poor devil air, that was irresistible. It is true he did at first
appear slightly confused; buttoned up his waistcoat a little higher and
tucked in a stray frill of linen. But he recollected himself in an
instant; gave a half swagger, half leer, as he stepped forth to receive
us; drew a three-legged stool for Mr. Buckthorne; pointed me to a
lumbering old damask chair that looked like a dethroned monarch in
exile, and bade us welcome to his garret.

We soon got engaged in conversation. Buckthorne and he had much to say
about early school scenes; and as nothing opens a man's heart more than
recollections of the kind, we soon drew from him a brief outline of his
literary career.




THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR.


I began life unluckily by being the wag and bright fellow at school;
and I had the farther misfortune of becoming the great genius of my
native village. My father was a country attorney, and intended that I
should succeed him in business; but I had too much genius to study, and
he was too fond of my genius to force it into the traces. So I fell
into bad company and took to bad habits. Do not mistake me. I mean that
I fell into the company of village literati and village blues, and took
to writing village poetry.

It was quite the fashion in the village to be literary. We had a little
knot of choice spirits who assembled frequently together, formed