So Dallas spoke and wrote; and Byron let himself be persuaded. He yielded, at first, with reluctance--or perhaps it was only with a pretence of reluctance; but, after he had yielded, he entered into the spirit of the situation. He would not only publish, but he would publish with _éclat_. If he could not command success, he would deserve it, and would be careful not to throw away a chance. He would not be contented with a publisher who merely printed a few copies of the poem, pushed them outside the back-door, and waited to see what would happen. The minds of men--and women--should be duly prepared for the sensation in store for them. Whatever the mountain might be destined to bring forth, at least it should be visibly in labour. Publication should be preluded by a noise as of the rolling of logs. The money did not matter. The "magnificent man"--and there was a good deal of Aristotle's "magnificent man" about Byron at this period--could not soil his hands by taking money for a poem even for the purpose of discharging his debt to the upholsterers whose bills were frightening his mother out of her life. Perish the mean thought! If there was money in the poem, Dallas might have it for himself. All that the author wanted was glory--a "boom," as we vulgar moderns say--and that arresting noise already referred to, as of the rolling of logs. Dallas must see to that to the best of his ability, and he himself would lend a hand. Above all, there must be no hole-and-corner publishing. Cawthorne must on no account have the book--his status was not good enough. Miller was the man, and, failing Miller, Murray. On the whole it was to Murray that it would be best to go. Murray was the coming man--one could divine him as the publisher of the future, and he had, on his side divined Byron as the poet of the future, and expressed a wish to "handle" some of his work. So Dallas went to Murray, and got five hundred guineas for the copyright; and then the sound of the rolling of the logs began. Galt heard it. Galt, being himself a man of letters as well as a commercial traveller, knew what it was that he heard. Galt, who was now back in London, tells us that "various surmises to stimulate curiosity were circulated," and he continues: "I do not say that these were by his orders or under his directions, but on one occasion I did fancy that I could discern a touch of his own hand in a paragraph in the _Morning Post_, in which he was mentioned as having returned from an excursion into the interior of Africa; and when I alluded to it, my suspicion was confirmed by his embarrassment."