of a Traveller" some years ago with a view to an anthology of prose
narrative, and the book flew up and struck me: Billy Bones, his chest,
the company in the parlour, the whole inner spirit, and a good deal of
the material detail of my first chapters--all were there, all were the
property of Washington Irving. But I had no guess of it then as I sat
writing by the fireside, in what seemed the spring-tides of a somewhat
pedestrian inspiration; nor yet day by day, after lunch, as I read aloud
my morning's work to the family. It seemed to me original as sin; it
seemed to belong to me like my right eye. I had counted on one boy, I
found I had two in my audience. My father caught fire at once with all
the romance and childishness of his original nature. His own stories,
that every night of his life he put himself to sleep with, dealt
perpetually with ships, roadside inns, robbers, old sailors, and
commercial travellers before the era of steam. He never finished one of
these romances; the lucky man did not require to finish them! But in
"Treasure Island" he recognised something kindred to his own
imagination; it was _his_ kind of picturesque; and he not only heard
with delight the daily chapter, but set himself acting to collaborate.
When the time came for Billy Bones's chest to be ransacked, he must have
passed the better part of a day preparing, on the back of a legal
envelope, an inventory of its contents, which I exactly followed; and
the name of "Flint's old ship"--the _Walrus_--was given at his
particular request. And now who should come dropping in, _ex machina_,
but Dr. Japp, like the disguised prince who is to bring down the curtain
upon peace and happiness in the last act; for he carried in his pocket,
not a horn or a talisman, but a publisher. Even the ruthlessness of a
united family recoiled before the extreme measure of inflicting on our
guest the mutilated members of "The Sea Cook"; at the same time, we
would by no means stop our readings; and accordingly the tale was begun
again at the beginning, and solemnly re-delivered for the benefit of Dr.
Japp. From that moment on, I have thought highly of his critical
faculty; for when he left us he carried away the manuscript in his
portmanteau to submit to his friend (since then my own) Mr. Henderson,
who accepted it for his periodical, _Young Folks_.

Here, then, was everything to keep me up, sympathy, help, and now a
positive engagement. I had chosen besides a very ea