I
may reap from this I know not. I shall not openly avow the book. Such
notoriety cannot help meat the Bar. But liberavi animam meam,--excuse
my pedantry,--I have let my soul free for a moment; I am now catching
it back to put bit and saddle on again. I will not tell you how you have
disturbed me, how you have stung me into this premature rush amidst the
crowd, how, after robbing me of name and father, you have driven me
to this experiment with my own mind, to see if I was deceived when I
groaned to myself, "The Public shall give you a name, and Fame shall be
your mother." I am satisfied with the experiment. I know better now what
is in me, and I have regained my peace of mind. If in the success of
this hasty work there be that which will gratify the interest you so
kindly take in me, deem that success your own; I owe it to you,--to your
revelations, to your admonitions. I wait patiently your own time for
further disclosures; till then, the wheel must work on, and the grist
be ground. Kind and generous friend, till now I would not wound you by
returning the sum you sent me,--nay, more, I knew I should please you by
devoting part of it to the risk of giving this essay to the world, and
so making its good fortune doubly your own work. Now, when the publisher
smiles, and the shopmen bow, and I am acknowledged to have a bank in my
brains,--now, you cannot be offended to receive it back. Adieu. When my
mind is in train again, and I feel my step firm on the old dull road,
I will come to see you. Till then, yours--by what name? Open the
Biographical Dictionary at hazard, and send me one. GRAY'S INN.

Not at the noble thoughts and the deep sympathy with mankind that glowed
through that work, over which Lucretia now tremulously hurried, did she
feel delight. All that she recognized, or desired to recognize, were
those evidences of that kind of intellect which wins its way through the
world, and which, strong and unmistakable, rose up in every page of that
vigorous logic and commanding style. The book was soon dropped, thus
read; the newspaper extracts pleased even more.

"This," she said audibly, in the freedom of her solitude, "this is the
son I asked for,--a son in whom I can rise; in whom I can exchange the
sense of crushing infamy for the old delicious ecstasy of pride! For
this son can I do too much? No; in what I may do for him methinks there
will be no remorse. And he calls his success mine,--mine!" Her nostrils
dilated,