ed for a
profession where mere industry alone was to ensure success. I could not
suppress my lurking passion for applause; but usually consumed that
time in efforts after excellence which takes up but little room, when
it should have been more advantageously employed in the diffusive
productions of fruitful mediocrity. My little piece would therefore come
forth in the mist of periodical publication, unnoticed and unknown.
The public were more importantly employed, than to observe the easy
simplicity of my style, of the harmony of my periods. Sheet after sheet
was thrown off to oblivion. My essays were buried among the essays
upon liberty, eastern tales, and cures for the bite of a mad dog; while
Philautos, Philalethes, Philelutheros, and Philanthropos, all wrote
better, because they wrote faster, than I.

'Now, therefore, I began to associate with none but disappointed
authors, like myself, who praised, deplored, and despised each other.
The satisfaction we found in every celebrated writer's attempts, was
inversely as their merits. I found that no genius in another could
please me. My unfortunate paradoxes had entirely dried up that source
of comfort. I could neither read nor write with satisfaction; for
excellence in another was my aversion, and writing was my trade.

'In the midst of these gloomy reflections, as I was one day sitting on a
bench in St James's park, a young gentleman of distinction, who had been
my intimate acquaintance at the university, approached me. We saluted
each other with some hesitation, he almost ashamed of being known to
one who made so shabby an appearance, and I afraid of a repulse. But
my suspicions soon vanished; for Ned Thornhill was at the bottom a very
good-natured fellow.

'What did you say, George?' interrupted I. 'Thornhill, was not that his
name? It can certainly be no other than my landlord.'--'Bless me,' cried
Mrs Arnold, 'is Mr Thornhill so near a neighbour of yours? He has long
been a friend in our family, and we expect a visit from him shortly.'

'My friend's first care,' continued my son, 'was to alter my appearance
by a very fine suit of his own cloaths, and then I was admitted to his
table upon the footing of half-friend, half-underling. My business was
to attend him at auctions, to put him in spirits when he sate for
his picture, to take the left hand in his chariot when not filled by
another, and to assist at tattering a kip, as the phrase was, when
we had a mind for