he requested me to sit down and take a cup of tea with him, as he was
suffering, both from pain, and fatigue, and _ennui_. I never saw him in
so desponding an humour. He promised to dine with me on the morrow,
provided I would sit with him for an hour "gossiping," for he said that
he could not sleep, he could not sit still, he could not read or write.
I complied with his request, and stayed with him a long time. In the
course of conversation, I recollect him saying, that "He supposed he was
not to get on in the law; that he could not fight against the want of a
connexion." I reminded him that it was surely premature to hold such
language, and that he must bide his time,--when he interrupted me by
saying, shaking his head, "Ah, but while the grass grows the steed
starves." Presently he said, rather suddenly, "Should you be surprised
to hear of my entering the church?" "The church!" I echoed with
surprise.--"What do you see so wonderful in the notion of my going into
the church?" said he gravely. "Do you think me unfit for it?"--"Not at
all; but what I wonder at is, that you should dream of quitting the
bar."--"Why not, if I find that it will not afford me a living? Let me
tell you, that I am very partial to the study of Divinity, and have read
a good deal of it, much more than you would suppose. I think I should
like composing sermons, though it is very possible that they might not
be popular; and I suppose you will not deny that Divinity is a nobler
study than law?" He said much more in the same strain, which led me to
believe that the subject had for some time occupied his thoughts, and
that he had begun seriously to contemplate quitting the bar--at all
events, if another year should leave him as little likely to succeed in
obtaining practice, as that which was on the eve of closing. Many of
even his intimate friends were unaware of his partiality for Divinity,
and the extent to which he had studied it; for he was very reserved on
such matters.