Money went like the wind; champagne
grew scanty; the trust of tailors ran down to the dregs; the smiles of
my fair flirts grew rare as diamonds--every thing became as dry, dull,
and stagnant as the Serpentine in summer; but time never failed me. I
had a perpetual abundance of a commodity which the philosophers told me
was beyond price. I had not merely enough for myself, but enough to give
to others; until I discovered the fact, that it was as little a
favourite with others as myself, and that, whatever the plausible might
say, there was nothing on earth for which they would not be more obliged
to me than a donation of my superfluous time. But now let me give a
sketch of my story. A single fact is worth a hundred reflections. The
first consciousness that I remember, was that of having a superabundance
of time; and my first ingenuity was demanded for getting rid of the
encumbrance. I had always an hour that perplexed my skill to know what
to do with this treasure. A schoolboy turn for long excursions in any
direction but that of my pedagogue, indicative of a future general
officer; a naturalist-taste for bird-nesting, which, in maturer years,
would have made me one of the wonders of the Linnaean Society; a passion
for investigating the inside of every thing, from a Catherine-wheel to a
China-closet, which would yet have entitled me to the honours of an
F.
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