I did not _finish_, as it is called, my college _education_. My father’s death compelled me to leave it before the expiration of the usual period, at the end of which the same distinction is conferred on all capacities, by the academical noometry, not of merit but of time. I found myself almost destitute; but I felt the consciousness of talents, that I doubted not would amply provide for me in that great centre of intellect and energy, London. To London I accordingly went, and became a boarder in the humble dwelling of a widow, who maintained herself and an only daughter by the perilous and precarious income derived from lodgers. [Illustration: ‘_My dear sir, only take the trouble of sitting a few hours in my shop._’] My first application was to a bookseller in Bond Street, to whom I offered the copyright of a treatise on the Elements of Morals. ‘My dear sir,’ said he, with an air of supercilious politeness, ‘only take the trouble of sitting a few hours in my shop, and if you detect any one of my customers in the act of pronouncing the word _morals_, I will give any price you please to name for your copyright.’ But, glancing over the manuscript, ‘I perceive,’ said he, ‘there are some smart things here; and though they are good for nothing where they are, they would cut a pretty figure in a Review. My friend Mr. Vamp, the editor, is in want of a hand for the moral department of his Review: I will give you a note to him.’ I thanked him for his kindness, and, furnished with the note, proceeded to the lodgings of Mr. Vamp, whom I found in an elegant first floor, lounging over a large quarto, which he was marking with a pencil. A number of books and pamphlets, and fragments of both curiously cut up, were scattered on the table before him, together with a large pot of paste and an enormous pair of scissors.