lifetime. He went to
the Circus. A noteworthy event, when it is considered how few Circuses
there were in those days, and how seldom those few came near enough to
disturb the calm of an out-of-the-way country village. Such a thing had
never occurred before in his lifetime, nor within the memory of the
oldest inhabitant. All were therefore properly impressed with the
importance of the occurrence, and none more so than the excitable,
impressible, enthusiastic Poet. For days before the one appointed to
make the journey to the Market Town, he was in a great state of
excitement and hilarious pleasure, and with difficulty controlled his
inclinations to laugh, dance, and sing, and otherwise gayly disport
himself. The exuberance of his spirits caused no little alarm to his
family, who feared he was going mad with delight, and endeavored in
every possible way to quiet down the dangerous symptoms.

"In vain did his mother command him to stop:
He only laughed louder and higher did hop;"

till at last, fearing the torrent could never be stemmed, she thought to
direct it in a less dangerous channel.

So, putting on her most insinuating expression she asked, "Why don't you
write a piece about the Circus? It might be real nice. Tell all about
the beautiful young lady on horseback, and the music, and the ride over
to Banbury, and everything you can think about. Come now, that's a good
boy; go and do that for your mother."

The deceived youth stared in amazement at the request. Such a thing had
never been heard before under that humble roof-tree. His own mother
actually telling him to write some poetry. Incredible! Instead of
laughing, and snubbing him as she usually did, positively telling him to
do the very thing she had so often forbidden,--the very thing he had
always been obliged to do under so many discouragements. The thought
took away his breath. That his talent was at length recognized by his
family was a matter of rejoicing, and springing up with a cheerful cry,
"I'll do it," he bounded up the back-kitchen stairs, and was soon lost
to sight amid the cobwebs of time.

The provident old lady, with a knowing look and sagacious shake of the
head, said, "He's safe for awhile, thank Heaven; now let us have peace."

Let us follow the poet up-stairs and peep into that attic chamber. The
sanctum sanctorum of the writer. The visiting-place of the Muses. The
stable of Pegasus. There, in one corner, is a little cot bed, wit