“Profession, talents, offices of the State! Are you mad, John Perkins, that you come to me with such insufferable twaddle as this? Why, do you think if you HAD been capable of rising at the bar, I would have taken so much trouble about getting you a place? No, sir; you are too fond of pleasure, and bed, and tea-parties, and small-talk, and reading novels, and playing the flute, and writing sonnets. You would no more rise at the bar than my messenger, sir. It was because I knew your disposition--that hopeless, careless, irresolute good-humour of yours--that I had determined to keep you out of danger, by placing you in a snug shelter, where the storms of the world would not come near you. You must have principles forsooth! and you must marry Miss Gorgon, of course: and by the time you have gone ten circuits, and had six children, you will have eaten up every shilling of your wife's fortune, and be as briefless as you are now. Who the deuce has put all this nonsense into your head? I think I know.” Mr. Perkins's ears tingled as these hard words saluted them; and he scarcely knew whether he ought to knock his uncle down, or fall at his feet and say, “Uncle, I have been a fool, and I know it.” The fact is, that in his interview with Miss Gorgon and her aunt in the morning, when he came to tell them of the resolution he had formed to give up the place, both the ladies and John himself had agreed, with a thousand rapturous tears and exclamations, that he was one of the noblest young men that ever lived, had acted as became himself, and might with perfect propriety give up the place, his talents being so prodigious that no power on earth could hinder him from being Lord Chancellor. Indeed, John and Lucy had always thought the clerkship quite beneath him, and were not a little glad, perhaps, at finding a pretext for decently refusing it. But as Perkins was a young gentleman whose candour was such that he was always swayed by the opinions of the last speaker, he did begin to feel now the truth of his uncle's statements, however disagreeable they might be. Mr. Crampton continued:-- “I think I know the cause of your patriotism. Has not William Pitt Scully, Esquire, had something to do with it?” Mr. Perkins COULD not turn any redder than he was, but confessed with deep humiliation that “he HAD consulted Mr. Scully among other friends.” Mr. Crampton smiled--drew a letter from a heap before him, and tearing off the signature, handed over the document to his nephew. It contained the following paragraphs:-- “Hawksby has sounded Scully: we can have him any day we want him. He talks very big at present, and says he would not take anything under a... This is absurd. He has a Yorkshire nephew coming up to town, and wants a place for him. There is one vacant in the Tape Office, he says: have you not a promise of it?” “I can't--I can't believe it,” said John; “this, sir, is some weak invention of the enemy. Scully is the most honourable man breathing.”