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.R.S.; and an original vigour in the plunder of orchards, which
undoubtedly might have laid the foundation of a first lord of the
treasury; were nature's helps to get rid of this oppressive bounty. But
though I fought the enemy with perpetual vigour and perpetual variety,
he was not to be put to flight by a stripling; and I went to the
university as far from being a conqueror as ever. At Oxford I found the
superabundance of this great gift acknowledged with an openness worthy
of English candour, and combated with the dexterity of an experience
five hundred years old. Port-drinking, flirtation, lounging, the
invention of new ties to cravats, and new tricks on proctors; billiards,
boxing, and barmaids; seventeen ways of mulling sherry, and as many
dozen ways of raising "the supplies," were adopted with an adroitness
that must have baffled all but the invincible. Yet Time was master at
last; and he always indulged me with a liberality that would have driven
a less resolute spirit to the bottom of the Isis.