dging to pay for; but up to the present time I
owed nothing, and perhaps, by the time the people of the house asked me
for money, I should have written a tale or a novel, which would bring me
in money; I had paper, pens, and ink, and, let me not forget them, I had
candles in my closet, all paid for, to light me during my night work.
Enough, I would go doggedly to work upon my tale or novel.

But what was the tale or novel to be about? Was it to be a tale of
fashionable life, about Sir Harry Somebody, and the Countess Something?
But I knew nothing about fashionable people, and cared less; therefore
how should I attempt to describe fashionable life? What should the tale
consist of? The life and adventures of some one. Good--but of whom?
Did not Mr. Petulengro mention one Jemmy Abershaw? Yes. Did he not tell
me that the life and adventures of Jemmy Abershaw would bring in much
money to the writer? Yes, but I knew nothing of that worthy. I heard,
it is true, from Mr. Petulengro, that when alive he committed robberies
on the hill, on the side of which Mr. Petulengro had pitched his tents,
and that his ghost still haunted the hill at midnight; but those were
scant materials out of which to write the man's life. It is probable,
indeed, that Mr. Petulengro would be able to supply me with further
materials if I should apply to him, but I was in a hurry, and could not
afford the time which it would be necessary to spend in passing to and
from Mr. Petulengro, and consulting him. Moreover, my pride revolted at
the idea of being beholden to Mr. Petulengro for the materials of the
history. No, I would not write the history of Abershaw. Whose
then--Harry Simms? Alas, the life of Harry Simms had been already much
better written by himself than I could hope to do it; and, after all,
Harry Simms, like Jemmy Abershaw, was merely a robber. Both, though bold
and extraordinary men, were merely highwaymen. I questioned whether I
could compose a tale likely to excite any particular interest out of the
exploits of a mere robber. I want a character for my hero, thought I,
something higher than a mere robber; some one like--like Colonel B---.
By the way, why should I not write the life and adventures of Colonel
B--- of Londonderry, in Ireland?

A truly singular man was this same Colonel B--- of Londonderry, in
Ireland; a personage of most strange and incredible feats and daring, who
had been a partizan soldier, a bravo--who, assis