For the first time I had a motive for exertion; I no longer vegetated; I had a friend, and my real life commenced from that day.

I set apart two hours each night for reading and study, and soon felt a keen relish for the employment.
"In these lie your best hope of independence, Geoffrey," said my kind friend, laying his hand upon a pile of books, which, for lack of a table, he placed upon the truck-bed in my mean garret.

Then seating himself beside me on the shabby couch, he proceeded to examine, by the light of a miserable tallow-candle, a translation I had been making from the Orations of Cicero.
"With your talents, Geoffrey, you need not fear the tyranny of any man.
It will be your own fault if you do not rise in the profession you have chosen." "The choice was none of mine." "Then be grateful to your uncle for once, in having chosen it for you." "Do not expect impossibilities!" and I smiled bitterly.
"Not exactly.

Yet, Geoffrey, many things which appear at first sight impossible, only require a series of persevering efforts to become both easy and practicable.

You might render your unpleasant position with your uncle more tolerable, by yielding to his authority with a better grace.