"THE PROOFS. A. Y. R."

With those words he departed.

A. Y. R.? And You Remember. Was that his meaning? At Your Risk. Were
the letters short for _that_ reminder? Anticipate Your Retribution. Did
they stand for _that_ warning? Out-dacious Youth Repent? But no; for
that, a O was happily wanting, and the vowel here was a A.

I opened the packet, and found that its contents were the foregoing
writings printed just as the reader (may I add the discerning reader?)
peruses them. In vain was the reassuring whisper,--A.Y.R., All the Year
Round,--it could not cancel the Proofs. Too appropriate name. The
Proofs of my having sold the Writings.

My wretchedness daily increased. I had not thought of the risk I ran,
and the defying publicity I put my head into, until all was done, and all
was in print. Give up the money to be off the bargain and prevent the
publication, I could not. My family was down in the world, Christmas was
coming on, a brother in the hospital and a sister in the rheumatics could
not be entirely neglected. And it was not only ins in the family that
had told on the resources of one unaided Waitering; outs were not
wanting. A brother out of a situation, and another brother out of money
to meet an acceptance, and another brother out of his mind, and another
brother out at New York (not the same, though it might appear so), had
really and truly brought me to a stand till I could turn myself round. I
got worse and worse in my meditations, constantly reflecting "The
Proofs," and reflecting that when Christmas drew nearer, and the Proofs
were published, there could be no safety from hour to hour but that He
might confront me in the Coffee-room, and in the face of day and his