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。　　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。　　One　day；　on　visiting
  the　publisher；　I　found　him　stamping　with　fury　upon　certain
  fragments　of　paper。　　'Sir；'　said　he；　'you　know　nothing　of　German；　I
  have　shown　your　translation　of　the　first　chapter　of　my　Philosophy
  to　several　Germans：　　it　is　utterly　unintelligible　to　them。'　　'Did
  they　see　the　Philosophy？'　I　replied。　　'They　did；　sir；　but　they　did
  not　profess　to　understand　English。'　　'No　more　do　I；'　　I　replied；
  'if　that　Philosophy　be　English。'
  The　publisher　was　furious　…　I　was　silent。　　For　want　of　a　pinch　of
  snuff；　I　had　recourse　to　something　which　is　no　bad　substitute　for　a
  pinch　of　snuff；　to　those　who　can't　take　it；　silent　contempt；　at
  first　it　made　the　publisher　more　furious；　as　perhaps　a　pinch　of
  snuff　would；　it；　however；　eventually　calmed　him；　and　he　ordered　me
  back　to　my　occupations；　in　other　words；　the　compilation。　　To　be
  brief；　the　compilation　was　completed；　I　got　paid　in　the　usual
  manner；　and　forthwith　left　him。
  He　was　a　clever　man；　but　what　a　difference　in　clever　men！
  CHAPTER　XLIV
  The　old　spot　…　A　long　history　…　Thou　shalt　not　steal　…　No　harm　…
  Education　…　Necessity　…　Foam　on　your　lip　…　Apples　and　pears　…　What
  will　you　read？　…　Metaphor　…　The　fur　cap　…　I　don't　know　him。
  IT　was　past　midwinter；　and　I　sat　on　London　Bridge；　in　company　with
  the　old　apple…woman：　　she　had　just　returned　to　the　other　side　of
  the　bridge；　to　her　place　in　the　booth　where　I　had　originally　found
  her。　　This　she　had　done　after　frequent　conversations　with　me；　'she
  liked　the　old　place　best；'　she　said；　which　she　would　never　have
  left　but　for　the　terror　which　she　experienced　when　the　boys　ran
  away　with　her　book。　　So　I　sat　with　her　at　the　old　spot；　one
  afternoon　past　midwinter；　reading　the　book；　of　which　I　had　by　this
  time　come　to　the　last　pages。　　I　had　observed　that　the　old　woman　for
  some　time　past　had　shown　much　less　anxiety　about　the　book　than　she
  had　been　in　the　habit　of　doing。　　I　was；　however；　not　quite　prepared
  for　her　offering　to　make　me　a　present　of　it；　which　she　did　that
  afternoon；　when；　having　finished　it；　I　returned　it　to　her；　with
  many　thanks　for　the　pleasure　and　instruction　I　had　derived　from　its
  perusal。　　'You　may　keep　it；　dear；'　said　the　old　woman；　with　a　sigh；
  'you　may　carry　it　to　your　lodging；　and　keep　it　for　your　own。'
  Looking　at　the　old　woman　with　surprise；　I　exclaimed；　'Is　it
  possible　that　you　are　willing　to　part　with　the　book　which　has　been
  your　source　of　comfort　so　long？'
  Whereupon　the　old　woman　entered　into　a　long　history；　from　which　I
  gathered　that　the　book　had　become　distasteful　to　her；　she　hardly
  ever　opened　it　of　late；　she　said；　or　if　she　did；　it　was　only　to
  shut　it　again；　also；　that　other　things　which　she　had　been　fond　of；
  though　of　a　widely　different　kind；　were　now　distasteful　to　her。
  Porter　and　beef…steaks　were　no　longer　grateful　to　her　palate；　her
  present　diet　chiefly　consisting　of　tea；　and　bread　and　butter。
  'Ah；'　said　I；　'you　have　been　ill；　and　when　people　are　ill；　they
  seldom　like　the　things　which　give　them　pleasure　when　they　are　in
  health。'　　I　learned；　moreover；　that　she　slept　little　at　night；　and
  had　all　kinds　of　strange　thoughts；　that　as　she　lay　awake　many
  things　connected　with　her　youth；　which　she　had　quite　forgotten；
