paced the room so briskly,) would lecture on Crabbe, in the basement
of the "Orthodox Meeting House," at seven o'clock, on the following
evening.

It perplexed me not a little to know why this Giles Sheridan, this
queer little man, had selected for the subject of his lecture, a
person so little known in the rural districts of Massachusetts. Had
he consulted either the political or mechanical tastes of the
people, instead of their literary, the cause would not have been
involved in so deep a mystery; but this will be explained hereafter.

The clerical looking man had just kissed his young bride, and
muttered something about the joys of paradise, as I, for the ninth
time, paused to ponder over the curious announcement. And as I did
so, the little man, with that sensitiveness common to true genius,
looked up at me with an eye beaming with intelligence, while his
lips quivered, his fingers became restless, and he locked his hands
before him and behind him, in quick succession, then frisked his
straight hair back over his ears with his fingers, and gave out such
other signs of timidity as convinced me that he was a stranger in
the land, and would engage me in conversation merely to unburden his
thoughts. I have said true genius, in speaking of this queer little
man, for indeed, if strange nature had so disfigured his person as
to make it unsightly, she had more than compensated him with the
gifts of a brilliant mind. "Like myself, sir, you are a traveler
this way?" he spoke, with a voice clear and musical, and with just
enough of a refined brogue to discover the land of his nativity, or
to give melody to his conversation. "You will pardon me, sir; but I
saw you evinced an interest in the notice of my lecture. Ah! sir;
even a look of encouragement cheers and fortifies this misgiving