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 LIBRARY 
 

 
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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2016 
 
 https://archive.org/details/strollingplayero03temp 
 

 THE 
 
 STEOLLING PLAYEE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTUEES 
 
 WILLIAM TEMPLETON. 
 

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 THE 
 
 t 
 
 STROLLING PLAYER; 
 
 OK, 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES 
 
 OF 
 
 WILLIAM te:mpleton. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. III. 
 
 WE ARE SUCH. STUFF AS DREAMS ARE MADE OF, 
 
 SHAKESPB A R. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY B. M<-MILI,AN, 
 BOW-STREET, COVENT - garden: 
 
 SOLD BY H. D. SYMONDS, PATERNOSTEK-HOW. 
 
 1802 , 
 
q-2.n.'i2L_ 
 
 Tg-s? 
 
 THE 
 
 STROLLING PLAYER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 J AWOKE again to life, and found 
 mjself on a strange bed, surrounded 
 by several persons totally unknown to 
 me. They gazed upon me with mmcli 
 anxiety, and I perceived the tear of 
 philanthropy steal down the cheeks of 
 many. 
 
 In a moment I recoIledVed my situa- 
 tion, and the cause from which it 
 sprang. The refleftion overpowered 
 me, and I fainted on the pillow. 
 
 VOL. III. 
 
 B 
 
 On 
 
( o 
 
 On my return to reason, I inquired 
 into the means of my preservation, and 
 learnt that I owed it to a young sailor, 
 who having observed the extravagance 
 of my condudf, watched me to the a(ft 
 of desperation, when, with a heroism 
 congenial with his profession, he plunged 
 after, and brought me to the shore, 
 thence, with the assistance of another 
 person, to the public -house where I 
 now lay. 1 desired to see him, but was 
 informed, that the moment 1 had dis- 
 covered signs of life, he hurried away, 
 and had not since been seen. 
 
 The distrafted state of my mind 
 brought on a fever, which lasted near a 
 month, and then left ‘me in so weak a 
 state, that I was confined to my room 
 three weeks longer. All this time Ca- 
 roline had not been heard of, spite of 
 my unceasing inquiries. 
 
 In 
 
( 3 ) 
 
 In the mean time, my boxes had 
 been removed to my present lodging, 
 and my former landlord came daily to 
 see, and condole with me. Mr. Hunter, 
 and two of the ladies, were the only 
 persons of the theatre, who had huma- 
 nity enough to visit me, except the Ma- 
 nager, who once called, and expressed 
 a complimentary regret at my misfor- 
 tune. 
 
 I was now sunk to the lowest ebb of 
 melancholy ; for I believed no other, 
 than that Caroline had met some acci- 
 dental death, till I was, at last, roused 
 from this opinion by a dream, wherein 
 I saw her wantoning in the,, arms of my 
 friend Brent j and to such a height of 
 frenzy did the vision carry me, that I 
 started from”my bed, called aloud for 
 pistols, and vowed revenge on the au- 
 thor of my supposed dishonour. So 
 strongly was the idea engraved upon 
 
 my 
 
 B z 
 
( 4 ) 
 
 my fancy, that I could not shake it off, 
 though sleep had left me. 
 
 “ It may be so,” said I, and from 
 that moment became a prey to jealousy. 
 
 Full of suspicion, and determined on 
 revenge, I resolved to seek them. For 
 that purpose, I instantly packed up my 
 clothes, sent my box to the coach- 
 office, and took place for Portsmouth, 
 where his ship had been repaired. Pre- 
 vious to my departure, 1 sold off every 
 article that was not of immediate use, 
 in order to defray the expences of my 
 sickness and my journey ; then taking 
 leave of the Manager, who betrayed not 
 the least concern for my quitting his 
 -service, and afterwards of Mr. H unter, 
 I set off, and next morning arrived at 
 Portsmouth. 
 
 Having loaded my pistols, I went 
 
 instantly 
 
{ 5 ) 
 
 instantly to the Navy Post-Office, my 
 heart teeming with mischief, and in- 
 quired the dirediion to Captain Brent. 
 
 “ Captain Brent, Sir,” answered the 
 Postmaster, “ has sailed with a convoy 
 to the East Indies, full two months 
 ago.” In a moment the weakness of my 
 nature, and mean suspicion, appeared 
 in their proper colours, while I in vain 
 endeavoured to shrink from retrospec- 
 tion. 
 
 “ I have wronged a noble soul,” said 
 I, turning back towards the inn with 
 the pace of a snail, and would willingly, 
 like that animal, had it been in my 
 power, have shrunk within my shell, 
 and hid myself from mankind. 
 
