He now thought that time near at hand; and filling our hero's glass up to the brim, thus artfully addressed him:-- "Courage, my friend! Your narration has given me a sensible pleasure; for curse me if it has not strengthened my favourite opinion,--that everything is for the best.

If it had not been for the meanness of that pitiful fellow, MacGrawler, you might still be inspired with the paltry ambition of earning a few shillings a week and vilifying a parcel of poor devils in the what-d'ye-call it, with a hard name; whereas now, my good Paul, I trust I shall be able to open to your genius a new career, in which guineas are had for the asking,--in which you may wear fine clothes, and ogle the ladies at Ranelagh; and when you are tired of glory and liberty, Paul, why, you have only to make your bow to an heiress, or a widow with a spanking jointure, and quit the hum of men like a Cincinnatus!" Though Paul's perception into the abstruser branches of morals was not very acute,--and at that time the port wine had considerably confused the few notions he possessed upon "the beauty of virtue,"-- yet he could not but perceive that Mr.Pepper's insinuated proposition was far from being one which the bench of bishops or a synod of moralists would conscientiously have approved.

He consequently remained silent; and Long Ned, after a pause, continued:-- "You know my genealogy, my good fellow?
I was the son of Lawyer Pepper, a shrewd old dog, but as hot as Calcutta; and the grandson of Sexton Pepper, a great author, who wrote verses on tombstones, and kept a stall of religious tracts in Carlisle.

My grandfather, the sexton, was the best temper of the family; for all of us are a little inclined to be hot in the mouth.

Well, my fine fellow, my father left me his blessing, and this devilish good head of hair.