ingratitude, and reminds me that formerly he
lent me pounds whenever I wanted them. It is
hopeless to try and make Shuffleton see that
in lending him half a sovereign (when I have
one), which I can ill spare, and which he
will never repay, I am making a greater
sacrifice, and showing more real generosity, than
he ever made or showed, when he
entertained me for a week, and sent me away
with the loan of a ten-pound note. Knowing
that Shuffleton is impenetrable to this
reasoning, I feel as much hurt as though I were
the monster of ingratitude which he believes
me to be.

Shuffleton is not the only man who has leagued
himself with misfortune to thin the circle of my
friends and embitter the joys of my life. There
is Idleton. Idleton used to be a smart,
presentable, companionable fellow, when he was
content to be chief-clerk to a commercial firm in
the City. But Idleton became possessed by the
insane notion that he was cut out to shine in
literature; but the only thing which shines in him
in that connexion are the knees of his trousers.
I may say, also, that I have no great antipathy
to poems in blank verse, and tragedies in five
acts, when I meet with them in the printed
volume, which I can lay aside when I am weary
of it; but, when they are persistently read to
me by the author from the original manuscript
whenever I fall in his way, I am bound to own
that I have no toleration for them whatever.
Since Idleton began to shine in literature, I
have taken considerable pains to avoid him. I
am changed, he says. I have grown proud. I have
forsaken him. What nonsense! It is Idleton
who has changed; it is Idleton who has forsaken
me. Forswear the Muses (and sack), Idleton,
indue thyself in a pair of new sixteen shilling
trousers, return to the commercial firm in the
City, and there's my heart, and there's my hand
once more.

The way in which my once valued friend
Muddleton plunged headlong into misfortune,
merits the utmost rigour of the law. I really
think that he loves misfortune. He fairly
wallows in it. There is nothing that he seems
to like better than to have a severe cold, and be
bankrupt and wet through all at once. At the
time that I grappled Muddleton to my soul with
hooks of steel, he was managing man to Blankton
and Co. He never had a cold, nor was bankrupt,
nor wet through then. On the contrary,
he was the most comfortable dry and solvent man
of my acquaintance. But Muddleton aspired to
rule and not to serve. He set up for himself in
a damp office in Little Britain, and rheumatism
and insolvency became chronic with him from
that moment. Now, if there be a disastrous
speculation to be engaged in anywhere, Muddleton
will find it out and engage in it. If there be a
shower of rain anywhere, Muddleton is sure to
be in it without an umbrella. I never see
Muddleton but he is either wet through, or
has the marks (particularly on his hat) of
having been wet through at some not remote
period in the past. I fear that he thinks me
ungenerous and unfeeling, because I do not
grapple him to my soul as heretofore. How
unreasonable! 'Tis he who has unloosed
the hooks, not I. Let Muddleton get dry
and solvent (a not impossible paradox), and
my arms will be open to receive him. as of
yore. Nay, I will kill the fatted calf and rejoice.

I had a very excellent friend once who turned
his back upon me, by letting me and the
public know that he had been for years in
the habit of robbing a bank: there was another
who made himself a stranger to me by
obtaining a five-pound note for a distressed
widow; and there was a third who separated
himself from me (by a vast tract of the ocean),
by attaching a signature to a slip of stamped
paper.

These be some of the friends who have gone
down and left me. Let me mention a few who
have gone up and left me. There was Toppleton.
Toppleton was one of the oldest and dearest
friends I ever had. We were friends in our
youth, and we grew up in friendship to
manhood. We were inseparable. Toppleton's society
was enough for me at any time; my society
seemed to be enough for Toppleton. Nothing
pleased Toppleton more than to come to my
lodging and sit half the night and smoke his pipe
and drink his grog, and talk Shakespeare, taste,
and the musical-glasses. Nothing pleased me
more than to go to Toppleton's lodging and do
ditto. We had very little money, either of us;
but, what we had, we shared freely. I have
borrowed five shillings of Toppleton many a time,
and he has as often borrowed five shillings of
me. We concerted many plans for making our
fortunes together. Many a time, before parting
for the night, have we stood at the corner of a
street, and laid out a brilliant future for
ourselves. It is not more than five years, since we
settled a notable project in this manner, and
when we went into a neighbouring tavern to
drink success to it, we had only fivepence in
coppers between us. It was quite an understood
thing that our fortunes should be in common.
I have had no quarrel with Toppleton: not an
angry word has passed between us; but I would
not go to him now and ask him for the loan of
five shillings if I were starving. Toppleton has
become a rich man. Wealth began to fall upon
him in a gentle shower one morning, and
(probably while he was thinking of sending for me
to take my share of the golden rain) it came on
heavier, and poured so hard that he forgot me,
I suppose. He came to spend an evening with
me, and drank his grog and smoked a cigar.
But he no longer talked Shakespeare, taste,
and the musical-glasses. He talked Toppleton.
An amount of egotism cropped out of his
conversation which I had never suspected. It had
evidently been a long suppressed conviction of
his that Shakespeare was a fool to Toppleton.
I did not fall in with this view, and Toppleton
and I met less frequently. We did not,
however part company finally, until Toppleton
mounted a horse. That high horse put a great