‘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.