For a year I lived a gay and glorious life in some of the freest society in London; at the end of that time, my tradesmen, without any provocation on my part, sent in their bills.

I found myself in the very absurd position of having no money to pay them, and told them all so with the frankness which is one of the best sides of my character.

They received my advances toward a better understanding with brutal incivility, and treated me soon afterward with a want of confidence which I may forgive, but can never forget.

One day, a dirty stranger touched me on the shoulder, and showed me a dirty slip of paper which I at first presumed to be his card.
Before I could tell him what a vulgar document it looked like, two more dirty strangers put me into a hackney coach.

Before I could prove to them that this proceeding was a gross infringement on the liberties of the British subject, I found myself lodged within the walls of a prison.
Well! and what of that?
Who am I that I should object to being in prison, when so many of the royal personages and illustrious characters of history have been there before me?
Can I not carry on my vocation in greater comfort here than I could in my father's house?
Have I any anxieties outside these walls?
No: for my beloved sister is married--the family net has landed Mr.Batterbury at last.