a gambling
house, and buck by day, in Bond-street (for I had returned to London).
I remember well one morning, that his present Majesty was pleased, en
passant, to admire my buckskins--tempora mutantur. Well, gentlemen, one
night at a brawl in our salon, my nose met with a rude hint to move
to the right. I went, in a great panic to the surgeon, who mended the
matter, by moving it to the left. There, thank God! it has rested in
quiet ever since. It is needless to tell you the nature of the quarrel
in which this accident occurred; however, my friends thought it
necessary to remove me from the situation I then held. I went once more
to Ireland, and was introduced to 'a friend of freedom.' I was poor;
that circumstance is quite enough to make a patriot. They sent me to
Paris on a secret mission, and when I returned, my friends were in
prison. Being always of a free disposition, I did not envy them their
situation: accordingly I returned to England. Halting at Liverpool, with
a most debilitated purse, I went into a silversmith's shop to brace it,
and about six months afterwards, I found myself on a marine excursion
to Botany Bay. On my return from that country, I resolved to turn my
literary talents to account. I went to Cambridge, wrote declamations,
and translated Virgil at so much a sheet. My relations (thanks to my
letters, neither few nor far between) soon found me out; they allowed
me (they do so still) half a guinea a week; and upon this and my
declamations, I manage to exist. Ever since, my chief residence has
been at Cambridge. I am an universal favourite with both graduates and
under-graduates. I have reformed my life and my manners, and have become
the quiet, orderly person you behold me. Age tames the fiercest of us--

"'Non sum qualis eram.'

"Betsy, bring me my purl, and be d--d to you.

"It is now vacation time, and I have come to town with the idea of
holding lectures on the state of education. Mr. Dartmore, your health.
Gentlemen, yours. My story is done, and I hope you will pay for the
purl."

CHAPTER LI.

I hate a drunken rogue.--Twelfth Night.

We took an affectionate leave of Mr. Gordon, and found ourselves once
more in the open air; the smoke and the purl had contributed greatly to
the continuance of our inebriety, and we were as much averse to bed
as ever. We conveyed ourselves, laughing and rioting all the way, to a
stand of hackney-coaches. We entered the head of the flock, and drove to