dining room, and, locking the door, I commenced
speaking; 'Mr. Speaker,' said I, and then I went
on speaking for about ten minutes as I best could,
and then I left off, for I was talking nonsense.
No, I was not formed for Parhament ; I could do
nothing there. What — what was I to do ?



Ch. XXXVIL] THE CRAVING. 335

" Many, many times I thought this question
over, but was unable to solve it ; a fear now stole
over me that I was unfit for anything in the world,
save the lazy life of vegetation which I had for
many years been leading ; yet, if that were the case,
thought I, why the craving within me to distinguish
myself? Surely it does not occur fortuitously, but
is intended to rouse and call into exercise certain
latent powers that I possess ? and then with infinite
eagerness I set about attempting to discover these
latent powers. I tried an infinity of pursuits,
botany and geology amongst the rest, but in vain ;
I was fitted for none of them. I became vei-y sor-
rowful and despondent, and at one time I had
almost resolved to plunge again into the whirlpool
of dissipation; it was a dreadful resource, it was
true, but what better could I do ?

" But I was not doomed to return to the dissipa-
tion of the world. One morning a young noble-
man, who had for some time past showed a wish to
cultivate my acquaintance, came to me in a con-
siderable hurry. * I am come to beg an important
favour of you,' said he ; ' one of the county mem-
berships is vacant — I intend to become a candidate ;



336 SPIRITED ADDRESS. [Ch. XXXVII.

what I want immediately is a spirited address to the
electors. I have been endeavouring to frame one
all the morning, but in vain ; I have, therefore, re-
course to you as a person of infinite genius ; pray,
my dear friend, concoct me one by the morning ?'
' What you require of me,' I replied, ' is impos-
sible ; I have not the gift of words ; did I possess
it I would stand for the county myself, but I can't
speak. Only the other day I attempted to make a
speech, but left off suddenly, utterly ashamed,
although I was quite alone, of the nonsense I was
uttering.* * It is not a speech that I want,' said my
friend, ' I can talk for three hours without hesi-
tating, but I want an address to circulate through
the county, and I find myself utterly incompetent
to put one together ; do oblige me by writing one
for me, I know you can ; and, if at any time you
want a person to speak for you, you may command
me not for three but for six hours. Good morning;
to-morrow I will breakfast with you.' * In the morn-
ing he came again. ' Well,' said he, ' what suc-
cess ?' * Yery poor,' said I ; ' but judge for your-
self;' and I put into his hand a manuscript of
several pages. My friend read it through with



Ch. XXXVII.] AN AUTHOR. 337

considerable attention. ' I congratulate you,' said
he, ' and likewise myself; I was not mistaken in
my opinion of you ; the address is too long by at
least two- thirds, or I should rather say, that it is
longer by two-thirds than addresses generally are ;
but it will do — I will not curtail it of a word. I
shall win my election.' And in truth he did wdn
his election ; and it was not only his own but the
general opinion that he owed it to the address.

" But, however that might be, I had, by writing
the address, at last discovered what had so long
eluded my search — what I was able to do. I, who
had neither the nerve nor the command of speech
necessary to constitute the orator — who had not the
power of patient research required by those who
would investigate the secrets of nature, had, never-
theless, a ready pen and teeming imagination.
This discoveiy decided my fate — from that moment
I became an author."



VOL. II.



CHAPTEK XXXVIII.

TREPIDATIONS. — SUBTLE PRINCIPLE. PERVERSE IMAGINATION.

ARE TUEY MINE 1- ANOTHER BOOK. HOW HARD ! AGRICULTURAL

DINNER. INCOMPREHENSIBLE ACTIONS. INMOST BOSOM. — GIVE IT

UP. — CHANCE RESEMBLANCE, — RASCALLY NEWSPAPER.

" An author/' said I, addressing my host ; " is it
possible that I am under the roof of an author ? "

'' Yes," said my host, sighing, " my name is so
and so, and I am the author of so and so; it is
more than probable that you have heard both of my
name and works. I will not detain you much longer
with my history ; the night is advancing, and the
storm appears to be upon the increase. My Kfe
since the period of my becoming an author may be
summed briefly as an almost uninterrupted series
of doubts, anxieties, and trepidations. I see clearly
that it is not good to love anything immoderately in
this world, but it has been my misfortune to love
immoderately everything on which I have set my
heart. This is not good, I repeat — but where is the



