ds. 'And yet it can't
be,' I once heard an old gentleman say; 'don't we know what he is capable
of?' and the old man was right; I merely did these things to avoid the
evil chance, impelled by the strange feeling within me; and this evil
chance is invariably connected with my writings, the only things at
present which render life valuable to me. If I touch various objects,
and ride into miry places, it is to baffle any mischance befalling me as
an author, to prevent my books getting into disrepute; in nine cases out
of ten to prevent any expressions, thoughts or situations in any work
which I am writing from resembling the thoughts, expressions and
situations of other authors, for my great wish, as I told you before, is
to be original.

"I have now related my history, and have revealed to you the secrets of
my inmost bosom. I should certainly not have spoken so unreservedly as I
have done, had I not discovered in you a kindred spirit. I have long
wished for an opportunity of discoursing on the point which forms the
peculiar feature of my history with a being who could understand me; and
truly it was a lucky chance which brought you to these parts; you who
seem to be acquainted with all things strange and singular, and who are
as well acquainted with the subject of the magic touch as with all that
relates to the star Jupiter, or the mysterious tree at Upsal."

Such was the story which my host related to me in the library, amidst the
darkness, occasionally broken by flashes of lightning. Both of us
remained silent for some time after it was concluded.

"It is a singular story," said I, at last, "though I confess that I was
prepared for some part of it. Will you permit me to ask you a question?"

"Certainly," said my host.

"Did you never speak in public?" said I.

"Never."

"And when you made this speech of yours in the dining-room, commencing
with Mr. Speaker, no one was present?"

"None in the world, I double-locked the door; what do you mean?"

"An idea came into my head--dear me, how the rain is pouring--but, with
respect to your present troubles and anxieties, would it not be wise,
seeing that authorship causes you so much trouble and anxiety, to give it
up altogether?"

"Were you an author yourself," replied my host, "you would not talk in
this manner; once an author, ever an author--besides, what could I do?
return to my former state of vegetation? no, much as I endure, I do not
wish that; besides,