g, and a little
skittle-sharping, and a little thimble-rigging. He was not particular.
Bills, however, were his passion. He was under a cloud just now, in
consequence of some bill-dealing transaction, which the Commissioner of
Insolvency had broadly hinted to be like a bill-stealing one. However, he
had wonderful elasticity, and it was to be hoped would soon get over his
little difficulties. Meanwhile, he dined sumptuously, and smoked cigars of
price; occasionally condescending to toss half-crowns in a hat with any of
the other "nobs" incarcerated.

That cap, and the battered worn-out sickly frame beneath (if I would have
the goodness to notice them) were all that were left of a spruce,
rosy-cheeked, glittering young ensign of infantry. He was brought up by an
old maiden aunt, who spent her savings to buy him a commission in the
army. He went from Slowchester Grammar School, to Fastchester Barracks. He
was to live on his pay. He gambled a year's pay away in an evening. He
made thousand guinea bets, and lost them. So the old _denouement_ of the
old story came round as usual. The silver dressing-case, got on
credit--pawned for ready money; the credit-horses sold; more credit-horses
bought; importunate creditors in the barrack-yard; a letter from the
colonel; sale of his commission; himself sold up; then Mr. Aminadab, Mr.
Blowman, Burdon's Hotel, Insolvent Court, a year's remand; and, an after
life embittered by the consciousness of wasted time and talents, and
wantonly-neglected opportunities.

My informant pointed out many duplicates of the gentleman in the
dressing-gown. Also, divers Government clerks, who had attempted to
imitate the nobs in a small way, and had only succeeded to the extent of
sharing the same prison; a mild gray-headed old gentleman who always
managed to get committed for contempt of court; and the one inevitable
baronet of a debtor's prison, who is traditionally supposed to have eight
thousand a year, and to stop in prison because he likes it--though, to say
the truth, this baronet looked, to me, as if he didn't like it at all.

I was sick of all these, and of every thing else in Whitecross-street,
before nine o'clock, when I was at liberty to retire to my cold ward. So
ended my Christmas-day--my first, and, I hope and believe, my last
Christmas-day in prison.

Next morning my welcome friend arrived and set me free. I paid the
gate-fees, and I gave the turnkeys a crown, and I gave the prisoners
u