water; and before I went to bed that
night, I had completed fifteen pages of my life of Joseph Sell.

The next day I resumed my task--I found my power of writing considerably
increased; my pen hurried rapidly over the paper--my brain was in a
wonderfully teeming state; many scenes and visions which I had not
thought of before were evolved, and, as fast as evolved, written down;
they seemed to be more pat to my purpose, and more natural to my history,
than many others which I had imagined before, and which I made now give
place to these newer creations: by about midnight I had added thirty
fresh pages to my _Life and Adventures of Joseph Sell_.

The third day arose--it was dark and dreary out of doors, and I passed it
drearily enough within; my brain appeared to have lost much of its former
glow, and my pen much of its power; I, however, toiled on, but at
midnight had only added seven pages to my history of Joseph Sell.

On the fourth day the sun shone brightly--I arose, and, having
breakfasted as usual, I fell to work. My brain was this day wonderfully
prolific, and my pen never before or since glided so rapidly over the
paper; towards night I began to feel strangely about the back part of my
head, and my whole system was extraordinarily affected. I likewise
occasionally saw double--a tempter now seemed to be at work within me.

'You had better leave off now for a short space,' said the tempter, 'and
go out and drink a pint of beer; you have still one shilling left--if you
go on at this rate, you will go mad--go out and spend sixpence, you can
afford it, more than half your work is done.' I was about to obey the
suggestion of the tempter, when the idea struck me that, if I did not
complete the work whilst the fit was on me, I should never complete it;
so I held on. I am almost afraid to state how many pages I wrote that day
of the life of Joseph Sell.

From this time I proceeded in a somewhat more leisurely manner; but, as I
drew nearer and nearer to the completion of my task, dreadful fears and
despondencies came over me.--It will be too late, thought I; by the time
I have finished the work, the bookseller will have been supplied with a
tale or a novel. Is it probable that, in a town like this, where talent
is so abundant--hungry talent too--a bookseller can advertise for a tale
or a novel, without being supplied with half a dozen in twenty-four
hours? I may as well fling down my pen--I am writing to no purpos