and get killed, so you must make up your mind never to be a soldier."

"Then," answered I proudly, "I will be a poet." Hereupon Artemisia and
Serventius laughed, and informed me that the profession of a poet, if such
it might be termed, was the most laborious, thankless, and ill requited of
any, and that to be a poet, was in fact little better than being an
honourable mendicant. The Church and the Bar were mentioned, but as I
expressed a decided antipathy to them, Serventius named the medical
profession.

"Yes," said I, with great glee, "I like that, and I will be a doctor;" for
the bustle, importance, visiting, and gossiping of the honourable
fraternity of physicians, had given me an idea that the profession itself
was one of unmingled pleasure! Hapless choice! Miserable infatuation! And
shall I most blame myself for selecting that which has caused my present
fatal situation, or the foolish fondness which placed in the hands of a
child, the decision of his future fate? But, let me proceed; the first
faint glimmerings of dawn are stealing into my grated cell, and, at
noon--I shudder...

Shortly after this memorable conversation, Andrea and Servilius appeared
overwhelmed with affliction, and one evening brought home with them a
large package, containing as I supposed, new clothes; next morning, I
found that those which I had been accustomed to wear had been removed
whilst I slept, and in their stead, suits of the very deepest mourning
appeared. I dressed myself in one of these, and upon asking Servilius and
his wife the meaning of this change, was answered by Andrea with so wild a
burst of grief, and incoherent lamentation, that I durst inquire no
further. After they had gone forth to their daily employment I also
quitted the cottage for a stroll, and detected a woman pointing me out to