of your life--written perfectly truthfully by an omniscient author? 鈥淥ye, compay,鈥?they鈥檇 say. 鈥淟isten up, my friend. We鈥檙e going to start a chisme, a little whisper,that you鈥檙e a top amateur from back east. The gringos are gonna love it, man. Every gabacho in thehouse is going to bet their kids on you.鈥? The Tarahumara knelt, looping the leather thong around and around their ankles and high up ontheir calves, adjusting the tautness as carefully as you鈥檇 tune a guitar string. It鈥檚 a fine art, custom-fitting a strip of rubber to the bottom of your foot with a single lash of leather so it doesn鈥檛 shift orflop for eighty-seven miles of gritty, rocky trail. Then they were up and gone, hard on JohnnySandoval鈥檚 heels. By the time Ann Trason arrived at the aid station, Martimano Cervantes andJuan Herrera were out of sight. 双色球6十2复式多少钱 鈥淥ye, compay,鈥?they鈥檇 say. 鈥淟isten up, my friend. We鈥檙e going to start a chisme, a little whisper,that you鈥檙e a top amateur from back east. The gringos are gonna love it, man. Every gabacho in thehouse is going to bet their kids on you.鈥? being frank! I came away from chapel very sober. The lawyer Chaffanbrass made his first appearance in this novel, and I do not think that I have cause to be ashamed of him. But this novel now is chiefly noticeable to me from the fact that in it I introduced a character under the name of Sir Gregory Hardlines, by which I intended to lean very heavily on that much loathed scheme of competitive examination, of which at that time Sir Charles Trevelyan was the great apostle. Sir Gregory Hardlines was intended for Sir Charles Trevelyan 鈥?as any one at the time would know who had taken an interest in the Civil Service. 鈥淲e always call him Sir Gregory,鈥?Lady Trevelyan said to me afterwards, when I came to know her and her husband. I never learned to love competitive examination; but I became, and am, very fond of Sir Charles Trevelyan. Sir Stafford Northcote, who is now Chancellor of the Exchequer, was then leagued with his friend Sir Charles, and he too appears in The Three Clerks under the feebly facetious name of Sir Warwick West End. From the winter of 1821, when I first read Bentham, and especially from the commencement of the Westminster Review, I had what might truly be called an object in life; to be a reformer of the world. My conception of my own happiness was entirely identified with this object. The personal sympathies I wished for were those of fellow labourers in this enterprise. I endeavoured to pick up as many flowers as I could by the way; but as a serious and permanent personal satisfaction to rest upon, my whole reliance was placed on this; and I was accustomed to felicitate myself on the certainty of a happy life which I enjoyed, through placing my happiness in something durable and distant, in which some progress might be always making, while it could never be exhausted by complete attainment. This did very well for several years, during which the general improvement going on in the world and the idea of myself as engaged with others in struggling to promote it, seemed enough to fill up an interesting and animated existence. But the time came when I awakened from this as from a dream. It was in the autumn of 1826. I was in a dull state of nerves, such as everybody is occasionally liable to; unsusceptible to enjoyment or pleasurable excitement; one of those moods when what is pleasure at other times, becomes insipid or indifferent; the state, I should think, in which converts to Methodism usually are, when smitten by their first "conviction of sin." In this frame of mind it occurred to me to put the question directly to myself: "Suppose that all your objects in life were realized; that all the changes in institutions and opinions which you are looking forward to, could be completely effected at this very instant: would this be a great joy and happiness to you?" And an irrepressible self-consciousness distinctly answered, "No!" At this my heart sank within me: the whole foundation on which my life was constructed fell down. All my happiness was to have been found in the continual pursuit of this end. The end had ceased to charm, and how could there ever again be any interest in the means? I seemed to have nothing left to live for. 鈥淥ye, compay,鈥?they鈥檇 say. 鈥淟isten up, my friend. We鈥檙e going to start a chisme, a little whisper,that you鈥檙e a top amateur from back east. The gringos are gonna love it, man. Every gabacho in thehouse is going to bet their kids on you.鈥? They were all flying from the plague, which was spreading, and emptying the bazaars and workshops. The Exchange being closed, trade was at a standstill, and the poor creatures who were spared by the pestilence were in danger of dying of hunger.