rejoined I, "how much would I differ from nine-tenths of those who pass for the most learned?" "Indeed, I think not much, sir," he answered with a smirk. "I told you before, you know, that your bump of imitation was amazingly large." "Bump of imitation!" I exclaimed in a rage—but I have expressed my utter contempt of this fellow before, and I beg pardon of the reader for having again spoken of him. To resume, then, the thread of this history at the very place it was broken. Deleterious as may be the effects of novel-reading,and the world will have it that they are pernicious in the extreme,—there is one thing more so, and that is novel writing. A naked assertion again, says some one. Not so fast, my dear sir. I have already troubled you with a few of the effects of the former, and I will now illustrate the latter; and if you will have patience to trace out with me the results of that, I do not fear your decision on the point. I grant you I can scarcely describe the extent of my imagined importance while engaged in my avocation of novel-reading. Fancying myself Two sayings pop into my head together at this particular juncture, directly at variance with each other. They are these: "A little learning is a dangerous thing," says a certain great man; but "Half a slice is better than no bread," says some little one. I have weighed these matters with that philosophic fairness and strict regard to truth, which, if the reader has not yet noticed in me, I may as well here inform him of, for the fortieth time, in the same way and for the same reason that Mr. Willis manages to whip the fact of his having been to college into all his stories. Notwith-a prince or an emperor occasionally, was only a small standing my conviction that it is a "dangerous thing" to disagree with great writers, as I acknowledged in the previous chapter, yet in this instance I am compelled to side with the little one. His proposition is certainly more true in the abstract, as any person may learn to his entire satisfaction by the simplest experiment of practical starvation; and, to me, it seems that to say "a little learning is a dangerous thing," is equally sagacious with saying that, unless you can force a flood down the throat of a man dying with thirst, it is better not to give him a spoonful. part of it. But after my first essay (to say nothing of a greater enterprize which followed,) had appeared in print-Heavens! how insignificant was my former consequence in the comparison. The way I looked down upon the "aristocracy of wealth," and scowled upon their splendid carriages returning from church, as I strutted through the Broadway of the "Commercial Emporium" of a Sunday afternoon, was truly "a sin," if we remember that not to love our neighbors as ourselves is such. "Poor fools," I contemptuously muttered, "of what use is wealth to them? Had I their As the reader may have observed, I am not apt to be riches, how "but this reflection brought me up, as egotistical, except after the manner of the most un- the sailors say, "all standing." I came to a dead halt doubted precedents. My modesty, therefore, is some- at the corner of two crowded streets, a perfect personiwhat staggered whenever I offer myself, not exactly as fication of absence of mind, attracting the observation an "illustrious example," but as a sort of exemplary of the throng of people coming each way, and drawing illustration of the truth of my assertions; and in the forth the curses, expressed or implied, of no inconsidepresent case, I do really think I am entitled to the privi-rable number of them, who ran against me in their lege. All the learning I have, came by littles; and any unprejudiced reader of these memoirs must perceive the heterogeneous mass of it at my command. If it did come, in scraps, through novels and magazines, and an occasional slight consultation of those works of a higher order, which the critiques in the latter, or the allusions in the former, induced me to make, I feel, and the erudite reader perceives, that the possession of it is none the less valuable. It is true, my quondam acquaintance, the practical phrenologist, unworthily immortalized in the preceding chapter, did pronounce me, what he was pleased, in the infinitude of his jackassism, to term a "show y fellow;" which, upon compulsion, he explained as follows: "I mean, my dear sir," said he, "that it is evident from your developments you have a great facility in exhibiting all you know-turning yourself completely inside out, as it were-and making that appear simply as the effervescence-the mere scintilla-of a deep, rich, inexhaustible and unfathomable mine of solid ore within." "And have I not the ore, you wretch?" cried I pas.sionately. "W-w-why, for aught I know, sir," he stammered in reply; "I only said you had that facility." "And suppose I used that facility, Mr. Pinchpate," hurry. A most glorious plan had flashed upon my in my ear," that a disparity of genius may cause But I