“Jan. 1. —­ New Year’s Day.  Met Snap in the street, groggy.  Mem —­ he’ll do.  Met Gruff shortly afterward, blind drunk.  Mem —­ he’ll answer, too.  Entered both gentlemen in my Ledger, and opened a running account with each.

“Jan. 2. —­ Saw Snap at the Exchange, and went up and trod on his toe.  Doubled his fist and knocked me down.  Good! —­ got up again.  Some trifling difficulty with Bag, my attorney.  I want the damages at a thousand, but he says that for so simple a knock down we can’t lay them at more than five hundred.  Mem —­ must get rid of Bag —­ no system at all.

“Jan. 3 —­ Went to the theatre, to look for Gruff.  Saw him sitting in a side box, in the second tier, between a fat lady and a lean one.  Quizzed the whole party through an opera-glass, till I saw the fat lady blush and whisper to G. Went round, then, into the box, and put my nose within reach of his hand.  Wouldn’t pull it —­ no go.  Blew it, and tried again —­ no go.  Sat down then, and winked at the lean lady, when I had the high satisfaction of finding him lift me up by the nape of the neck, and fling me over into the pit.  Neck dislocated, and right leg capitally splintered.  Went home in high glee, drank a bottle of champagne, and booked the young man for five thousand.  Bag says it’ll do.

“Feb. 15 —­ Compromised the case of Mr. Snap.  Amount entered in Journal —­ fifty cents —­ which see.

“Feb. 16. —­ Cast by that ruffian, Gruff, who made me a present of five dollars.  Costs of suit, four dollars and twenty-five cents.  Nett profit, —­ see Journal,- seventy-five cents.”

Now, here is a clear gain, in a very brief period, of no less than one dollar and twenty-five cents —­ this is in the mere cases of Snap and Gruff; and I solemnly assure the reader that these extracts are taken at random from my Day-Book.

It’s an old saying, and a true one, however, that money is nothing in comparison with health.  I found the exactions of the profession somewhat too much for my delicate state of body; and, discovering, at last, that I was knocked all out of shape, so that I didn’t know very well what to make of the matter, and so that my friends, when they met me in the street, couldn’t tell that I was Peter Proffit at all, it occurred to me that the best expedient I could adopt was to alter my line of business.  I turned my attention, therefore, to Mud-Dabbling, and continued it for some years.

The worst of this occupation is, that too many people take a fancy to it, and the competition is in consequence excessive.  Every ignoramus of a fellow who finds that he hasn’t brains in sufficient quantity to make his way as a walking advertiser, or an eye-sore prig, or a salt-and-batter man, thinks, of course, that he’ll answer very well as a dabbler of mud.  But there never was entertained a more erroneous idea than that it requires no brains to mud-dabble.  Especially, there is nothing to be made in this way