delicate no more, and earns his daily bread; and the Court of Chancery
is unknown--hail to thee, soil of larceny and love! of pickpockets and
principle! of every fraud under heaven, and primeval virtue! daughter of
jails, and mother of empires!--hail to thee, New South Wales! In all my
years--and I am now no boy--and in all my travels--and I am now at the
antipodes--I have never heard any maxim so often as, that time is short;
yet no maxim that ever dropt from human lips is further from the truth.
I appeal to the experience of mankind--to the three hundred heirs of the
British peerage, whom their gouty fathers keep out of their honours and
estates--to the six hundred and sixty-eight candidates for seats in
parliament, which they must wait for till the present sitters die; or
turn rebellious to their noble patrons, or their borough patrons, or
their Jew patrons; or plunge into joint-stock ruin, and expatriate
themselves, for the astonishment of all other countries, and the benefit
of their own;--to the six thousand five hundred heroes of the half-pay,
longing for tardy war;--to the hundred thousand promissory excisemen
lying on the soul of the chancellor of the ex-chequer, and pining for
the mortality of every gauger from the Lizard to the Orkneys;--and, to
club the whole discomfort into one, to the entire race of the fine and
superfine, who breathe the vital air, from five thousand a year to
twenty times the rental, the unhappy population of the realms of
indolence included in Bond Street, St. James's, and the squares.

For my own part, in all my experience of European deficiencies, I have
never found any deficiency of time. 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