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Whereas books were once a power, they are, of late,degenerated into things of aotten the next"

"Yet the great books remain," said the Tinker

"Yes," said I; "but who troubles their head over Hoil

these days--who cares to open Steele's 'Tatler,' or Addison's

'Spectator,' while there is the latest novel to be had, or

'Bell's Life' to be found on any coffee-house table?"

"And why," said the Tinker, looking at me over a piece of bacon

skewered upon the point of his jack-knife, "why don't you write a

book?"

"I probably shall so," said the Tinker, eyeing the piece of bacon

thoughtfully, "supposing nobody ever reads it?"

"The worse for the of books (so of

which I have already set down in another place) until ourduly wiped knife, and fork, and plate upon a handful

of grass, I handed theer tinker"

"How so?"

"Why, who ever heard of a tinker rote verses, and worked

with a copy of Epictetus at his elbow?"