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Could I do it？ Had I the imagination requisite to write a tale or
a novel？ 'Yes； yes；' said I； as I struck my hand again against the
table； 'I can manage it； give me fair play； and I can accomplish
anything。'
But should I have fair play？ I must have something to maintain
myself with whilst I wrote my tale； and I had but eighteenpence in
the world。 Would that maintain me whilst I wrote my tale？ Yes； I
thought it would； provided I ate bread； which did not cost much；
and drank water； which cost nothing； it was poor diet； it was true；
but better men than myself had written on bread and water； had not
the big man told me so？ or something to that effect； months before？
It was true there was my lodging to pay for； but up to the present
time I owed nothing； and perhaps； by the time that the people of
the house asked me for money； I should have written a tale or a
novel； which would bring me in money； I had paper； pens； and ink；
and； let me not forget them； I had candles in my closet； all paid
for； to light me during my night work。 Enough； I would go doggedly
to work upon my tale or novel。
But what was the tale or novel to be about？ Was it to be a tale of
fashionable life； about Sir Harry Somebody； and the Countess
something？ But I knew nothing about fashionable people； and cared
less； therefore how should I attempt to describe fashionable life？
What should the tale consist of？ The life and adventures of some
one。 Good … but of whom？ Did not Mr。 Petulengro mention one Jemmy
Abershaw？ Yes。 Did he not tell me that the life and adventures of
Jemmy Abershaw would bring in much money to the writer？ Yes； but I
knew nothing of that worthy。 I heard； it is true； from Mr。
Petulengro； that when alive he committed robberies on the hill； on
the side of which Mr。 Petulengro had pitched his tents； and that
his ghost still haunted the hill at midnight； but those were scant
materials out of which to write the man's life。 It is probable
indeed； that Mr。 Petulengro would be able to supply me with further
materials if I should apply to him； but I was in a hurry； and could
not afford the time which it would be necessary to spend in passing
to and from Mr。 Petulengro； and consulting him。 Moreover； my pride
revolted at the idea of being beholden to Mr。 Petulengro for the
materials of the history。 No； I would not write the history of
Abershaw。 Whose then … Harry Simms？ Alas； the life of Harry Simms
had been already much better written by himself than I could hope
to do it； and； after all； Harry Simms； like Jemmy Abershaw； was
merely a robber。 Both； though bold and extraordinary men； were
merely highwaymen。 I questioned whether I could compose a tale
likely to excite any particular interest out of the exploits of a
mere robber。 I want a character for my hero； thought I； something
higher than a mere robber； some one like … like Colonel B…。 By the
way； why should I not write the life and adventures of Colonel B…；
of Londonderry in Ireland？
A truly singular man was this same Colonel B…； of Londonderry in
Ireland； a personage of most strange and incredible feats and
daring； who had been a partizan soldier； a bravo … who； assisted by
certain discontented troopers； nearly succeeded in stealing the
crown and regalia from the Tower of London； who attempted to hang
the Duke of Ormond at Tyburn； and whose strange； eventful career
did not terminate even with his life； his dead body； on the
circulation of an unfounded report that he did not come to his
death by fair means； having been exhumed by the mob of his native
place； where he had retired to die； and carried in the coffin
through the streets。
Of his life I had inserted an account in the NEWGATE LIVES AND
TRIALS； it was bare and meagre； and written in the stiff； awkward
style of the seventeenth century； it had； however； strongly
captivated my imagination； and I now thought that out of it
something better could be made； that； if I added to the adventures；
and purified the style； I might fashion out of it a very decent
tale or novel。 On a sudden； however； the proverb of mending old
garments with new cloth occurred to me。 'I am afraid；' said I；
'any new adventures which I can invent will not fadge well with the
old tale； one will but spoil the other。' I had better have nothing
to do with Colonel B…； thought I； but boldly and independently sit
down and write the life of Joseph Sell。
This Joseph Sell； dear reader； was a fictitious personage who had
just come into my head。 I had never even heard of the name； but
just at that moment it happened to come into my head； I would write
an entirely fictitious narrative； called the LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF
JOSEPH SELL； the great traveller。
I had better begin at once； thought I； and removing the bread and
the jug； which latter was now empty； I seized pen and paper； and
forthwith essayed to write the life of Joseph Sell； but soon
discovered that it is much easier to resolve upon a thing than to
achieve it； or even to commence it； for the life of me I did not
know how to begin； and； after trying in vain to write a line； I
thought it would be as well to go to bed； and defer my projected
undertaking till the morrow。
So I went to bed； but not to sleep。 During the greater part of the
night I lay awake； musing upon the work which I had determined to
execute。 For a long time my brain was dry and unproductive； I
could form no plan which appeared feasible。 At length I felt
within my brain a kindly glow； it was the commencement of
inspiration； in a few minutes I had formed my plan； I then began to
imagine the scenes and the incidents。 Scenes and incidents flitted
before my mind's eye so plentifully； that I knew not how to dispose
of them； I was in a regular embarrassment。 At length I got out of
the difficulty in the easiest manner imaginable； namely； by
consigning to the depths of oblivion all the feebler and less
stimulant scenes and incidents； and retaining the better and more
impressive ones。 Before morning I had sketched the whole work on
the tablets of my mind； and then resigned myself to sleep in the
pleasing conviction that the most difficult part of my undertaking
was achieved。
CHAPTER LVI
Considerably sobered … Power of writing … The tempter … Hungry
talent … Work concluded。
RATHER late in the morning I awoke； for a few minutes I lay still；
perfectly still； my imagination was considerably sobered； the
scenes and situations which had pleased me so much over night
appeared to me in a far less captivating guise that morning。 I
felt languid and almost hopeless … the thought； however； of my
situation soon roused me … I must make an effort to improve the
posture of my affairs； there was no time to be lost； so I sprang
out of bed； breakfasted on bread and water； and then sat down
d