he rallied
Pen, about Miss Amory's evident partiality for him: praised her good
looks, spirits, and wit: and again told Pen in the strictest confidence,
that she would be a devilish deal richer than people thought.

CHAPTER XLII. Contains a novel Incident

Some account has been given, in a former part of this story, how Mr.
Pen, during his residence at home, after his defeat at Oxbridge, had
occupied himself with various literary compositions, and amongst other
works, had written the greater part of a novel. This book, written under
the influence of his youthful embarrassments, amatory and pecuniary, was
of a very fierce, gloomy, and passionate sort,--the Byronic despair,
the Wertherian despondency, the mocking bitterness of Mephistopheles of
Faust, were all reproduced and developed in the character of the hero;
for our youth had just been learning the German language, and imitated,
as almost all clever lads do, his favourite poets and writers. Passages
in the volumes once so loved, and now read so seldom, still bear the
mark of the pencil with which he noted them in those days. Tears fell
upon the leaf of the book, perhaps, or blistered the pages of his
manuscript as the passionate young man dashed his thoughts down. If he
took up the books afterwards he had no ability or wish to sprinkle the
leaves with that early dew of former times: his pencil was no longer
eager to score its marks of approval: but as he looked over the pages of
his manuscript, he remembered what had been overflowing feelings which
had caused him to blot it, and the pain which had inspired the line. If
the secret history of books could be written, and the author's private
thoughts and meanings noted down alongside of his story, how many
insipid volumes would become interesting, and dull tales excite the
reader! Many a bitter smile passed over Pen's face as he read his novel,
and recalled the time and feelings which gave it birth. How pompous some
of the grand passages appeared; and how weak were others in which he
thought he had expressed his full heart! This page was imitated from a
then favourite author, as he could now clearly see and confess, though
he had believed himself to be writing originally then. As he mused over
certain lines he recollected the place and hour where he wrote them:
the ghost of the dead feeling came back as he mused, and he blushed to
review the faint image. And what meant those blots on the page? As you
come in