Ch. XXXVIIL] SUBTLE PRINCIPLE. 339

remedy? The ancients were always in the habit
of saying, ' Practise moderation,' but the ancients
appear to have considered only one portion of the
subject. It is very possible to practise moderation
in some things, in di'ink and the like — to restrain
the appetites — but can a man restrain the affections
of his mind, and tell them, so far you shall go, and
no farther ? Alas, no ! for the mind is a subtle prin-
ciple, and cannot be confined. The winds may be
imprisoned; Homer says that Odysseus carried cer-
tain winds in his ship, confined in leathern bags,
but Homer never speaks of confining the affections.
It were but right that those who exhort us against
inordinate affections, and setting our hearts too
much upon the world and its vanities, would tell us
how to avoid doing so.

" I need scarcely tell you, that no sooner did I be-
come an author, than I gave myself up immode-
rately to my vocation. It became my idol, and, as a
necessary consequence, it has proved a source of
misery and disquietude to me, instead of pleasure
and blessing. I had trouble enough in writing my
first work3 and I was not long in discovering that it
was one thing to write a stirring and spirited ad-

Q 2



340 PERVERSE IMAGINATION. [Ch. XXXVIII.

dress to a set of county electors, and another widely
different to produce a work at all calculated to make
an impression upon the great world. I felt, how-
ever, that I was in my proper sphere, and by dint
of unwearied dihgence and exertion I succeeded in
evolving from the depths of my agitated breast a
work which, though it did not exactly please me, I
thought would serve to make an experiment upon
the pubhc ; so I laid it before the pubhc, and the
reception which it met with was far beyond my
wildest expectations. The pubhc were dehghted
with it, but what were my feelings ? Anything, alas !
but those of delight. No sooner did the pubhc ex-
press its satisfaction at the result of my endeavours,
than my peiTerse imagination began to conceive a
thousand chimerical doubts ; forthwith I sat down
to analyse it ; and my worst enemy, and all people
have their enemies, especially authors — my worst
enemy could not have discovered or sought to dis-
cover a tenth part of the faults which I, the author
and creator of the unfortunate production, found or
sought to find in it. It has been said that love
makes us bhnd to the faults of the loved object —
common love does, perhaps — the love of a father to



Ch. XXXVIIL] ARE THEY MINE? 341

his child, or that of a lover to liis mistress, but not
the inordinate love of an author to his works, at
least not the love which one like myself bears to his
works : to be brief, I discovered a thousand faults
in my work, which neither public nor critics dis-
covered. However, I was beginning to get over
this misery, and to forgive my work all its imper-
fections, when — and I shake when I mention it — the
same kind of idea which perplexed me with regard
to the hawks and the gypsy pony rushed into my
mind, and I forthwith commenced touching the ob-
jects around me, in order to baffle the evil chance,
as you call it ; it was neither more nor less than a
doubt of the legahty of my claim to the thoughts,
expressions, and situations contained in the book;
that is, to all that constituted the book. How did
I get them ? How did they come into my mind ?
Did I invent them ? Did they originate with my-
self? Are they my own, or are they some other
body's ? You see into what difficulty I had got ; I
won't trouble you by relating all that I endured at
that time, but will merely say that after eating my
own heart, as the Itahans say, and touching every
object that came in my way for six months, J at



342 ANOTHER BOOK. {Ch. XXXVIII.

length flung my book, I mean the copy of it which
I possessed, into the fire, and began another.

" But it was all in vain ; I laboured at this other,
finished it, and gave it to the world ; and no sooner
had I done so, than the same thought was busy in
my brain, poisoning all the pleasure which I should
otherwise have derived from my work. How did I
get all the matter which composed it ? Out of my
own mind, unquestionably; but how did it come
there — was it the indigenous gi'owth of the mind ?
And then I would sit dowa and ponder over the
various scenes and adventures in my book, en-
deavouring to ascertain how I came originally to
devise them, and by dint of reflecting I remem-
bered that to a single word in conversation, or some
simple accident in a street, or on a road, I was in-
debted for some of the happiest portions of my
work ; they were but tiny seeds, it is true, which in
the soil of my imagination had subsequently be-
come stately trees, but I reflected that without
them no stately trees would have been produced,
and that, consequently, only a part in the merit of
these compositions which charmed the world — for
they did charm the world — was due to myself. Thus,