interrupted it by answering with as much coolness as I could command-"Very true-ha, ha-there is a possibility, but —" and as I turned the key of my attic apartment at that instant, I believe I accidentally locked out the still voice, for I never heard a whimper from it afterward, until my project was fairly carried out. I acquired a ream of paper, I scarcely know how. I spent my nights and my employer's candle-ends at it. I finished it, and carried it to a publisher of the very first standing. Mr. Boundincalf's establishment was not exactly the place for a work of that kind, though very respectable; but the house to which I offered itahem-I believe this paragraph is much too long already. The tip-top publishing house detained my manuscript-I suppose out of respect to my feverish impatience to draw a draft on them-only three months. At the end of that time, they gave their ideas-no, I beg their pardon—they never had any particular ideas on the fashionable subjects of "literary merit," "native genius," &c.—which circumstance, by the way, it is worth noticing, not only saved them from breaking two or three times, but, on the contrary, made them rich: but they gave me the ideas of somebody else, to whom they had referred it, and who went by the name of a "literary gentleman." At all events, the ideas, whosesoever they were, did not accord with mine, of which fact it would be needless to say I promptly informed the publishers, only that their answer is worthy of being recorded, and may thereby find a place in some future volume of the "Curiosities of Literature." "Our business, sir," said they, (or rather one of them, who spoke for the whole,) "is very peculiar. You think this 'ere and that 'are author's works succeed admirably-the newspapers praise them and all that; but we know it is'nt all goold that glitters.' The man who first republished the Waverlies in this country lost money by it. With the first edition of Mr. Cooper's Spy he succeeded not a whit better, and he has been a poor man ever since!" When I had leisure I inquired into this statement, and found it-true! Nevertheless, I judged the cases were not parallel. Scott made a dash at improving the light literature of the age, and Cooper, the American Scott, and who will hold this title until the New York American and New York Mirror point out his superior, followed in his track: but the age had now got ahead of both of them, and my novel, without attempting to get ahead of the age again, contented itself with conforming precisely to it. To speak candidly, "the book had some merit," and, considering that the prevailing taste is decidedly favorable to the showy and horrible, as may be observed from the fact, that Der Freychutz, The Cataract of the Ganges, and Cinderella, have almost driven the good old-fashioned plays from the stage, it is quite wonderful that the tip-top house did not see their own interests more clearly. For in my work there was red and blue, fire and blood, and thunder enough out of which to have manufactured a first rate serio-comico-operatic melodrama, besides the profits which the most horrible novel extant would have netted, as a novel simply. Therefore, though disappointed, I was not discouraged, and managing to get myself sent, on business for my employer, to a neighboring city, I essayed "the first publishing house" there. My success in this second attempt was-indifferent. The gentlemen I applied to were indifferent about reading it, and indifferent about publishing it within a year, "even if they should happen to like it." They had too, a sort of indifferent way of submitting their M.S. novels (of which, they informed me, they received about two per week,) to a set of indifferent "literary friends," who read them indifferently for their own pleasure, and at their own convenience. Besides this, as the sum of money allotted me by Mr. Boundincalf for my expenses was of rather an indifferent amount, I was indifferent about staying longer in the city of brotherly love, and returned, in indifferent spirits, to Gotham. On my way, in changing the steam-boat for a railroad car, I lost my portmanteau containing all the M.SS. I recovered them afterwards by an advertisement which it cut me to the soul to publish. I was not much of a business man at best, and I had no experience in that kind of composition. It was, however, necessary; and I had nothing left for it but to "follow copy." With a glaring eye and an unwilling hand I performed the task : I advertised them as “papers of no use to any body but the owner." This, after all my midnight toil and soulkilling weariness!