At school I was once more to be “taken care of;” consequently I pined to death in a wretched single-bedded room, shuddering with inconceivable horror at the slightest sound, and conjuring up legions of imaginary sprites to haunt my couch during my waking hours of dread and misery.  O how I envied the reckless laughter of the gleeful urchins whose unmindful parents left them to the happy utterance of their own and participation in their young companions’ thoughts!

As a parlour boarder, which I was of course, “to be taken care of,” I was not looked upon as one of the “fellows,” but merely as a little upstart—­one who most likely was pumped by the master and mistress, and peached upon the healthy rebels of the little world.

Christmas brought me no joys.  “Taking care of my health” prevented me from skating and snow-balling; while perspective surfeits deprived me of the enjoyments of the turkeys, beef, and glorious pudding.

At eighteen I entered as a gentleman commoner at ——­ College, Cambridge; and at nineteen a suit of solemn black, and the possession of five thousand a year, bespoke me heir to all my father left; and from that hour have I had cause to curse the title of this paper.  Young and inexperienced, I entered wildly into all the follies wealth can purchase or fashion justify; but I was still to be the victim of the phrase.  “We’ll take care of him,” said a knot of the most determined play-men upon town; and they did.  Two years saw my five thousand per annum reduced to one, but left me with somewhat more knowledge of the world.  Even that was turned against me; and prudent fathers shook their heads, and sagely cautioned their own young scapegraces “to take care of me.”

All was not yet complete.  A walk down Bond Street was interrupted by a sudden cry, “That’s him—­take care of him!” I turned by instinct, and was arrested at the suit of a scoundrel whose fortune I had made, and who in gratitude had thus pointed me out to the myrmidon of the Middlesex sheriff.  I was located in a lock-up house, and thence conveyed to jail.  In both instances the last words I heard in reference to myself were “Take care of him.”  I sacrificed almost my all, and once more regained my liberty.  Fate seemed to turn!  A friend lent me fifty pounds.  I pledged my honour for its repayment.  He promised to use his interest for my future welfare.  I kept my word gratefully; returned the money on the day appointed.  I did so before one who knew me by report only, and looked upon me as a ruined, dissipated, worthless Extravagant.  I returned to an adjoining room to wait my friend’s coming.  While there, I could not avoid hearing the following colloquy—­

“Good Heaven! has that fellow actually returned your fifty?”

“Yes.  Didn’t you see him?”

“Of course I did; but I can scarcely believe my eyes.  Oh! he’s a deep one.”

“He’s a most honourable young man.”

“How can you be so green?  He has a motive in it.”