But before I proceed to the regular current of my narrative, I should mention an incident of some importance, which occurred soon after my arrival in London; indeed, it cannot be said that I very strictly confine myself to any regular story. The course of my biography is like the character of my life, somewhat desultory, and the events seem to arise from causes apparently inadequate to their consequences. I ever felt that I was out of my road; not in peril, but the events when they came to pass were somehow uniformly untoward. The course was like those wild American streams, sometimes dividing their force into different channels, occasionally on the one side of the island that sends the flow in different directions, passing onward in a sober current, while on the other they are hurried into turbulent rapids.

On the day immediately following my arrival, I took out my letters and arranged them in different classes to be in that order delivered. Those that I expected would facilitate my business arrangements were placed in the first class, and received priority of attention. Those of the second, that were to bespeak for me the friendship of private gentlemen, constituted the second. The third were more miscellaneous, consisting of introductions to persons of public note, but I had only one that was not specific,—the one from Leezy Eglesham to Sir Neil Eccles: it seemed to me the least particular, and ought in consequence to be made an object of curiosity deserving no ordinary attention.