Plucked Some Primroses That Were Growing There And Laid Them Next My
I left the church-yard with my spirits once more lifted up, and
set out a third time for London, in the character of an author.
* * * * *
Here my companion made a pause, and I waited in anxious suspense;
hoping to have a whole volume of literary life unfolded to me. He
seemed, however, to have sunk into a fit of pensive musing; and when
after some time I gently roused him by a question or two as to his
literary career. "No," said he smiling, "over that part of my story I
wish to leave a cloud. Let the mysteries of the craft rest sacred for
me. Let those who have never adventured into the republic of letters,
still look upon it as a fairy land. Let them suppose the author the
very being they picture him from his works; I am not the man to mar
their illusion. I am not the man to hint, while one is admiring the
silken web of Persia, that it has been spun from the entrails of a
"Well," said I, "if you will tell me nothing of your literary history,
let me know at least if you have had any farther intelligence from
"Willingly," replied he, "though I have but little to communicate."
THE BOOBY SQUIRE.
A long time elapsed, said Buckthorne, without my receiving any accounts
of my cousin and his estate. Indeed, I felt so much soreness on the
subject, that I wished, if possible, to shut it from my thoughts.
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