On Sunday I was punctual to my appointment with the publisher. I found
that for twenty years he had taken no animal food and no wine. After
some talk he requested me to compile six volumes of Newgate lives and
trials, of a thousand pages each, the remuneration to be £50 at the
completion of the work. I was also to make myself generally useful to
the "Review," and, furthermore, to translate into German a book of
philosophy which he had written. Then he dismissed me, saying that,
though he never went to church, he spent much of every Sunday afternoon
alone, musing on the magnificence of Nature and the moral dignity of
man.

I compiled the "Chronicles of Newgate," reviewed books for the "Review,"
and occasionally tried my best to translate into German portions of the
publisher's philosophy. But the "Review" did not prove a successful
speculation, and with its decease its corps of writers broke up. I was
paid, not in cash, but in bills, one payable at twelve, the other at
eighteen months after date. It was a long time before I could turn these
bills to any account. At last I found a person willing to cash them at a
discount of only thirty per cent.

By the month of October I had accomplished about two-thirds of the
compilation of the Newgate lives, and had also made some progress with
the German translation. But about this time I had begun to see very
clearly that it was impossible that our connection would be of long
duration; yet, in the event of my leaving the big man, what had I to
offer another publisher? I returned to my labour, finished the German
translation, got paid in the usual style, and left that employer.


_III.--The Spirit of Stonehenge_