There were marks of snuff on the outside of the manuscript, which was a roll of paper bound with red tape, but there were no marks of snuff on the interior of the manuscript, from which I concluded that he had never opened it.
I had often heard of one Glorious John, who lived at the western end of the town; on consulting Taggart, he told me that it was possible that Glorious John would publish my ballads and Ab Gwilym, that is, said he, taking a pinch of snuff, provided you can see him; so I went to the house where Glorious John resided, and a glorious house it was, but I could not see Glorious John--I called a dozen times, but I never could see Glorious John.

Twenty years after, by the greatest chance in the world, I saw Glorious John, and sure enough Glorious John published my books, but they were different books from the first; I never offered my ballads or Ab Gwilym to Glorious John.

Glorious John was no snuff-taker.

He asked me to dinner, and treated me with superb Rhenish wine.

Glorious John is now gone to his rest, but I--what was I going to say ?--the world will never forget Glorious John.
So I returned to my last resource for the time then being--to the publisher, persevering doggedly in my labour.