Ch. XXXVIIL] HOW HARD ! 343

a dead fly was in my phial, poisoning all the plea-
sure wliicli I should otherwise have derived from
the result of my brain sweat. ' How hard ! ' I would
exclaim, looking up to the sky, ' how hard ! I am
like Virgil's sheep, bearing fleeces not for them-
selves.' But, not to tire you, it fared with my second
work as it did with my first ; I flung it aside, and,
in order to forget it, I began a third, on which I
am now occupied ; but the difficulty of writing it is
immense, my extreme desire to be original sadly
cramping the powers of my mind ; my fastidiousness
being so great that I invariably reject whatever ideas
I do not think to be legitimately my own. But there
is one circumstance to which I cannot help alluding
here, as it serves to show what miseries this love of
originality must needs bring upon an author. I am
constantly discovering that, however original I may
wish to be, I am continually producing the same
things which other people say or write. Whenever,
after producing something which gives me perfect
satisfaction, and which has cost me perhaps days and
nights of brooding, T chance to take up a book for
the sake of a little relaxation, a book which I never
saw before, I am sure to find in it something more



344 AGRICULTUEAL DINNER. [Ch. XXXYIII.

or less resembling some part of what I have been
just composing. You will easily conceive the dis-
tress which then comes over me; 'tis then that I
am almost tempted to execrate the chance which,
by discovering my latent powers, induced me to
adopt a profession of such anxiety and misery.

" For some time past I have given up reading
almost entirely, owing to the dread which I entertain
of lighting upon something similar to what I myself
have written. I scarcely ever transgress without
having almost instant reason to repent. To-day,
when I took up the newspaper, I saw in a speech of
the Duke of Rhododendron, at an agricultural
dinner, the very same ideas, and almost the same
expressions wliich I had put into the mouth of an
imaginary personage of mine, on a widely different
occasion ; you saw how I dashed the newspaper down
— you saw how I touched the floor; the touch was to
baffle the evil chance, to prevent the critics detect-
ing any similarity between the speech of the Duke
of Rhododendron at the agricultural dinner, and
the speech of my personage. My sensibihty on the
subject of my writings is so great, that sometimes a
chance word is sufficient to unman me, I apply it to



Ch. XXXVIIL] INCOMPREHENSIBLE ACTIONS. 345

them in a superstitious sense; for example, when
you said some time ago that the dark hour was
coming on, I appHed it to my works— it appeared
to bode them evil fortune ; you saw how I touched,
it was to baffle the evil chance ; but I do not con-
fine myself to touching when the fear of the evil
chance is upon me. To baffle it I occasionally
perform actions which must appear highly incom-
prehensible; I have been known, when riding in
company with other people, to leave the direct road,
and make a long circuit by a miry lane to the place
to which we were going. I have also been seen at-
tempting to ride across a morass, where I had no
business whatever, and in which my horse finally
sank up to its saddle-girths, and was only extri-
cated by the help of a multitude of hands. I have,
of course, frequently been asked the reason of such
conduct, to which I have invariably returned no
answer, for I scorn duplicity; whereupon people
have looked mysteriously, and sometimes put their
fingers to their foreheads. ' And yet it can't be,'
I once heard an old gentleman say; 'Don't we
know what he is capable of?' and the old man was

Q 3



846 INMOST BOSOM. [Ch. XXXVIII.

right; I merely did these things to avoid the evil
chance, impelled by the strange feeling within me ;
and this evil chance is invariably connected with my
wiitings, the only things at present which render
life valuable to me. If I touch various objects,
and ride into miry places, it is to baffle any mis-
chance befalHng me as an author, to prevent my
books getting into disrepute ; in nine cases out of
ten to prevent any expressions, thoughts, or situa-
tions in any work which I am writing from resembling
the thoughts, expressions, and situations of other
authors, for my great wish, as I told you before, is
to be original.

" I have now related my history, and have revealed
to you the secrets of my inmost bosom. I should
certainly not have spoken so unreservedly as I have
done, had I not discovered in you a kindred spirit.
I have long wished for an opportunity of discoursing
on the point which forms the peculiar feature of my
history with a being who could understand me;
and truly it was a lucky chance which brought you
to these parts ; you who seem to be acquainted with
all things strange and singular, and who are as well



Ch. XXXVIIL] GIVE IT UP. 347

acquainted with the subject of the magic touch as
with all that relates to the star Jupiter, or the mys-
terious tree at Upsal."

Such was the story which my host related to me
in the library, amidst the darkness, occasionally
broken by flashes of lightning. Both of us re~
mained silent for some time after it was concluded.

