The ancient gentleman to whom his sire had consigned him must have been proud of his young friend. The latter was at dice one half the night, at balls and assemblies the other half; and he was in bed all day. His gains were devoted not to the comfort of his appetite or the nourishment of his intellect, but almost exclusively to dress. He eclipsed every beau of whatever rank: the women adored, the men hated him, but all acknowledged that a spirited young fellow, who had been expelled college, had found it convenient to withdraw from the army, who was a Templar “for the fun of the thing,” and who was all gold lace and gallantry, was worthy of being the leader of the “_ton_;” and for that matter they were perfectly right. He was the conductor of the entertainments given by the Middle Temple to William the Third. The Monarch was so pleased with the Master of the Ceremonies that he offered to make him a knight. “That depends,” said the impudent beau, “upon what sort of a chevalier your Majesty would make of me. If it were a ‘poor knight of Windsor,’ I should be rich at once, and well content.” The King shook his head, and Nash lost the honour. He made up for it by gaining them at whist; and he was so good-tempered a player that even his adversaries bore his triumphs without cursing him—much. The truth is, that he was a terrible rake; but he was not a dishonourable fellow, according to the then existing code of honour. The Templars entrusted him with some portion of their funds. His accounts were once ten pounds short of correctness, and he accounted for its deficit by saying, that he had heard a poor fellow say that ten pounds would make him happy, and he could not resist giving him that sum. The charity was something like that of Mrs. Haller, who gave away her master’s wine to the sick, and got a character for generosity thereby. However, the Templar auditors passed the accounts. The beau’s story was probably true, for he was quick to feel for others, and the readiest man at a lie of his own or any other period. Nash never frittered away his money in paying his debts. “Doing that vulgar sort of thing,” said he, “never procures you a friend; lending money _does_!” and he was ready to lend to the great when the dice favoured him. The young gentleman’s maxim was quite worthy of one whose “indignant parient” had constituted him a ward of the devil.