Progress--Glorious John--Utterly Unintelligible--What a Difference! By the month of October I had, in spite of all difficulties and obstacles, accomplished about two-thirds of the principal task which I had undertaken, the compiling of the Newgate lives; I had also made some progress in translating the publisher's philosophy into German.

But about this time I began to see very clearly that it was impossible that our connection should prove of long duration; yet, in the event of my leaving the big man, what other resource had I--another publisher?
But what had I to offer?
There were my ballads, my Ab Gwilym, but then I thought of Taggart and his snuff, his pinch of snuff.

However, I determined to see what could be done, so I took my ballads under my arm, and went to various publishers; some took snuff, others did not, but none took my ballads or Ab Gwilym, they would not even look at them.

One asked me if I had anything else--he was a snuff-taker--I said yes; and going home returned with my translation of the German novel, to which I have before alluded.

After keeping it for a fortnight, he returned it to me on my visiting him, and, taking a pinch of snuff, told me it would not do.