e
to tell it!--hires those works of art of me, and brings nothing to 'em
but the candles.

Such is genius in a commercial country. I am not up to the shivering, I
am not up to the liveliness, I am not up to the wanting-employment-in-an-
office move; I am only up to originating and executing the work. In
consequence of which you never see me; you think you see me when you see
somebody else, and that somebody else is a mere Commercial character. The
one seen by self and Mr. Click in the Waterloo Road can only write a
single word, and that I taught him, and it's MULTIPLICATION--which you
may see him execute upside down, because he can't do it the natural way.
The one seen by self and Henrietta by the Green Park railings can just
smear into existence the two ends of a rainbow, with his cuff and a
rubber--if very hard put upon making a show--but he could no more come
the arch of the rainbow, to save his life, than he could come the
moonlight, fish, volcano, shipwreck, mutton, hermit, or any of my most
celebrated effects.

To conclude as I began: if there's a blighted public character going, I
am the party. And often as you have seen, do see, and will see, my
Works, it's fifty thousand to one if you'll ever see me, unless, when the
candles are burnt down and the Commercial character is gone, you should
happen to notice a neglected young man perseveringly rubbing out the last
traces of the pictures, so that nobody can renew the same. That's me.

CHAPTER IV--HIS WONDERFUL END

It will have been, ere now, perceived that I sold the foregoing writings.
From the fact of their being printed in these pages, the inference will,
ere now, have been drawn by the reader (may I add, the gentle reader?)
that I sold them to One who never yet--{2}

Having parted with the writings on most satisfactory terms,--for, in
opening negotiations with the present Journal, was I not placing myself
in the hands of One of whom it may be said, in the words of Another,
{2,}--resumed my usual functions. But I too soon discovered that peace
of mind had fled from a brow which, up to that time, Time had merely took
the hair off, leaving an unruffled expanse within.

It were superfluous to veil it,--the brow to which I allude is my own.

Yes, over that brow uneasiness gathered like the sable wing of the fabled
bird, as--as no doubt will be easily identified by all right-minded
individuals. If not, I am unable, on the spur of the moment, to