ush of aesthetics to the head.

From the theatre Mr. BEZZLE went to the house of a celebrated publisher,
who received him with open arms, and conducted him to a counter where
all the newest and most expensive books were displayed. "We are just
settled in our new quarters," explained the publisher, "and any little
thing you might say about us in your valuable paper would be--I don't
_ask_ it, you know--but it would be--upon my word it would. See here,
Mr. BEZZLE, I want you to pick out from this counter just what you want,
and--"

"Sir!" exclaimed Mr. BEZZLE, leaping at the publisher with eyes that
fairly blazed with the radiance of rectitude, "who do you take me for?"
If Mr. BEZZLE had been less violent he would probably have said, "_Whom_
do you take me for," and so have spared himself the ignominy of sinking
to the ungrammatical level of the Common Herd. But the fact is, his
proud spirit was chafed and fretted at the spectacle of sordid
self-seeking that everywhere met his gaze, and excess of sentiment made
him forgetful of syntax. "Mark me, my friend, I am not to be bought," he
continued in unconscious blank verse. "I _shall_ take my pick, sir, and
_you_ will take this check." And he handed the amazed publisher a check
for five hundred dollars. "I sicken, sir," he continued, "of this
qualmish air of half-truth that I have breathed so long. I am going to
read these books, and say what I think of 'em, and five hundred dollars
is dirt cheap for the privilege. I had sooner that every 'New
Publications' ad. should die out of my newspaper than that my literary
columns should be contaminated with a Lie! Never mind the change, sir.
If anything is left over, send it to the proprietor of the new penny
paper that is struggling to keep its head above water. Don't say that it
came from me. Say that it came from a converted roper-in." And Mr.
BEZZLE stalked out of the office in such a tempest of morality that the
publisher felt as though a tidal wave of virtue had swept over him.

After this, Mr. BEZZLE'S dream became a trifle confused; but he thought
that this noble course of conduct was greatly approved by the public,
that its eminent practicability commended it to all classes of people,
and that theatres, publishers, and others quadrupled their
advertisements. "Ah!" sighed Mr. BEZZLE, rubbing his hands, but still
asleep, "what a sweet thing virtue is! Honesty _is_ the best policy
after all!"

At this moment his elbow was nu