on sales, &c.
Supplied to author, 12 copies, &c.
Given to periodicals for review, 15 copies, &c.
Against all which was the solitary offset of "three copies sold;" leaving as our Henry's _share_ of now certain loss a matter of eighty pounds: which, between ourselves, was only a very little more than the whole cost of that untoward publication.

Mr.Wormwood hoped to hear from Mr.Clements at his earliest convenience, as a certain sum was to be made up on a certain day, and the book-trade never had been at a lower ebb, and prompt payment would be esteemed a great accommodation, and--all that stereotyped sort of thing.
Poor Clements--reviled author, ruined lawyer, almost reckless wight--here was an extinguisher indeed to the morning's brilliant hopes! What an overwhelming debt to that ill-used couple in their altered circumstances! How entirely by his own strong effort had he swamped his legal expectations! Just as a man who cannot swim splashes himself into certain suffocation; whereas, if he would but lie quite still, he was certain to have floated on as safe as cork.
Well: to cut a long story short, our unlucky author found that he must pay, and pay forthwith, or incur a lawyer's bill for his debt to Mr.
Wormwood: so he gave up his Temple garret, sold his books, nicknacks, and superfluous habiliments, added to the proceeds their forty pounds of capital, and a neck-chain of Maria's; and, at tremendous sacrifices, found himself once more out of danger, because out of debt.

But it was a bad prospect truly for the future--ay, and for the present too; a few pounds left would soon be gone--and then dear Maria's confinement was approaching, and a hundred wants and needs, little and great: accordingly, they made all haste to get rid of their suburban dwelling in the City Road, collected their few valuables remaining, and retreated with all economical speed to a humble lodging in a cheap back street at Islington.
That little parlor was a palace of love: in the midst of her deep sorrow, sweet Maria never failed of her amiable charities--nay, she was even cheerful, hopeful--happy, and rendering happy: a thousand times a day had Henry cause to bless his "wedded angel." And, showing his love by more than words, he resolutely set about another literary enterprise, anonymous this time for very fear's sake; but Providence saw fit to bless his efforts with success.

He wrote a tragedy, a clever and a good one too; though '_The Watchman_' did sneer about "modern Shakspeares," and '_The Corinthian_,' pouncing on some trifling fault, pounded it with would-be giant force: nevertheless, for it was a famous English theme, he luckily got them to accept it at the Haymarket, and '_Boadicea_' drew full houses; so the author had his due ninth night, and pocketed, instead of fame (for he grimly kept his secret) enough to enable him to print his tragedy for private satisfaction; and that piece of vanity accomplished, he still found himself seven pounds before-hand with the world..