All his etherealness departs.

Some young ladies may have fancied me an elegant young man, like Lytton Bulwer, full of fun and humour, concealing all my profound knowledge under the mask of levity, and have therefore read my books with as much delight as has been afforded by "Pelham." But the truth must be told.

I am a grave, heavy man, with my finger continually laid along my temple, seldom speaking unless spoken to--and when ladies talk, I never open my mouth; the consequence is, that sometimes, when there is a succession of company, I do not speak for a week.

Moreover, I am married, with five small children; and now all I look forward to, and all I covet, is to live in peace, and die in my bed.
I wonder why I did not commence authorship before! How true it is that a man never knows what he can do until he tries! The fact is, I never thought that I could make a novel; and I was thirty years old before I stumbled on the fact.

What a pity! Writing a book reminds me very much of making a passage across the Atlantic.