Other people keep scrap-books; but I, a scrape-book. It is theirs to insert bon-mots, riddles, anecdotes, caricatures, facetiæ of all kinds; mine to record mischances, failures, accidents, disappointments; in short, as the betters say, I have always a bad book. Witness a few extracts, bitter as extract of bark. April 1st. Married on this day: in the first week of the honeymoon, stumbled over my father-in-law’s beehives! He has 252 bees; thanks to me, he is now able to check them. Some of the insects having an account against me, preferred to _settle_ on my calf. Others swarmed on my hands. My bald head seemed a perfect humming-top! Two hundred and fifty-two stings--it should be “stings--and arrows of outrageous fortune!” But that’s my luck. Rushed bee-blind into the horse-pond, and _torn out_ by Tiger, the house dog. Staggered incontinent into the pig-sty, and collared by the sow--sus. per coll. for kicking her sucklings; recommended oil for my wounds, and none but lamp ditto in the house; relieved of the stings at last--what luck! by 252 operations. 9th. Gave my adored Belinda a black eye, in the open street, aiming at a lad who attempted to snatch her reticule. Belinda’s part taken by a big rascal, as deaf as a post, who wanted to fight me “for striking a woman.” My luck again. 12th. Purchased a mare, warranted so gentle that a lady might ride her, and, indeed, no animal could be quieter, except the leather one, formerly in the Show-room, at Exeter Change. Meant for the first time to ride with Belinda to the Park--put my foot in the stirrup, and found myself on my own back instead of the mare’s. Other men are thrown by their horses, but a saddle does it for me. Well, nothing is so hard as my luck--unless it be the fourth flag or stone from the post at the north corner of Harley Street. 14th. Run down in a wherry by a coal-brig, off Greenwich, but providentially picked up by a steamer, that burst her boiler directly afterwards. Saved to be scalded!--But misfortunes with me never came single, from my very childhood. I remember when my little brothers and sisters tumbled down stairs, they always hitched halfway at the angle. _My_ luck invariably turned the corner. It could not bear to bate me a single bump. 17th. Had my eye picked out by a pavior who was _axing_ his way, he didn’t care where. Sent home in a hackney chariot that upset. Paid Jarvis a sovereign for a shilling. My luck all over! 1st of May. My flue on fire. Not a sweep to be had for love or money!--Lucky enough _for me_--the parish engine soon arrived, with all the charity school. Boys are fond of playing--and indulged their propensity by playing into my best drawing-room. Every friend I had dropped in to dinner. Nothing but Lacedemonian black broth. Others have pot-luck, but I have not even pint-luck--at least of the right sort.