‘You would not have cause to complain of my indifference,’ said Frank, ’provided I thought my country would be benefited by this movement; but I happen to know the origin of it.  The priests are the originators, ’and what country was ever benefited by a movement which owed its origin to them?’ so says Voltaire, a page of whom I occasionally read.  By the present move they hope to increase their influence, and to further certain designs which they entertain both with regard to this country and Ireland.  I do not speak rashly or unadvisedly.  A strange fellow—­a half-Italian, half-English priest,—­who was recommended to me by my guardians, partly as a spiritual, partly as a temporal guide, has let me into a secret or two; he is fond of a glass of gin and water—­and over a glass of gin and water cold, with a lump of sugar in it, he has been more communicative, perhaps, than was altogether prudent.  Were I my own master, I would kick him, politics, and religious movements, to a considerable distance.  And now, if you are going away, do so quickly; I have an appointment with Annette, and must make myself fit to appear before her.’

CHAPTER XLIII

Progress—­Glorious John—­Utterly unintelligible—­What a difference.

By the month of October I had, in spite of all difficulties and obstacles, accomplished about two-thirds of the principal task 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.