ings alone in the library writing--_calamo currente_, like one
of the heroines of the author of 'Ohone'--the most admirable romances
and poems of the age. People very seldom call to see me. When they do,
they go away again directly on hearing that I am engaged, without as
much as sending in a message. My porter has Fortunatus's purse, and is
giving discreet largesses, in collusion with the agent of the Provident
Association, to the less opulent of the beggars who apply for my
pecuniary aid, while I am providing above for the wants of those who
crave my higher wealth. So that really the only drawback to the pleasure
enjoyed by me at such times, is the idea of the frightful quarrels which
must arise, as soon as I put anything to the press, between the
booksellers, who stand ready to contend with one another for the honor
of publishing it. The very first novel I ever completed led to a duel
between the Montague and Capulet of the trade, in which each party must
have lost his life but for the strenuous interposition of Noah
Worcester. The fear of a repetition of that scene is all which withholds
me from more frequently answering the importunate calls of the public to
appear before them. Matters were simultaneously almost as bad between
Birket Foster and Darley. But I made a compromise there, by promising
that, the next time I got out an edition, I would get out another, and
that of the two each artist should illustrate one. Each eagerly agreed
to this arrangement, naturally feeling sure that such a comparison would
forever establish his own superiority.

Did I say there was but one drawback to my pleasure? There is one more.
It is the idea of the monotonous uniformity with which the Reviews will
eulogize me. They cannot say a word of commendation beyond what is
strictly true, I am fully aware; and I am not obliged to read any more
of it than I please. Still it may appear extravagant to the very few yet
unacquainted with the merits of my works.

Of an evening I am usually at home to visitors; and three times every
winter I give the young people a ball. It breaks up at twelve. I provide
none but the lightest wines. Nor do I encourage the 'round dances.' I
really cannot. Those who do not think it right to join in them would
either do so against their consciences, or feel left out and forlorn;
pretty girls would get overheated, tumbled, and torn, and carry about
the marks of black arms on their delicate waists; and youths,
uns