‘Three-and-twenty years.’

‘What snuff do you take?’

‘Universal mixture.’

‘And you find it of use?

Taggart tapped his box.

‘In what respect?’ said I.

‘In many - there is nothing like it to get a man through; but for snuff I should scarcely be where I am now.’

‘Have you been long here?’

‘Three-and-twenty years.’

‘Dear me,’ said I; ‘and snuff 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.