—but I forbear. I returned home, late at night, in the greatest dejection of spirits, and the next morning paid my last shilling to a negro to sweep out and make a fire in the bookstore of the respectable Mr. Boundincalf. My soul revolted utterly at the drudgery-it had often done so before, but hitherto my body had been under control. Now, it took sides with my soul, and I could not conquer the two together. For a long time-say about six hours-melancholy held me completely subject to her leaden sceptre; and then a new idea struck me. The publishers were fools, and the work was a good work-that I decided upon fully. How many authors of the greatest repute had languished in the same way in the earlier stages of their various careers. Pooh! The wealth, and honor, and greatness, I had so fondly anticipated, should still be mine. A part of the former had only to be practically anticipated, in order to pay the mechanics it would be necessary to employ in getting out the work on my own hook, and I would amply repay it from the proceeds of the sale. I should draw a long dash here, only that truth-my idol, blessed truth-demands a full account. I at that time knew little of the science of finance; but being aware that certain great statesmen of the present day had become singularly proficient in it in a surprisingly short time, I took a work on that subject from the shelves, and before I went to bed that night, made myself a complete master of it; insomuch, indeed, that had the secretary of the treasury had occasion to consult me the very next morning, he would have found me something of "a caution." The next thing to be done was to examine the state of my own funds. Upon the most scrupulous search I came to the conclusion that, scientifically, my "gains" should be placed under the head of "unavailable.” Here the doctrine of "loans” came into play splendidly, and the above proposition being clearly settled, there was evidently nothing left for me but to anticipate-or to quote myself, to “practically anticipate" the “gains" of another person. This I resolved upon therefore, being somewhat moved thereto it is true by two things left him no clue by which to dissolve the mystery. He, however, was less fortunate than I: he has never raised his head since-I have. I started wildly up. "A touch of romance," I said bitterly-" a touch of romance follows me eternally"— aye, and I snarled like the frothy-mouthed cur, who from a constitutional affection, shuns the limpid stream"it follows me eternally; even as a hideous tin kettle tied to the tail of a puppy!” first, by my entire belief with Bentham, that "the greatest happiness of the greatest number" is the true principle of utility quoad individuals, and-secondly, by my unqualified admiration of the second grand proposition laid down by Smith, in his Wealth of Nations, viz. that "the study of his own advantage naturally, or rather necessarily, leads every individual to prefer that employment of capital which is most advantageous to society." Again, I had read certain articles in our Quarterlies, and had embraced the doctrine of "free trade" in its fullest extent. And moreover, as every one who has dabbled in Blackstone (I studied law once myself with a celebrated lawyer, until I mastered that science, as will hereafter appear) must be convinced of the absolute necessity of legal fictions, I assure them they will find them no less necessary in finance. I now adopted a financial fiction, by which my literary fiction was placed before an "ungrateful world" forthwith; and as I am now done with it, I hereby bequeath it to But she stood up no longer. She fell upon my boMr. John Neal, who may, if he chooses, use it in re-som-I pressed her to me-and in this thrillingly infuting Cocceii, Hobbes, Locke or Rousseau, on one teresting manner condition-he must "keep cool." to close this chapter. The book-my book-I say, was produced; and the profound and respectful silence with which it was ushered into the world, has perhaps never been surpassed by the advent of any work of the kind. So deep, so dread was it, that it struck awe into my very soul. And yet I never was in a worse state to receive such universal respect. For some days my mind had been wrought up to a pitch of excitement bordering on delirium; my feelings of gratitude on this occasion were too much for me, and completed what the excitement of expectation had begun. Consequently, I am unable to give the most satisfactory description of the events which immediately followed. One exceedingly unpleasant affair indeed, I have an indistinct recollection of: there was a most singular disagreement between the books of my respected employer and those of the bank with which he kept his account. His cash was minus, a sum large enough to have published a fair sized work in two volumes. Mr. Boundincalf was much distressed, and I felt for him excessively. In the main, he was good hearted, though indeed quite illiterate. Peace to his memory! I am sure I never wished the man any harm in my life. But why attempt to recount occurrences which transpired while I was in a state of mental alienation? Suffice it to say that for days, aye-near a month afterward-my mind ran upon steamboats, rail-road cars, stage and mail coaches, steam packets, and I know-not all what of the same nature. After which, "I