st given way. At length he said, with perfect
cheerfulness, 'Well, well, James, so be it--but you know we
must not droop, for we can't afford to give over. Since one
line has failed, we must just stick to something else:'--and
so he dismissed me and resumed his novel."

Ballantyne concludes the anecdote in these words:--

"He spoke thus, probably unaware of the undiscovered wonders
then slumbering in his mind. Yet still he could not but have
felt that the production of a few poems was nothing in
comparison of what must be in reserve for him, for he was at
this time scarcely more than forty.[8] An evening or two
after, I called again on him, and found on the table a copy
of The Giaour, which he seemed to have been reading. Having
an enthusiastic young lady in my house, I asked him if I
might carry the book home with me, but chancing to glance on
the autograph blazon, '_To the Monarch of Parnassus from one
of his subjects_,' instantly retracted my request, and said
I had not observed Lord Byron's inscription before. 'What
inscription?' said he; 'oh yes, I had forgot, but
inscription or no inscription, you are equally welcome.' I
again took it up, and he continued, 'James, Byron hits the
mark where I don't even pretend to fledge my arrow.' At this
time he had never seen Byron, but I knew he meant soon to be
in London, when, no doubt, the mighty consummation of the
meeting of the two bards would be accomplished; and I
ventured to say that he must be looking forward to it with
some interest. His countenance {p.023} became fixed, and he
answered impressively, 'Oh, of course.' In a minute or two
afterwards he rose from his chair, paced the room at a very
rapid rate, which was his practice in certain moods of mind,
then made a dead halt, and bursting into an extravaganza of
laughter, 'James,' cried he, 'I'll tell you what Byron
should say to me when we are about to accost each other,--

[Footnote 8: He was not forty-four till August, 1815.]

"Art thou the man whom men famed Grizzle call?"

And then how germane would be my answer,--

"Art thou the still more famed Tom Thumb the small?"'

"This," says the printer, "is a specimen of his peculiar
humor; it kept him full of mirth for the rest of the
evening."

The wh