"Glad to hear it; and what have you been about of late? got anything which will suit me? Sir, I admire your style of writing, and your manner of thinking; and I am much obliged to my good friend and correspondent for sending me some of your productions. I inserted them all, and wished there had been more of them--quite original, sir, quite; took with the public, especially the essay about the non-existence of anything. I don't exactly agree with you, though; I have my own peculiar ideas about matter--as you know, of course, from the book I have published. Nevertheless, a very pretty piece of speculative philosophy--no such thing as matter--impossible that there should be--_ex nihilo_--what is the Greek? I have forgot--very pretty indeed; very original." "I am afraid, sir, it was very wrong to write such trash, and yet more to allow it to be published." "Trash! not at all; a very pretty piece of speculative philosophy; of course you were wrong in saying there is no world. The world must exist, to have the shape of a pear; and that the world is shaped like a pear, and not like an apple, as the fools of Oxford say, I have satisfactorily proved in my book. Now, if there were no world, what would become of my system? But what do you propose to do in London?" "Here is the letter, sir," said I, "of our good friend, which I have not yet given to you; I believe it will explain to you the circumstances under which I come." He took the letter, and perused it with attention. "Hem!" said he, with a somewhat altered manner, "my friend tells me that you are come up to London with the view of turning your literary talents to account, and desires me to assist you in my capacity of publisher in bringing forth two or three works which you have prepared. My good friend is perhaps not aware that for some time past I have given up publishing--was obliged to do so--had many severe losses--do nothing at present in that line, save sending out the Magazine once a month; and, between ourselves am thinking of disposing of that--wish to retire--high time at my age--so you see--" "I am very sorry, sir, to hear that you cannot assist me" (and I remember that I felt very nervous); "I had hoped--" "A losing trade, I assure you, sir; literature is a drug. Taggart, what o'clock is it?" "Well, sir!" said I, rising, "as you cannot assist me, I will now take my leave; I thank you sincerely for your kind reception, and will trouble you no longer." "Oh, don't go. I wish to have some further conversation with you; and perhaps I may hit upon some plan to benefit you. I honour merit, and always make a point to encourage it when I can; but--Taggart, go to the bank, and tell them to dishonour the bill twelve months after date for thirty pounds which becomes due to-morrow. I am dissatisfied with that fellow who wrote the fairy tales, and intend to give him all the trouble in my power. Make haste."