lavengro-第68章

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of　the　crowd。　　At　last　some　one　stopped　the　rascal；　whereupon　he　

turned　round；　and　flinging　the　book　at　me；　it　fell　into　the　mud；　

well；　I　picked　it　up　and　kissed　it；　all　muddy　as　it　was。　　〃Has　he　

robbed　you？〃　said　the　man。　　〃Robbed　me；　indeed；　why　he　had　got　my　

book。〃　　〃Oh；　your　book；〃　said　the　man；　and　laughed；　and　let　the　

rascal　go。　　Ah；　he　might　laugh；　but　…　'



'Well；　go　on。'



'My　heart　beats　so。　　Well；　I　went　back　to　my　booth　and　picked　up　my　

stall　and　my　fruits；　what　I　could　find　of　them。　　I　couldn't　keep　my　

stall　for　two　days　I　got　such　a　fright；　and　when　I　got　round　I　

couldn't　bide　the　booth　where　the　thing　had　happened；　so　I　came　

over　to　the　other　side。　　Oh；　the　rascals；　if　I　could　but　see　them　

hanged。'



'For　what？'



'Why；　for　stealing　my　book。'



'I　thought　you　didn't　dislike　stealing；　…　that　you　were　ready　to　

buy　things　…　there　was　your　son；　you　know　…　'



'Yes；　to　be　sure。'



'He　took　things。'



'To　be　sure　he　did。'



'But　you　don't　like　a　thing　of　yours　to　be　taken。'



'No；　that's　quite　a　different　thing；　what's　stealing　handkerchiefs；　

and　that　kind　of　thing；　to　do　with　taking　my　book？　there's　a　wide　

difference　…　don't　you　see？'



'Yes；　I　see。'



'Do　you；　dear？　well；　bless　your　heart；　I'm　glad　you　do。　　Would　you　

like　to　look　at　the　book？'



'Well；　I　think　I　should。'



'Honour　bright？'　said　the　apple…woman；　looking　me　in　the　eyes。



'Honour　bright；'　said　I；　looking　the　apple…woman　in　the　eyes。



'Well　then；　dear；　here　it　is；'　said　she；　taking　it　from　under　her　

cloak；　'read　it　as　long　as　you　like；　only　get　a　little　farther　into　

the　booth　…　　Don't　sit　so　near　the　edge　…　you　might　…　'



I　went　deep　into　the　booth；　and　the　apple…woman；　bringing　her　chair　

round；　almost　confronted　me。　　I　commenced　reading　the　book；　and　was　

soon　engrossed　by　it；　hours　passed　away；　once　or　twice　I　lifted　up　

my　eyes；　the　apple…woman　was　still　confronting　me：　　at　last　my　eyes　

began　to　ache；　whereupon　I　returned　the　book　to　the　apple…woman；　

and；　giving　her　another　tanner；　walked　away。







CHAPTER　XLI







Decease　of　the　Review　…　Homer　himself　…　Bread　and　cheese　…　Finger　

and　thumb　…　Impossible　to　find　…　Something　grand　…　Universal　

mixture　…　Some　other　publisher。



TIME　passed　away；　and　with　it　the　Review；　which；　contrary　to　the　

publisher's　expectation；　did　not　prove　a　successful　speculation。　　

About　four　months　after　the　period　of　its　birth　it　expired；　as　all　

Reviews　must　for　which　there　is　no　demand。　　Authors　had　ceased　to　

send　their　publications　to　it；　and；　consequently；　to　purchase　it；　

for　I　have　already　hinted　that　it　was　almost　entirely　supported　by　

authors　of　a　particular　class；　who　expected　to　see　their　

publications　foredoomed　to　immortality　in　its　pages。　　The　behaviour　

of　these　authors　towards　this　unfortunate　publication　I　can　

attribute　to　no　other　cause　than　to　a　report　which　was　

industriously　circulated；　namely；　that　the　Review　was　low；　and　that　

to　be　reviewed　in　it　was　an　infallible　sign　that　one　was　a　low　

person；　who　could　be　reviewed　nowhere　else。　　So　authors　took　

fright；　and　no　wonder；　for　it　will　never　do　for　an　author　to　be　

considered　low。　　Homer　himself　has　never　yet　entirely　recovered　

from　the　injury　he　received　by　Lord　Chesterfield's　remark　that　the　

speeches　of　his　heroes　were　frequently　exceedingly　low。



So　the　Review　ceased；　and　the　reviewing　corps　no　longer　existed　as　

such；　they　forthwith　returned　to　their　proper　avocations　…　the　

editor　to　compose　tunes　on　his　piano；　and　to　the　task　of　disposing　

of　the　remaining　copies　of　his　Quintilian　…　the　inferior　members　to　

working　for　the　publisher；　being　to　a　man　dependants　of　his；　one；　

to　composing　fairy　tales；　another；　to　collecting　miracles　of　Popish　

saints；　and　a　third；　Newgate　lives　and　trials。　　Owing　to　the　bad　

success　of　the　Review；　the　publisher　became　more　furious　than　ever。　　

My　money　was　growing　short；　and　I　one　day　asked　him　to　pay　me　for　

my　labours　in　the　deceased　publication。



'Sir；'　said　the　publisher；　'what　do　you　want　the　money　for？'



