their hearts. Some aspire to military glory and the fame of
a great general, some yearn after political eminence, and fashion to
themselves the triumphs of successful statesmanship. There are lesser
goals in the walks of the learned professions which have each their
votaries; and sanguine spirits there are who found, in imagination,
distant colonies beyond the sea, or lead lives of adventure in exploring
unvisited and unknown regions. Annesley Beecher had no sympathy with
any of these. The one great and absorbing wish of his heart was to be a
"sharp fellow;" one who in all the dealings and traffic of life was sure
to get the upper hand of his adversary, who in every trial where craft
was the master, and in whatever situation wherein cunning performed a
part, was certain to come out with the creditable reputation of being,
"for a gentleman, the downiest cove to be met with anywhere."

This unhappy bent was owing to the circumstance of his being early
thrown amongst men who, having nothing but their wits to depend upon,
had turned these same wits to very discreditable purposes. He became,
it is needless to say, their easy dupe; and when utterly bereft of
the small patrimony which he once possessed, was admitted as an humble
brother of the honorable guild who had despoiled him.

Men select their walk in life either from the consciousness of certain
qualities likely to obtain success, or by some overweening admiration of
those already eminent in it. It was this latter decided Beecher's taste.
Never was there one who cherished such profound respect for a crafty
fellow, for all other intellectual superiorities he could limit his
esteem: for a rogue, his veneration was unbounded. From the man
that invented a bubble company, to him who could turn the king at
_ecarte_--from the gifted individual who could puff up shares to an
exorbitant value, to the no less fine intelligence that could "make
everything safe on the Derby," he venerated them all. His early
experiences had been unhappy ones, and so constantly had he found
himself duped and "done" on every hand, that he ended by believing that
honesty was a pure myth; the nearest approach to the quality being a
certain kind of fidelity to one's "pall," as he would have called it,
and an unwillingness to put "your own friend in the hole," while there
were so many others available for that pleasant destiny. This little
flickering flame of principle, this farthing candle of good feeli