“And why not, John? We shall have more time to ourselves. I’m afraid,” I said, looking towards the window, and endeavoring to peer through the twilight without, “I am afraid our planting is sadly behind hand—the clump of trees out yonder wants thinning—and then the water-fall is getting out of order—and Mrs. Danforth has been pleading for an addition to her garden—all this requires overseeing—and besides these, there are a thousand other things which will require our attention.” I could see that the old fellow had, with difficulty, restrained himself until I had finished; for he kept moving his body unceasingly, and once or twice had opened his mouth to speak. He now broke out— “Nebber do, Massa Danforth, nebber do to give up authorship, take old John word for dat. You now great man—talk of in all de papers—it Massa Danforth here and Massa Danforth dare—ebbery few month you get extra puff in de prospective of de Magazine—and think you discontinue if you give ober writing? Gor amighty nebber! Ebbery body can do planting,—dere Massa Jones, Massa Tyson, Massa Smit, and de oder blockheads in de county—but you be only one hereabout been to sea, or can drive a pen ober paper like a four-in-hand, polishing skrimanges for a hundred thousand readers—for dat many Massa Graham say thumb his book ebbery month. It plain text, plain sermon. Who so big as Massa Danforth de author?—who so little, beg pardon for say it, as Massa Danforth de farmer? De public like our sleepy boy Joe in de kitchen, he nebber know any one alive, unless dey keep bawling, bawling in his ear all de time.” “But what am I to do?” said I, smiling at his earnestness, and peculiar style of illustration. “Even if I wished to continue an author, I could not. My own adventures are published; so are those of the Reefer,—if I go on, I must—to say nothing of the trouble—draw on my fancy, and that, you know, wouldn’t do. I always bear in mind what honest Sancho Panza says—‘Let every one take heed how they talk or write of people, and not set down at random the first thing that comes into their imagination.’” “Massa Sanka Pancer had better keep his advice to himself, dat my mind—I nebber saw him here, or read his name in de papers, and he derefore no great shakes—but I no see dat dere be an accessory for any fiction about it. Ah! I hab him—I hab him. I think of a new feature.” “A new feature! Well—let’s hear it.”