I was educated for the church, but my father died while I was at
college, and I lost the curacy, which was in the gift of my uncle,
through the pretty face of a city merchant's daughter, who wrote a
sonnet to my worthy relative on his recovery from a fit of the gout, and
obtained the curacy for her brother in exchange for her effusion. What
was to be done? I offered myself as tutor to a young gentleman who was
to study the classics until he was of age, and then to turn fox-hunter
to supply the place of his deceased father; but I was considered by his
relations to be too good-looking to be domesticated in the house of a
rich widow under fifty, and I had the satisfaction of seeing the vacant
seat in the family coach filled by an old, sandy-haired M.A., with bow
legs and a squint--handsome or ugly, it availed not; a face had twice
ruined my prospects; I was at my wit's end! I could not turn fine
gentleman, for I had not brass enough to make my veracity a pander to my
voracity; I could not turn tradesman, for I had not gold enough even to
purchase a yard measure, or to lay in a stock of tapes. My heart bounded
at the idea of the army; but I thought of it like a novice--of wounds
and gallant deeds; of fame and laurels; I was obliged to look closer--my
relations were neither noblemen nor bankers, and I found that even the
Colonial corps were becoming aristocratical and profuse; the navy--I
walked from London to Chatham on speculation; saw the second son of an
earl covered with tar, out at elbows and at heels, and I returned to
town, fully satisfied that here I certainly had no chance. I offered
myself as clerk to a wealthy brewer, and, at length, I was accepted--
this was an opening! I registered malt, hops, ale, and small-beer, till
I began to feel as though the world was one vast brewhouse; and
calculated, added, and subtracted pounds, shillings, and pence, until
all other lore appeared "stale, flat, and unprofitable." I was in this
counting-house four years, and was, finally, discharged by my prudent