into a waistcoat. I disdained at eight the language of the vulgar, and
when my father asked me to fetch his slippers, I replied, that my soul
swelled beyond the limits of a lackey's. At nine, I was self-inoculated
with propriety of ideas. I rejected malt with the air of His Majesty, and
formed a violent affection for maraschino; though starving at school, I
never took twice of pudding, and paid sixpence a week out of my shilling
to have my shoes blacked. As I grew up, my notions expanded. I gave
myself, without restraint, to the ambition that burnt within me--I cut my
old friends, who were rather envious than emulous of my genius, and I
employed three tradesmen to make my gloves--one for the hand, a second
for the fingers, and a third for the thumb! These two qualities made me
courted and admired by a new race--for the great secrets of being courted
are to shun others, and seem delighted with yourself. The latter is
obvious enough; who the deuce should be pleased with you, if you yourself
are not?

"Before I left college I fell in love. Other fellows, at my age, in such
a predicament, would have whined--shaved only twice a week, and written
verses. I did none of the three--the last indeed I tried, but, to my
infinite surprise, I found my genius was not universal. I began with

"'Sweet nymph, for whom I wake my muse.'

"For this, after considerable hammering, I could only think of the rhyme
'shoes'--so I began again,--

"'Thy praise demands much softer lutes.'

"And the fellow of this verse terminated like myself in 'boots.'--Other
efforts were equally successful--'bloom' suggested to my imagination no