subject you mean--" "Religion." "And a'n't you acquainted with religion?" "Very little." "I am sorry for that," said the publisher, seriously, "for he who sets up for an author ought to be acquainted not only with religion, but religions, and indeed with all subjects, like my good friend in the country. It is well that I have changed my mind about the 'Dairyman's Daughter,' or I really don't know whom I could apply to on the subject at the present moment, unless to himself; and after all I question whether his style is exactly suited for an evangelical novel." "Then you do not wish for an imitation of the 'Dairyman's Daughter'?" "I do not, sir; I have changed my mind, as I told you before; I wish to employ you in another line, but will communicate to you my intentions after dinner."