he following term I entered at
Cambridge, as my father had originally planned; and in due time, upon
obtaining my degree, was admitted into holy orders. My first curacy,
it is singular enough, was obtained through the influence of our
friend the Walworth banker, and was that of St ----'s, in his
neighbourhood, but nearer to town, and the centre of a poor but
densely peopled district. The scene of life I now entered upon was
truly laborious and painful. Resolved to perform its duties diligently
to the best of my ability, I found every moment I could spare from
refreshment and sleep hardly sufficient for the claims which the
Comfortless, whom I had to console, the Sick, whom I had to succour,
the Profligate, to reclaim, the Sceptic, to convince, made upon my
time. Wholesome and profitable to my spirit, I trust, was this
discipline! It seems to me a thing inexplicable, how a man can
advocate the interests, the benefits of religion--can impress upon
others the divine precepts of Christianity, and be himself not a
partaker in the blessings he imparts. Such a one, I hope, I have long
ceased to be; and although I do not profess to have attained that
degree of zealous fervour and devotion, which sees, in the light and
graceful relaxations of life nothing but the darkness and allurements
of sin, I humbly believe I have endeavoured to make my course, as much
as in me was possible, conformable to the doctrines I have taught.

Upon settling in London, I gladly renewed my acquaintance with the
Sainsburys; yet so arduous were the duties of my profession, that, for
the first two years in which I resided in St ----'s parish, I saw but
little of this amiable family. Towards the close of that period, the
aid of an additional curate, appointed to assist in the district,
afforded me a little more leisure time, and I was enabled occasionally
to spend an evening at Walworth. In passing to and from my friend's
house, I now and then met, and ever with renewed interest and
surprise, the dark PAIR still plodding their melancholy, interminable
rounds. The last time I beheld them, I remember calculating, as they
passed me, the number of years they had been thus incomprehensibly
associated, and speculating on how many more should elapse before age
and death terminated that melancholy partnership. In about two months
after, I dined at the banker's, and the first intelligence with which
John Sainsbury greeted me, was the news that the milkman of Walw