sunk into an uneasy slumber." Judge of my surprise when upon awaking, I learned from a lady of -possessing exterior, whom I discovered bending over the mean pallet on which I lay, that in all its aberrations, my body had closely followed my mind, and I was now in a strange city-"the emporium of the South West"-without a friend to call on or a cent in my pocket! How I got over the two thousand miles of intervening distance between that and GothamHeaven knows: but I know that after a "furtive glance" around the apartment, I was very anxious to go farther, and, at least, run the risk of faring worse. Possibly I was rightly served. I, at all events, recollected with a twinge of conscience, that I had stuck the hero of my novel into precisely such a predicament and My companion, who like myself, had evidently "seen better days," (for, independently of other matters, it rained like fury) seemed much affected by my dogmatical expression, and putting a light-colored handkerchief to her eyes, she gently lisped "In our deepest adversity we may meet an unexpected friend. If the esteem-the love-the most disinterested affection of one so undeserving as Araminta Stanup — it is (I reckon) about as well FLOWERS. Come, take my flowers, my gathered flowers; Sec, here's a rose, a fair white-rose, It has no thorns that threaten woes; And here's a wild-flower from the glade, Whose balmy breath as it shall fade, Shall mix its sighs with thine. Take all the flowers in this bouquet That Love presents by me; More sweetly still with thee. And it will glad my heart to know THE CHAIN. From the Turkish. This chain of gems I give to thee, Is bright as Love and Hope can make it; Till some strange hand shall dare to shake it. Then take it now, this conscious chain, And wear it on thy bosom rightly; O! let me see it beaming brightly. JOURNEY TO FLANDERS. her accustomed majesty, and with the most graceful motion of the head, threw the rich luxuriance of her raven locks down on her neck and shoulders, and all stood as much dazzled by the beauty of the noble lady as if they had never before seen her. The natural splendor of her complexion was heightened by the inconvenient position in which she had so long remained; a sweet smile played around her beautiful lips, and from beneath her finely pencilled dark eye-brows, shone her love-beaming eyes down on the young girl, enraptured at her favor. Caressingly she touched the glowing cheek of the timid child. "Be of good cheer; I will speak with your mother. I cannot bear to see so lovely a face always in tears," whispered she, before she turned from her to take the arm of the Princess Von La Roche. As they set out in their way to the palace, Madame Von Tournon took her station immediately behind her mistress, as court etiquette required, and the rest arranged themselves according to their rank and dignity. Eglantine, as the youngest maid of honor, went last in the procession of ladies. Young La Borssiere, who had only a few days ago joined the nobles who composed the court of the Queen, used this opportunity to approach Eglantine. He had formerly been acquainted with her at Arras, where she was educated by her sister, Madame Von Belanzon, whose husband lived there in almost princely splendor, as Spanish Governor of Burgundy. "I have letters from Arras," whispered La Borssiere to Eglantine, in passing; "perhaps it would be agreeable to Mademoiselle Von Tournon to hear some news from that place.” Eglantine started with delight at the well known voice, which recalled her so unexpectedly to the fair springtime of her life. "O, certainly, certainly,” answered she, blushing with inward rapture; "poor I receive no letters. I am most cruelly divided from all that was dear to me. Tell me, good La Borssiere, how is my sister? how is-how are all in the house of my dear Yolande," added she, with downcast look, in visible embarrassment. "How, Mademoiselle? Your head reclined aside like a fainting shepherdess! Do you not see that the Queen herself rises to leave the pavilion ?" said the head Governess of the Queen, Margaret of Valois, to her daughter, the Lady of Tournon, as she passed by to join herself to the train of her lady. Terrified, the poor Eglantine started from her dream, whilst the Queen, leaning on the arm of her friend, the Princess Von La Roche sur Yon, slowly approached. A beam from Margaret's fine dark eye, fell, in passing by, on the pale Eglantine. She perceived a large bright tear glitter on the long downcast eyelashes of the poor girl, and the wife of Henry the Fourth was at this time too unhappy herself not to notice with emotion the pains of others. "What is the matter with the child? Certainly her strict mother has been scolding her again ?" asked the Queen, standing still, and turning towards the Lady of Tournon. The cheeks glowing with anger, the double chin which the drawing back of the neck of this old lady formed, made an answer to this question superfluous. Indeed, the