ursued the
career of original authorship which had just opened itself to me, and
have written other tales of adventure. The bookseller had given me
encouragement enough to do so; he had assured me that he should be always
happy to deal with me for an article (that was the word) similar to the
one I had brought him, provided my terms were moderate; and the
bookseller's wife, by her complimentary language, had given me yet more
encouragement. But for some months past I had been far from well, and my
original indisposition, brought on partly by the peculiar atmosphere of
the Big City, partly by anxiety of mind, had been much increased by the
exertions which I had been compelled to make during the last few days. I
felt that, were I to remain where I was, I should die, or become a
confirmed valetudinarian. I would go forth into the country, travelling
on foot, and, by exercise and inhaling pure air, endeavour to recover my
health, leaving my subsequent movements to be determined by Providence.

But whither should I bend my course? Once or twice I thought of walking
home to the old town, stay some time with my mother and my brother, and
enjoy the pleasant walks in the neighbourhood; but, though I wished very
much to see my mother and my brother, and felt much disposed to enjoy the
said pleasant walks, the old town was not exactly the place to which I
wished to go at this present juncture. I was afraid that people would
ask, Where are your Northern Ballads? Where are your alliterative
translations from Ab Gwilym--of which you were always talking, and with
which you promised to astonish the world? Now, in the event of such
interrogations, what could I answer? It is true I had compiled _Newgate
__Lives and Trials_, and had written the life of Joseph Sell, but I was
afraid that the people of the old town would scarcely consider these as
equivalents for the Northern Ballads and the songs of Ab Gwilym. I would
go forth and wander in any direction but that of the old town.

But how one's sensibility on any particular point diminishes with time;
at present I enter the old town perfectly indifferent as to what the
people may be thinking on the subject of the songs and ballads. With
respect to the people themselves, whether, like my sensibility, their
curiosity has altogether evaporated, whether, which is at least equally
probable, they never entertained any, one thing is certain, that never in
a single instance have they tr