betaking ourselves to one of the craft in Bond-street, whom we found
in a back parlour, with his gouty leg propped upon a cushion, in
spite of which warning he diluted his luncheon with frequent glasses
of Madeira. "What have you already written?" was his first question-
-an interrogatory to which we had been subjected in almost every
instance. "Nothing by which we can be known." "Then I am afraid to
undertake the publication." We presumed timidly to suggest that
every writer must have a beginning, and that to refuse to publish for
him until he had acquired a name, was to imitate the sapient mother
who cautioned her son against going into the water until he could
swim. "An old joke--a regular Joe!" exclaimed our companion, tossing
off another bumper. "Still older than Joe Miller," was our reply;
"for, if we mistake not, it is the very first anecdote in the
facetiae of Hierocles." "Ha, sirs!" resumed the bibliopolist, "you
are learned, are you? So, sob!--Well, leave your manuscript with me;
I will look it over to-night, and give you an answer to-morrow."
Punctual as the clock we presented ourselves at his door on the
following morning, when our papers were returned to us with the
observation--"These trifles are really not deficient in smartness;
they are well, vastly well, for beginners; but they will never do--
never. They would not pay for advertising, and without it I should
not sell fifty copies."

This was discouraging enough. If the most experienced publishers
feared to be out of pocket by the work, it was manifest, a fortiori,
that its writers ran a risk of being still more heavy losers, should
they undertake the publication on their own account. We had no
objection to raise a laugh at the expense of others; but to do it at
our own cost, uncertain as we were to what extent we might be
involved, had never entered into our contemplation. In this dilemma,