With these words, Mr. Jonson unlocked a wardrobe in the room, and
produced a full suit of rusty black.

"There!" said he, with an air of satisfaction--"there! this will be your
first step to the pulpit."

I doffed my own attire, and with "some natural sighs," at the deformity
of my approaching metamorphosis, I slowly inducted myself in the clerical
garments: they were much too wide, and a little too short for me; but
Jonson turned me round, as if I were his eldest son, breeched for the
first time--and declared, with an emphatical oath, that the clothes
fitted me to a hair.

My host next opened a tin dressing box, of large dimensions, from which
he took sundry powders, lotions, and paints. Nothing but my extreme
friendship for Glanville could ever have supported me through the
operation I then underwent. My poor complexion, thought I, with tears in
my eyes, it is ruined for ever. To crown all--Jonson robbed me, by four
clips of his scissars, of the luxuriant locks which, from the pampered
indulgence so long accorded to them, might have rebelled against the new
dynasty, which Jonson now elected to the crown. This consisted of a
shaggy, but admirably made wig, of a sandy colour. When I was thus
completely attired from head to foot, Job displayed me to myself before a
full length looking glass.

Had I gazed at the reflection for ever, I should not have recognized
either my form or visage. I thought my soul had undergone a real
transmigration, and not carried to its new body a particle of the
original one. What appeared the most singular was, that I did not seem