Queen did not wait for one. "Have forbearance with the child, I beg," said she with cordial friendliness; "she is so young, so new to the world; too much severity is seldom good for gentle girls, and Eglantine is indeed a lovely child." "Even the best children have some bad habits, which a mother, who knows her duty, cannot overlook," answered the Lady of Tournon, with impenetrability. "But I perceive," added she, more mildly, "I see my noble mistress resembles the sun, which is not ashamed to permit a beam of his favor to fall on the lowliest flowers of the meadow. I can only wish and hope, Mademoiselle Von Tournon, that you will always recollect your humility." The tears which, until now, had shone in the innocent . blue eyes of Eglantine, rolled down, unceasingly, over her blushing cheeks. Fearfully, she ventured only to raise a half beseeching glance to her mother; then bending low, she prest the gold and pearl-embroidered hem of the Queen's garment to her painfully quivering lips. Margaret stretched her fair hand towards her, and half raised her. "Take off this troublesome mask, Mademoiselle Von Tournon; the sun burns no longer, and the evening air is so mild," said she kindly, and bent her fair neck a little, that the much smaller Eglantine might more conveniently execute the command. Never had so young a lady of the court enjoyed such a distinction; for at the French court, even princesses of the blood considered themselves as honored, when the Queen allowed them publicly to render her such personal services. But the poor Eglantine, bewildered at this unexpected mark of the Queen's favor, in her distress of mind, tied the ribbons she should have loosened, and it was a considerable time before she succeeded in untying the knot that fastened the black velvet mask, which all the ladies of that time wore as a covering in the open air, instead of our hats. The La Borssiere was silent; his internal emotion did not Queen remained very patiently in her inconvenient permit him to say more. Eglantine was too much in a bending position, and at the same time, by a very grave state of joyful embarrassment to remark this; for at look, held Madame Von Tournon fixed to her place, this moment she also had no breath for words; her lips who burnt with impatience to assist her daughter, and were motionless, but her eyes were fastened on La reprove her awkwardness. At length the great work Borssiere with eloquent expression. La Borssiere unwas completed, and Margaret raised herself again inderstood but too well the speechless petition. "Madame Von Belanzon is as well as she can be, whilst she must bear the suffering of separation from Mademoiselle Von Tournon," answered La Borssiere. "And do you know nothing else to tell me? The Queen is almost ready to ascend the steps of the Louvre. Speak, oh speak, before she reaches the palace," called out Eglantine in impatient haste. A deep and half suppressed sigh heaved the young man's breast, while his troubled eye rested with an expression of unspeakable grief on Eglantine's fair form. "The brother of the Governor, Marquis Von Vanambon, has left Arras,” he answered after some hesitation. "A violent scene between the Governor and himself occasioned this separation. Vanambon has conquered; he has renounced the vows which, according to the wishes of his family, would have bound him to the church; and completely disunited from them all, he has at length quitted his relations." "Vanambon has fled to Don John of Austria, the Spanish Stadtholder at Flanders, so it is said. He has obtained at this court a very distinguished station, and stands high in the favor of the prince," he added, with violent effort, in a scarcely audible voice; and, with a deep reverence to the lady, he withdrew. the same time she pressed the struggling hand of Madame Von Tournon to her lips. "Yet I must always love and honor the fair and gracious Princess, who, without my requesting it, promised to-day to speak for me to you." "A child requires no advocate in the heart of a mother," replied Madame Von Tournon, again offended. "As soon as the Queen lowers herself to speak to me of your concerns, then shall she learn to what a foolish passion you have surrendered yourself, and she will never again urge me to court the arrogance of the Belanzon who despise you. Eglantine, does not the noble blood of Tournon flow in your veins? Can you really cherish the wish to enter into a family which is ashamed of you?" "Vanambon is not ashamed of me; he had rather die than enter into the views of his family," answered Eglantine quickly. Eglantine did not perceive that the young man was gone; heaven and earth vanished from her view; the consciousness that her best beloved had triumphantly overcome one of the chief obstacles to their union, filled her with speechless rapture. She pressed both her small hands to her heart, whose violent pulsations threatened to burst her young breast; and scarcely did she remark, in