e
in a roar."

"Ah, my dear sir," replied he, with a shake of the head and a shrug of
the shoulder, "I'm a mere glow-worm. I never shine by daylight.
Besides, it's a hard thing for a poor devil of an author to shine at
the table of a rich bookseller. Who do you think would laugh at any
thing I could say, when I had some of the current wits of the day about
me? But here, though a poor devil, I am among still poorer devils than
myself; men who look up to me as a man of letters and a bel esprit, and
all my jokes pass as sterling gold from the mint."

"You surely do yourself injustice, sir," said I; "I have certainly
heard more good things from you this evening than from any of those
beaux esprits by whom you appear to have been so daunted."

"Ah, sir! but they have luck on their side; they are in the fashion--
there's nothing like being in fashion. A man that has once got his
character up for a wit, is always sure of a laugh, say what he may. He
may utter as much nonsense as he pleases, and all will pass current. No
one stops to question the coin of a rich man; but a poor devil cannot
pass off either a joke or a guinea, without its being examined on both
sides. Wit and coin are always doubted with a threadbare coat.

"For my part," continued he, giving his hat a twitch a little more on
one side, "for my part, I hate your fine dinners; there's nothing, sir,
like the freedom of a chop-house. I'd rather, any time, have my steak
and tankard among my own set, than drink claret and eat venison with
your cursed civil, elegant company, who never laugh at a good joke from
a poor devil, for fear of its being vulgar. A good joke grows in a wet
soil; it flourishes in low places, but withers on your d--d high, dry
grounds. I once kept high company, sir, until I nearly ruined myself; I
grew so dull, and vapid, and genteel. Nothing saved me but being
arrested by my landlady and thrown into prison; where a course of
catch-clubs, eight-penny ale, and poor-devil company, manured my mind
and brought it back to itself again."

As it was now growing late we parted for the evening; though I felt
anxious to know more of this practical philosopher. I was glad,
therefore, when Buckthorne proposed to have another meeting to talk
over old school times, and inquired his school-mate's address. The
latter seemed at first a little shy of naming his lodgings; but
suddenly assuming an air of hardihood--"Green Arbour court, sir,"
exclaimed he--"numbe