The reader may imagine the feelings of our disappointed genius: they were bitter as the human soul could bear. Yet he did not altogether despair; there were more booksellers in London. It is unnecessary to tell how he offered his manuscript to another, and another, yea, to twenty more--how he examined what books they had published in their windows--and how he entered their shops with fear and trembling, for his hopes were becoming fainter and more faint. Some opened it, others did not, but all shook their heads, and said, nobody would undertake to publish poetry, or that it was not in their way; some advised him to publish by subscription, but George Rogers did not know a soul in London; others recommended him to try the magazines. It was with a heavy heart that he abandoned the idea of publishing his epic, and with it also his fond dream of obtaining a thousand guineas. He had resolved within himself that the moment he received the money, he would go down to Scotland, and rebuild his father's house; and all who knew him should marvel, and hold up their hands, at the fame and fortune of George the Genius. But a hungry man cannot indulge in day-dreams, and his visions by night are an aggravation of his misery; he therefore had to renounce the fond delusion, that he might have bread to eat. His last resource was to try the magazines. His epic was out of the question for them; and he wrote songs, odes, essays, and short tales, on every scrap of paper, and on the back of every letter in his possession. With this bundle of "shreds and patches," he waited upon several magazine publishers. One told him he was overstocked with contributions; another, that he might leave the papers, and he should have an answer in two or three weeks. But three weeks was an eternity to a man who had not tasted food for three days. A third said, "he could seldom make room for new contributors--poetry was not an article for which he gave money--essays were at a discount, and he only published tales by writers of established reputation." There was one article, however, which pleased him, and he handed George a guinea for it. The tears started into his eyes as he received it--he thought he would never be poor again--he was as proud of that guinea as if it had been a thousand! It convinced him more and more that he _was_ a genius. I need not tell you how that guinea was husbanded, and how it was doled out; but, although George reckoned that it would purchase two hundred and fifty-two penny loaves, and that that was almost as many as a man need to eat in a twelvemonth, yet the guinea vanished to the last penny before a month went round. He had frequently called at the shop of his first patron, the publisher of the magazine; and on one day when he so called--