this sweet enchantment, that the Queen dismissed her ladies upon their arrival at the castle, and withdrew in her cabinet with the Princess Von La Roche sur Yon. She first began in some degree to recover herself, when she found herself alone with her mother, who throwing herself upon a high richly gilded arm chair, "Marquis Von Vanambon will do as he likes. I have thus in a harsh tone addressed her: "Now, Mademoi- only to do what the honor of our house, and my duty selle, draw near," said the unmerciful mother. "You, as a mother require from me," answered Madame Von the favorite of the Queen at this moment, feel conside-Tournon. "Eglantine, learn to believe what I have rable importance. You are almost convinced that, already repeated to you a thousand times; the tender guided by so high a hand, your mother must yield to feelings of which you now boast, will fly before the your wishes, and the Belanzons themselves, appealed silent power of time like chaff before the wind, and to in this manner, after an offensive humiliation, may only fruitless repentance will remain. A girl of your receive you into favor." rank always acts most wisely, when she leaves the care of her future establishment to an experienced mother. With you I have no occasion to be in a hurry; there is time enough to choose for you an advantageous and Poor Eglantine was torn from her paradise by this speech, in the most painful manner. "O, my mother!" sighed she, raising both her hands beseechingly, as she knelt down on the richly embroid-splendid match." ered cloth that served Madame Von Tournon for a footcloth. She could not utter another word. She concealed her sweet face, streaming with tears, on the lap of her mother, and audibly sobbing, embraced her knees. "Do not be a child," said Madame Von Tournon, "a wayward child, who weeps incessantly, because it cannot have its own perverse will. Rise, Mademoiselle, it would be more suitable to listen composedly to the counsel of the experienced woman, whom gracious heaven has given to you as a mother, than to offend her by these tears." Eglantine arose, and repressed her sobs, though her tears flowed, unceasingly, whilst her mother spoke in a somewhat more moderate tone. "Mother, mother, in what a degraded light must I appear in your eyes," replied Eglantine, almost indignantly. "Yet hardly as you always judge me, nothing shall prevent me from telling you, plainly and openly, that my heart belongs to the Marquis Von Vanambon; it may break, but it can never through eternity be divided from him." "We shall see that," answered Madame Von Tournon. "A child like you, at sixteen years, has no very clear idea of eternity. For the rest, Mademoiselle, I beg you will hold your head a little higher in the morning, and not afford another sentimental scene for the entertainment of the court. I have nothing but your true welfare in view in giving this counsel, and it is not de road to the Queen's favor. It is very possible that your melancholy countenance may still be regarded for some time, by Margaret, with favor; for who can foresee the humor of princes? Yet believe me, my daughter, this will scarcely lead to any lasting good fortune. During the eight and twenty years I have lived in the dazzling circles of the court, I have had opportunities to learn this, and God has always preserved me from the folly of wishing to climb to the perilous station of a favorite; for I saw many around me attain this giddy height, but to fall so much the lower. I remained quiet and honored in my place; the storm which beat down all, had not power to shake me a hair's breadth from my place." "The Queen has distinguished you to-day in an al-signed for the selfish purpose of excluding you from the most unexampled manner, that cannot be denied, and it is not wonderful that such unmerited and unexpected favor should turn somewhat so young a head as yours. Yet whoever builds his hope of happiness on princely favor is foolish. Nothing is more changeable. The humor of the moment is the reigning divinity, to the exclusion of all others. Learn, that what to-day is trampled unregarded in the dust, may yesterday have been exalted to the skies. The Queen was very sad to-day herself, for which, alas! she has good ground; therefore she was pleased to remark your red eyes graciously, which, without cause, you had wept red. When morning comes, it may probably happen that our mistress may find herself in a mood, conleur de rose, and will perhaps turn from you as ungraciously, as she turned towards you to-day graciously." Absorbed in herself, Eglantine only half heard Madame Von Tournon expatiate on the value of her expe'Mother, dear mother, I want nothing, I hope no-rience in life, until the welcome order followed, that thing from the Queen; I know that on you the destiny she must retire to her chamber, as it was late. Alas! of your child is alone dependant," said Eglantine; at Eglantine found in her no trace of that unconditional, |