" It is a singular story," said I, at last, " though
I confess that I was prepared for some part of it.
Will you permit me to ask you a question ?"

" Certainly," said my host

" Did you never speak in public ?" said I.

" Never."

" And when you made this speech of yours in
the dining-room, commencing with Mr. Speaker, no
one was present ?"

" None in the world, I double-Jocked the door ;
what do you mean ?"

'' An idea came into my head — dear me how the
rain is pouring — but, with respect to your present
troubles and anxieties, would it not be wise, seeing
that authorship causes you so much trouble and
anxiety, to give it up altogether?"

" Were you an author yourself ? " rephed my



348 CHANCE RESEMBLANCE. [Ch. XXXVIII.

host, " you would not talk in this manner ; once an
author, ever an author — besides, what could I do ?
return to my former state of vegetation ? no, much
as I endure, I do not wish that ; besides, every now
and then my reason tells me that these troubles and
anxieties of mine are utterly without foundation;
that whatever I write is the legitimate growth of my
own mind, and that it is the height of folly to afflict
myself at any chance resemblance between my own
thoughts and those of other writers, such resem-
blance being inevitable from the fact of our common
human origin. In short . . . ."

*' I understand you," said I ; '' notwithstanding
your troubles and anxieties you find life very
tolerable ; has your originality ever been called in
question ?"

" On the contrary, every one declares that origi-
nality constitutes the most remarkable feature of my
writings ; the man has some faults, they say, but
want of originality is certainly not one of them.
He is quite different from others — a certain news-
paper, it is true, the .... I think, once insinuated
that in a certain work of mine I had taken a hint or
two from the writings of a couple of authors which it



Ch. XXXVIIL] RASCALLY NEWSPAPER. 349

raentioned; it happened, however, that I had never
even read one syllable of the writings of either,
and of one of them had never even heard the
name ; so much for the discrimination of the ... .
By-the-by, what a rascally newspaper that is ! "
" A very rascally newspaper," said I.



CHAPTEK XXXIX.

DISTURBED SLUMBERS. — THE BED-POST. TWO WIZARDS. WHAT CAN

I DO? — REAL LIBRARY. THE REV. MR. PLATITUDE. TOLERATION

TO DISSENTERS. PARADOX. — SWORD OP ST. PETER. ENEMY TO

HUMBUG. HIGH PRINCIPLES. FALSE CONCORD. THE DAMSEL.

WHAT RELIGION? — FARTHER CONVERSATION. THAT WOULD NEVER

DO ! — MAY YOU PROSPER.

During the greater part of that night ray slum-
bers were disturbed by strange dreams. Amongst
other things, I fancied that I was my host; my
head appeared to be teeming with wild thoughts and
imaginations, out of which I was endeavouring to
frame a book. And now the book was finished
and given to the world, and the world shouted;
and all eyes were turned upon me, and I shrunk
from the eyes of the world. And, when I got into
retired places, I touched various objects in order to
baffle the evil chance. In short, during the whole
night, I was acting over the story which I had
heard before I went to bed.

At about eight o'clock I awoke. The storm had
long since passed away, and the morning was bright



Ch. XXXIX.] THE BED-POST. 351

and shining; my couch was so soft and luxurious
that I felt loth to quit it, so I lay some time, my
eyes wandering ahout the magnificent room to
which fortune had conducted me in so singular a
manner; at last I heaved a sigh; I was thinking
of my own homeless condition, and imagining
where I should find myself on the following morn-
ing. Unwilling, however, to indulge in melancholy
thoughts, I sprang out of bed and proceeded to
dress myself, and, whilst dressing, I felt an irre-
sistible inclination to touch the bed-post.

I finished di'essing and left the room, feehng
compelled, however, as I left it, to touch the hntel
of the door. Is it possible, thought I, that from
what I have lately heard the long- forgotten influ-
ence should have possessed me again ? but I will
not give way to it; so I hurried down stairs, resisting
as I went a certain inclination wliich I occasionally
felt to touch the rail of the banister. I was pre-
sently upon the gravel walk before the house : it was
indeed a glorious morning. I stood for some time
observing the golden fish disporting in the waters
of the pond, and then strolled about amougst the
noble trees of the park; the beauty and freshness



352 TWO WIZARDS. [Ch. XXXIX.

of the morning — for the air had been considerably
cooled by the late storm — soon enabled me to cast
away the gloomy ideas which had previously taken
possession of my mind, and, after a stroll of about
half an hour, I returned towards the house in high
spirits. It is true that once I felt very much in-
clined to go and touch the leaves of a flowery shrub
which I saw at some distance, and had even moved
two or three paces towards it; but, bethinking my-
self, I manfully resisted the temptation. "Begone!"
I exclaimed, " ye sorceries, in which I foimerly
trusted — begone for ever vagaries which I had
almost forgotten ; good luck is not to be obtained,
or bad averted, by magic touches; besides, two
wizards in one parish would be too much, in all
conscience."

