How many instances of this kind have I seen--of writers toiling with their pens and brains for the benefit and credit of ungrateful wretches without intellect, or soul, or honor, or common humanity! Charlestown is probably the meanest and most contemptible place in the whole universe--totally unfit to be the dwelling-place of any man who calls himself _white_. The inhabitants all belong to the _Paul Pry_ family. A stranger goes among them, and forthwith inquisitive whispers concerning him begin to float about like feathers in the air. "Who is he? What is he? Where did he come from? What's his business? _Has he got any money?_ (Great emphasis is laid on this question.) Is he married, or single? What are his habits? Is he a temperance man? Does he smoke--does he drink--does he chew? Does he go to meeting on Sundays? What religious denomination does he belong to? What are his politics? Does he use profane language? What time does he go to bed--and what time does he get up? Wonder what he had for dinner to-day?" &c., &c., &c. During my residence in Charlestown, where I lived three years, I became acquainted with the celebrated editor and wit, Corporal Streeter, who was my next-door neighbor. I dwelt, by the way, in an old-fashioned house situated on Wood street. Two ancient pear trees sadly waved their branches in front of the house, and they are still there, unless some despoiling hand has cut them down--which Heaven forbid! If ever I re-visit that place, I shall gaze with reverence at the old house--for in it I passed some of the happiest days of my life. The antique edifice I christened "The Hermitage." The squalling cats of that neighborhood afforded me a fine opportunity for pistol practice. At the end of three years, I had a slight "misunderstanding" with Mr. W----, the proprietor of the Aurora, one of the most stupendously mean men it was ever my misfortune to encounter. He was worthy of being the owner of the only newspaper in Charlestown, alias, "Hogtown." Having civilly requested Mr. W---- to go to the devil at his earliest convenience, I left him and his rookery in disgust, and shifted my quarters over to Boston. Here I engaged largely in literary pursuits, and began to write a series of novels. These were well received by the public, as every Bostonian will recollect. In my next chapter, I shall tell the reader how a gentleman got into difficulties. CHAPTER X _Six weeks in Leverett Street Jail._