Laid me sprawling on the
ground; and scampered away with his booty.
I saw no more of my friend in green until a year or two afterwards;
when I caught a sight of his poetical countenance among a crew of
scapegraces, heavily ironed, who were on the way for transportation. He
recognized me at once, tipped me an impudent wink, and asked me how I
came on with the history of Jack Straw's castle.
The catastrophe at Crackscull Common put an end to my summer's
campaign. I was cured of my poetical enthusiasm for rebels, robbers,
and highwaymen. I was put out of conceit of my subject, and what was
worse, I was lightened of my purse, in which was almost every farthing
I had in the world. So I abandoned Sir Richard Steele's cottage in
despair, and crept into less celebrated, though no less poetical and
airy lodgings in a garret in town.
I see you are growing weary, so I will not detain you with any more of
my luckless attempts to get astride of Pegasus. Still I could not
consent to give up the trial and abandon those dreams of renown in
which I had indulged. How should I ever be able to look the literary
circle of my native village in the face, if I were so completely to
falsify their predictions. For some time longer, therefore, I continued
to write for fame, and of course was the most miserable dog in
existence, besides being in continual risk of starvation.
I have many a time strolled sorrowfully along, with a sad heart and an
empty stomach, about five o'clock, and looked wistfully down the areas
in the west end of the town; and seen through the kitchen windows the
fires gleaming, and the joints of meat turning on the spits and
dripping with gravy; and the cook maids beating up puddings, or
trussing turkeys, and have felt for the moment that if I could but have
the run of one of those kitchens, Apollo and the muses might have the
hungry heights of Parnassus for me. Oh, sir! talk of meditations among
the tombs - they are nothing so melancholy as the meditations of a poor
devil without penny in pouch, along a line of kitchen windows towards
dinner-time.
At length, when almost reduced to famine and despair, the idea all at
once entered my head, that perhaps I was not so clever a fellow as the
village and myself had supposed. It was the salvation of me. The moment
the idea popped into my brain, it brought conviction and comfort with
it. I awoke as from a dream. I gave up immortal fame to those who could
live on air; took to writing for mere bread, and have ever since led a
very tolerable life of it.