I returned to the house, and entered the hbrary ;
breakfast was laid on the table, and my friend was
standing before the portrait wliich I have already
said hung above the mantel-piece ; so intently was
he occupied in gazing at it that he did not hear me
enter, nor was aware of my presence till I advanced
close to him and spoke, when he turned round and
shook me by the hand.



Ch. XXXIX.] WHAT CAN I DO ? 353

** What can possibly have induced you to hang
up that portrait in your library ? it is a staring like-
ness, it is true, but it appears to me a wretched
daub."

" Daub as you call it," said my friend, smihng,
** I would not part with it for the best piece of
Raphael. For many a happy thought I am in-
debted to that picture — it is my principal source of
inspiration; when my imagination flags, as of
course it occasionally does, I stare upon those
features, and forthwith strange ideas of fun and
drollery begin to flow into my mind ; these I round,
amplify, or combine into goodly creations, and
bring forth as I find an opportunity. It is true
that I am occasionally tormented by the thought
that, by doing this, I am committing plagiarism ;
though, in that case, all thoughts must be pla-
giarisms, all that we think being the result of what
we hear, see, or feel. What can I do? I must
derive my thoughts from some source or other;
and, after all, it is better to plagiarise from the fea-
tures of my landlord than from the works of Butler
and Cervantes. My works, as you are aware, are
of a serio-comic character. My neighbours are of



354 REAL LIBRARY. [Ch. XXXIX.

opinion that I am a great reader, and so I am, but
only of those features — my real library is that
picture."

" But how did you obtain it?" said I.

" Some years ago a travelling painter came into
this neighbom'hood, and my jolly host, at the re-
quest of his wife, consented to sit for his portrait ;
she highly admired the picture, but she soon died,
and then my fat friend, who is of an affectionate
disposition, said he could not bear the sight of it,
as it put him in mind of liis poor wife. I pur-
chased it of him for five pounds — I would not take
five thousand for it ; when you called that picture a
daub, you did not see all the poetr)^ of it."

We sat down to breakfast; my entertainer ap-
peared to be in much better spirits than on the pre-
ceding day ; I did not observe him touch once ; ere
breakfast was over a servant entered — "The Ee-
verend Mr. Platitude, sir," said he.

A shade of dissatisfaction came over the counte-
nance of my host. " What does the silly pestilent
fellow mean by coming here?" said he, half to liim-
self ; " let him come in," said he to the servant.

The sei*vant went out, and in a moment reap-



Ch. XXXIX.] THE REV. MR. PLATITUDE. 355

peared, introducing the Keverend Mr. Platitude.
The Eeverend Mr. Platitude, having what is vul-
garly called a game leg, came shambhng into the
room ; he was about thirty years of age, and about
five feet three inches high; his face was of the
colour of pepper, and nearly as rugged as a nutmeg
grater; his hair was black; with his eyes he
squinted, and grinned Avith liis lips, wliich were
very much apart, disclosing two very irregular rows
of teeth ; he was dressed in the true Levitical fashion,
in a suit of spotless black, and a neckerchief of spot-
less white.

The Eeverend Mr- Platitude advanced winking
and grinning to my entertainer, who received him
politely but mtli evident coldness ; nothing daunted,
however, the Keverend Mr. Platitude took a seat by
the table, and, being asked to take a cup of coffee,
winked, grinned, and consented.

In company I am occasionally subject to fits of
what is generally caJled absence; my mind takes
flight and returns to former scenes, or presses for-
ward into the future. One of these fits of absence
came over me at this time — I looked at the Ke-
verend Mr. Platitude for a moment, heard a word



85G TOLERATION TO DISSENTERS. [Ch. XXXIX.

or two that proceeded fi'om his month, and saying
to myself, " Yon are no man for me," fell into a
fit of musing — into the same train of thought as in
the morning, no very pleasant one — I was thinking
of the future.