  came　into　her　mind。　　There　were　certain　words　that　came　into　her
  mind　the　night　before　the　last；　which　were　continually　humming　in
  her　ears：　　I　found　that　the　words　were；　'Thou　shalt　not　steal。'
  On　inquiring　where　she　had　first　heard　these　words；　I　learned　that
  she　had　read　them　at　school；　in　a　book　called　the　primer；　to　this
  school　she　had　been　sent　by　her　mother；　who　was　a　poor　widow；　and
  followed　the　trade　of　apple…selling　in　the　very　spot　where　her
  daughter　followed　it　now。　　It　seems　that　the　mother　was　a　very　good
  kind　of　woman；　but　quite　ignorant　of　letters；　the　benefit　of　which
  she　was　willing　to　procure　for　her　child；　and　at　the　school　the
  daughter　learned　to　read；　and　subsequently　experienced　the　pleasure
  and　benefit　of　letters；　in　being　able　to　read　the　book　which　she
  found　in　an　obscure　closet　of　her　mother's　house；　and　which　had
  been　her　principal　companion　and　comfort　for　many　years　of　her
  life。
  But；　as　I　have　said　before；　she　was　now　dissatisfied　with　the　book；
  and　with　most　other　things　in　which　she　had　taken　pleasure；　she
  dwelt　much　on　the　words；　'Thou　shalt　not　steal'；　she　had　never
  stolen　things　herself；　but　then　she　had　bought　things　which　other
  people　had　stolen；　and　which　she　knew　had　been　stolen；　and　her　dear
  son　had　been　a　thief；　which　he　perhaps　would　not　have　been　but　for
  the　example　which　she　set　him　in　buying　things　from　characters；　as
  she　called　them；　who　associated　with　her。
  On　inquiring　how　she　had　become　acquainted　with　these　characters；　I
  learned　that　times　had　gone　hard　with　her；　that　she　had　married；
  but　her　husband　had　died　after　a　long　sickness；　which　had　reduced
  them　to　great　distress；　that　her　fruit　trade　was　not　a　profitable
  one；　and　that　she　had　bought　and　sold　things　which　had　been　stolen
  to　support　herself　and　her　son。　　That　for　a　long　time　she　supposed
  there　was　no　harm　in　doing　so；　as　her　book　was　full　of　entertaining
  tales　of　stealing；　but　she　now　thought　that　the　book　was　a　bad
  book；　and　that　learning　to　read　was　a　bad　thing；　her　mother　had
  never　been　able　to　read；　but　had　died　in　peace；　though　poor。
  So　here　was　a　woman　who　attributed　the　vices　and　follies　of　her
  life　to　being　able　to　read；　her　mother；　she　said；　who　could　not
  read；　lived　respectably；　and　died　in　peace；　and　what　was　the
  essential　difference　between　the　mother　and　daughter；　save　that　the
  latter　could　read？　　But　for　her　literature　she　might　in　all
  probability　have　lived　respectably　and　honestly；　like　her　mother；
  and　might　eventually　have　died　in　peace；　which　at　present　she　could
  scarcely　hope　to　do。　　Education　had　failed　to　produce　any　good　in
  this　poor　woman；　on　the　contrary；　there　could　be　little　doubt　that
  she　had　been　injured　by　it。　　Then　was　education　a　bad　thing？
  Rousseau　was　of　opinion　that　it　was；　but　Rousseau　was　a　Frenchman；
  at　least　wrote　in　French；　and　I　cared　not　the　snap　of　my　fingers
  for　Rousseau。　　But　education　has　certainly　been　of　benefit　in　some
  instances；　well；　what　did　that　prove；　but　that　partiality　existed
  in　the　management　of　the　affairs　of　the　world　…　if　education　was　a
  benefit　to　some；　why　was　it　not　a　benefit　to　others？　　Could　some
  avoid　abusing　it；　any　more　than　others　could　avoid　turning　it　to　a
  profitable　account？　　I　did　not　see　how　they　could；　this　poor　simple
  woman　found　a　b