AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



probably too rich to be permanently happy. I tired of 

 Brookes' s and Willis's and Crockford's : I had little taste 

 for the play, and betted moderately, and with even success : 

 if I lost I was not depressed : if I won I was not exhilarated. 

 The season was drawing to its close, and I began to discover 

 that I was not fated to escape from sublunary annoyances. 

 I was bored by the dull dinners of stupid placemen who 

 calculated on my borough ; I was persecuted by ancient 

 gentlewomen who wished to rid themselves of daughters that 

 years ago were passees ; a young and titled widow almost 



wooed me to desperation ; and the Dowager of shocked 



me by an assurance that Lord Leatherby expected, from my 

 marked attention at the Horticultural fete, that I would forth- 

 with propose for that sandy-haired fright his daughter. God 

 help me ! little did I suppose that an act of common hu- 

 manity, in sheltering her red ringlets with a broken umbrella, 

 would have been thus tortured by that leaden-headed Lord 

 her sire ! 



I forgot in its proper place to notify an important occur- 

 rence ; it was the death of Mr. James Jones. This personage 

 was owner of a property in Surinam, and one of the repre- 

 sentatives for the borough of bury. A year before his 



death my late uncle had pocketed three thousand pounds, and 

 returned as inoffensive a gentleman as ever snored upon the 

 benches of St. Stephen's. I took his place, next the oaths, 

 and had sufficient grace to sit quiet and listen to other de- 

 claimers, who possessed more talent or more impudence than 

 myself. For some time I was rather undecided in my politics ; 

 but the Ministerial were the quieter benche-s, there I estab- 

 lished myself, and for half a session none slept through a 

 debate with a quieter conscience but curse upon blighted 

 beauty, I was not permitted to remain in happy and unam- 

 bitious celibacy. 



From my first appearance I had been exposed to distant 

 attacks, but as the weather warmed and the town thinned, my 

 persecutors became more daring in their approaches. Did I 

 venture to a Refugee concert, there I was waylaid by the 

 widow. Did I endeavour to steal a ride in Rotten- row, I was 

 directly hunted off by the dame rouge and that infernal Peer 

 her father ; and all that was penniless or passe* marked me as 

 an object of unrelenting importunity. Eventually, I was 

 driven from every place approachable by woman, and having 



