ecome an author," said I.
"I have hitherto indulged in poetry as a pleasure, and it has brought
me nothing but pain. Let me try what it will do, when I cultivate it
with devotion as a pursuit."

The resolution, thus suddenly aroused within me, heaved a load from off
my heart. I felt a confidence in it from the very place where it was
formed. It seemed as though my mother's spirit whispered it to me from
her grave. "I will henceforth," said I, "endeavor to be all that she
fondly imagined me. I will endeavor to act as if she were witness of my
actions. I will endeavor to acquit myself in such manner, that when I
revisit her grave there may, at least, be no compunctious bitterness in
my tears."

I bowed down and kissed the turf in solemn attestation of my vow. I
plucked some primroses that were growing there and laid them next my
heart. I left the church-yard with my spirits once more lifted up, and
set out a third time for London, in the character of an author.

* * * * *

Here my companion made a pause, and I waited in anxious suspense;
hoping to have a whole volume of literary life unfolded to me. He
seemed, however, to have sunk into a fit of pensive musing; and when
after some time I gently roused him by a question or two as to his
literary career. "No," said he smiling, "over that part of my story I
wish to leave a cloud. Let the mysteries of the craft rest sacred for
me. Let those who have never adventured into the republic of letters,
still look upon it as a fairy land. Let them suppose the author the
very being they picture him from his works; I am not the man to mar
their illusion. I am not the man to hint, while one is admiring the
silken web of Persia, that it has been spun from the entrails of a
miserable worm."

"Well," said I, "if you will tell me nothing of your literary history,
let me know at least if you have had any farther intelligence from
Doubting Castle."

"Willingly," replied he, "though I have but little to communicate."

THE BOOBY SQUIRE.

A long time elapsed, said Buckthorne, without my receiving any accounts
of my cousin and his estate. Indeed, I felt so much soreness on the
subject, that I wished, if possible, to shut it from my thoughts. At
length chance took me into that part of the country, and I could not
refrain from making some inquiries.

I learnt that my cousin had grown up ignorant, self-willed, and
clownish. His ignorance and clownis