This communication took place on a Monday, and I daily expected (what I
was ashamed to anticipate by volunteering my presence, however sure of a
welcome) an invitation to eat an egg, as was my friend's favourite
phrase, or a card to drink tea with Misses Fairscribe, or a provocation
to breakfast, at least, with my hospitable friend and benefactor, and to
talk over the contents of my enclosure. But the hours and days passed on
from Monday till Saturday, and I had no acknowledgment whatever that my
packet had reached its destination. "This is very unlike my good
friend's punctuality," thought I; and having again and again vexed
James, my male attendant, by a close examination concerning the time,
place, and delivery, I had only to strain my imagination to conceive
reasons for my friend's silence. Sometimes I thought that his opinion of
the work had proved so unfavourable that he was averse to hurt my
feelings by communicating it--sometimes, that, escaping his hands to
whom it was destined, it had found its way into his writing-chamber, and
was become the subject of criticism to his smart clerks and conceited
apprentices. "'Sdeath!" thought I, "if I were sure of this, I would"--

"And what would you do?" said Reason, after a few moment's reflection.
"You are ambitious of introducing your book into every writing and
reading-chamber in Edinburgh, and yet you take fire at the thoughts of
its being criticised by Mr. Fairscribe's young people? Be a little
consistent--for shame!"

"I will be consistent," said I, doggedly; "but for all that, I will call
on Mr. Fairscribe this evening."

I hastened my dinner, donn'd my great-coat (for the evening threatened
rain,) and went to Mr. Fairscribe's house. The old domestic opened the
door cautiously, and before I asked the question, said, "Mr. Fairscribe