'Merely　to　live　on；'　I　replied；　'it　is　very　difficult　to　live　in　

this　town　without　money。'



'How　much　money　did　you　bring　with　you　to　town？'　demanded　the　

publisher。



'Some　twenty　or　thirty　pounds；'　I　replied。



'And　you　have　spent　it　already？'



'No；'　said　I；　'not　entirely；　but　it　is　fast　disappearing。'



'Sir；'　said　the　publisher；　'I　believe　you　to　be　extravagant；　yes；　

sir；　extravagant！'



'On　what　grounds　do　you　suppose　me　to　be　so？'



'Sir；'　said　the　publisher；　'you　eat　meat。'



'Yes；'　said　I；　'I　eat　meat　sometimes；　what　should　I　eat？'



'Bread；　sir；'　said　the　publisher；　'bread　and　cheese。'



'So　I　do；　sir；　when　I　am　disposed　to　indulge；　but　I　cannot　often　

afford　it　…　it　is　very　expensive　to　dine　on　bread　and　cheese；　

especially　when　one　is　fond　of　cheese；　as　I　am。　　My　last　bread　and　

cheese　dinner　cost　me　fourteenpence。　　There　is　drink；　sir；　with　

bread　and　cheese　one　must　drink　porter；　　sir。'



'Then；　sir；　eat　bread　…　bread　alone。　　As　good　men　as　yourself　have　

eaten　bread　alone；　they　have　been　glad　to　get　it；　sir。　　If　with　

bread　and　cheese　you　must　drink　porter；　sir；　with　bread　alone　you　

can；　perhaps；　drink　water；　sir。'



However；　I　got　paid　at　last　for　my　writings　in　the　Review；　not；　it　

is　true；　in　the　current　coin　of　the　realm；　but　in　certain　bills；　

there　were　two　of　them；　one　payable　at　twelve；　and　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　who；　at　a　

discount　of　only　thirty　per　cent；　consented　to　cash　them；　not；　

however；　without　sundry　grimaces；　and；　what　was　still　more　galling；　

holding；　more　than　once；　the　unfortunate　papers　high　in　air　between　

his　forefinger　and　thumb。　　So　ill；　indeed；　did　I　like　this　last　

action；　that　I　felt　much　inclined　to　snatch　them　away。　　I　

restrained　myself；　however；　for　I　remembered　that　it　was　very　

difficult　to　live　without　money；　and　that；　if　the　present　person　

did　not　discount　the　bills；　I　should　probably　find　no　one　else　that　

would。



But　if　the　treatment　which　I　had　experienced　from　the　publisher；　

previous　to　making　this　demand　upon　him；　was　difficult　to　bear；　

that　which　I　subsequently　underwent　was　far　more　so：　　his　great　

delight　seemed　to　consist　in　causing　me　misery　and　mortification；　

if；　on　former　occasions；　he　was　continually　sending　me　in　quest　of　

lives　and　trials　difficult　to　find；　he　now　was　continually　

demanding　lives　and　trials　which　it　was　impossible　to　find；　the　

personages　whom　he　mentioned　never　having　lived；　nor　consequently　

been　tried。　　Moreover；　some　of　my　best　lives　and　trials　which　I　had　

corrected　and　edited　with　particular　care；　and　on　which　I　prided　

myself　no　little；　he　caused　to　be　cancelled　after　they　had　passed　

through　the　press。　　Amongst　these　was　the　life　of　'Gentleman　

Harry。'　　'They　are　drugs；　sir；'　said　the　publisher；　'drugs；　that　

life　of　Harry　Simms　has　long　been　the　greatest　drug　in　the　calendar　

…　has　it　not；　Taggart？'



Taggart　made　no　answer　save　by　taking　a　pinch　of　snuff。　　The　

reader；　has；　I　hope；　not　forgotten　Taggart；　whom　I　mentioned　whilst　

giving　an　account　of　my　first　morning's　visit　to　the　publisher。　　I　

beg　Taggart's　pardon　for　having　been　so　long　silent　about　him；　but　

he　was　a　very　silent　man　…　yet　there　was　much　in　Taggart　…　and　

Taggart　had　always　been　civil　and　kind　to　me　in　his　peculiar　way。



'Well；　young　gentleman；'　said　Taggart　to　me　one　morning；　when　we　

chanced　to　be　alone　a　few　days　after　the　affair　of　the　cancelling；　

'how　do　you　like　authorship？'



'I　scarcely　call　authorship　the　drudgery　I　am　engaged　in；'　said　I。



'What　do　you　call　authorship？'　said　Taggart。



'I　scarcely　know；'　said　I；　'that　is；　I　can　scarcely　express　what　I　

think　it。'



'Shall　I　help　you　out？'　said　Taggart；