nuff brought you through? Give me a pinch--pah,
I don't like it," and I sneezed.

"Take another pinch," said Taggart.

"No," said I, "I don't like snuff."

"Then you will never do for authorship; at least for this kind."

"So I begin to think--what shall I do?"

Taggart took snuff.

"You were talking of a great work--what shall it be?"

Taggart took snuff.

"Do you think I could write one?"

Taggart uplifted his two forefingers as if to tap,--he did not, however.

"It would require time," said I, with a half sigh.

Taggart tapped his box.

"A great deal of time; I really think that my ballads . . ."

Taggart took snuff.

"If published, would do me credit. I'll make an effort, and offer them
to some other publisher."

Taggart took a double quantity of snuff.

CHAPTER XLII

Francis Ardry--That Won't Do, Sir--Observe My Gestures--I Think You
Improve--Better than Politics--Delightful Young Frenchwoman--A Burning
Shame--Magnificent Impudence--Paunch--Voltaire--Lump of Sugar.

Occasionally I called on Francis Ardry. This young gentleman resided in
handsome apartments in the neighbourhood of a fashionable square, kept a
livery servant, and, upon the whole, lived in very good style. Going to
see him one day, between one and two, I was informed by the servant that
his master was engaged for the moment, but that, if I pleased to wait a
few minutes, I should find him at liberty. Having told the man that I
had no objection, he conducted me into a small apartment which served as
antechamber to a drawing-room; the door of this last being half open, I
could see Francis Ardry at the farther end, speechifying and
gesticulating in a very impressive manner. The servant, in some
confusion, was hastening to close the door; but, ere he could effect his
purpose, Francis Ardry, who had caught a glimpse of me, exclaimed, "Come
in--come in by all means;" and then proceeded, as before, speechifying
and gesticulating. Filled with some surprise, I obeyed his summons.

On entering the room I perceived another individual, to whom Francis
Ardry appeared to be addressing himself; this other was a short spare man
of about sixty; his hair was of badger grey, and his face was covered
with wrinkles--without vouchsafing me a look, he kept his eye, which was
black and lustrous, fixed full on Francis Ardry, as if paying the deepest
attention to his discourse. All of a sudden, however, he cried with a
sharp, cracked voic