_Ansard_. (_writes_.) Credit to any amount--pleasing idea. But I
don't exactly perceive the value of this last hint, Barnstaple.

_Barnstaple_. All judicious travellers make it a point, throughout the
whole of their works, to flatter the nation upon its wealth, name, and
reputation in foreign countries; by doing so you will be read greedily,
and praised in due proportion. If ever I were to write my travels into
the interior of Africa, or to the North Pole, I would make it a point to
discount a bill at Timbuctoo, or get a cheque cashed by the Esquimaux,
without the least hesitation in either case. I think now, that what
with your invention, your plagiarism, and my hints, you ought to produce
a very effective Book of Travels; and with that feeling I shall leave
you to pursue your Journey, and receive, at its finale, your just
reward. When we meet again, I hope to see you advertised.

_Ansard_. Yes, but not exposed, I trust. I am _incognito_, you know.

_Barnstaple_. To be sure, that will impart an additional interest to
your narrative. All the world will be guessing who you may be. Adieu,
voyageur. [_Exit_ BARNSTAPLE.]

_Ansard_. And Heaven forfend that they should find me out! But what
can be done? In brief, I cannot get a brief, and thus I exercise my
professional acquirements how I can, proving myself as long-winded, as
prosy perhaps, and certainly as lying, as the more fortunate of my
fraternity.

CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

HOW TO WRITE A ROMANCE.

MR ARTHUR ANSARD, _standing at his table, selecting a steel pen from a
card on which a dozen are ranged up, like soldiers on parade_.

I must find a regular _graver_ to write this chapter of horrors. No
goose quill could afford me any assistance. Now then. Let me
see--(_Reads, and during his reading_ BARNSTAPLE _comes in at the door
behind him, unperceived_.) "At this most monstrously appalling sight,
the hair of Piftlianteriscki raised slowly the velvet cap from off his
head, as if it had been perched upon the rustling quills of some
exasperated porcupine--(I think that's new)--his nostrils dilated to
that extent that you might, with ease, have thrust a musket bullet into
each--his mouth was opened so wide, so unnaturally wide, that the
corners were rent asunder, and the blood slowly trickled down each side
of his bristly chin--while each tooth loosened from its socket with
individual fear.--Not a word could he utter, for his tongue, in its
fri