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Some, even orthodox people, say that life is a game of chance, and ruled by luck; and to prove it they show instances of successful spoonies, while clever fellows like me are always kept in the back ground. Notwithstanding these instances, I don’t believe in the luck theory, either at the fair, or in the game of life. The master of the gaming table can and does divert the ball to the colour he wants, and, as Virgil says, “Fate diverts our course, and fate we must obey.” I believe with Napoleon in destiny. Like the lucky pock at the fair, life is also all prizes, and no blanks; but to be successful we must venture, we must put forth our hand and draw the prize. The cat in gloves catches no mice, says Poor Richard, and the unlucky man has generally himself to blame for his bad luck. Nature is impartial in the distribution of her prizes, and where she falls short in one thing, she makes it up by another. I see some have riches without brains, and some have brains without riches. In my own case I am poor, but my poverty is more than compensated by a form faultless and beautiful as Adonis. All the ladies are in love with me, and no wonder.
I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth. The flowery paths of life were not for me to tread on. I had and have still to travel the rough turnpike. My young school boy dream of professional greatness and celebrity, was soon dispelled by the stern actualities of life. I was early thrown into