 My stock of money being no more 
 than two guineas, I judged it expedient 
 to procure myself as cheap a lodging as 
 B 3 possible. 
 
( 6 ) 
 
 possible. Accordingly, after dinner, I 
 went in search of one, and soon suited 
 myself in a decent public-house. 
 
 On the following evening, as I sat 
 pondering on my situation, and my 
 mind full of Caroline, my attention was 
 drawn to a person, who, after having 
 passed half an hour in silently reading 
 a country newspaper, broke out with, 
 “ Oh ho ! so I see we shall have the 
 player folks here again.” 
 
 Fixing an earnest look upon him, I 
 demanded what he meant. 
 
 Mean, Sir !” answered he — “ why, 
 I mean that this paper says the players 
 are coming to this town next week j 
 but you may look yourself, then you’ll 
 say, seeing is believing." 
 
 Begging pardon for my abrupt be- 
 haviour. 
 
( 7 ) 
 
 haviour, I accepted the paper from his 
 hand, and read an advertisement, stating, 
 that the theatre would open on the fol- 
 lowing week. 
 
 This was most acceptable intelligence 
 to me, for 1 conceived hopes of an en- 
 gagement, which would save the ex- 
 pence of journeying in search of one; 
 for, however inadequate I might be, 
 from my present state of mind, yet I 
 saw no other means of supporting my- 
 self, therefore resolved to await the 
 company’s arrival, and offer myself to 
 the Manager. This concern being off 
 my thoughts, I supped at an early 
 hour, and retired to bed — but not to 
 rest, for sleep had flown from my pil- 
 low. 
 
 Of all corroding cares that prey upon 
 the heart of man, none clings to it 
 with such tenacity as jealousy, and 
 
 B 4 
 
 none 
 
( 8 ) 
 
 none so effedually clouds his reason. 
 This fiend had possessed itself of lue j 
 nor could the efforts of reason shake it 
 off. Captain Brent had ceased to be 
 the objedl of my suspicion ; it now 
 rested on the ideal frailty of Caroline, 
 which, I concluded, had fivilen a sacri- 
 fice to some splendid villain. 
 
 The only relief I had to my aggra- 
 vated situation, was pride. Pride 
 taught me to believe, that a woman 
 who, by 'her misconduft, could sacri- 
 fice her husband’s peace, deserved not 
 his love. 
 
 “ 1 will endeavour,” said I, “ to ba- 
 nish this disgraceful passion from my 
 breast : this love, that remains but to 
 expose my weakness — Caroline, I will 
 forget you 1” 
 
 Such were my resolves j but the in- 
 efficacy 
 
( 9 ) 
 
 efficacy of my attempts proved that 
 they sprung but from a man, and he 
 too, one of-the feeblest of his race. 
 
 According to the advertisement, the 
 comedians arrived on the following 
 week ; and on the day preceding the 
 opening of the theatre, I waited on the 
 Manager. -He was an old man, whose 
 age amounted to, at least, seventy, 
 with every concomitant of his years — 
 sans teeth, sans eyes, and almost sans 
 every thing. His head was bald, ex- 
 cept one small white lock, that hung 
 behind, which Time had seemed to pre- 
 serve, in respefl to that Fate, whom 
 Virgil describes at the death of Dido j 
 or rather, he looked like Time him- 
 self, prepared for Fate. By the bye, 
 he had not entirely lost the relish for 
 life, for he kept an excellent prop to 
 his declining hours, in the shape of a 
 handsome girl, about eighteen, who, 
 B5 no 
 
{ lO ) 
 
 no doubt, witnessed many a sad proof 
 of his chilly age. 
 
 The old gentleman heard me recite 
 three or four speeches, displaying all 
 the peevishness of his years, by dwelling 
 upon trifles j and, at last, agreed to 
 take me at twelve shillings a week. He 
 accordingly gave me a charader for the 
 second night of performance. I played, 
 but was incapable of feeling any thing 
 except my own misfortunes : my ading 
 was consequently so tame, and fre- 
 quently so palpably false, that I re- 
 peatedly got hissed, and was once ac- 
 tually pelted off the stage. 
 
 I 
 
 At this period, the grand fleet lying 
 at Spithead, tiie town was thronged 
 with sailors, who in the evening crowd- 
 ed to the ‘ theatre, where they cre- 
 ated such tumults, that the play never 
 went on without repeated interrup- 
 tions. 
 
( II ) 
 
 tions. Nothing was more common, 
 than their sliding from the gallery to 
 the boxes and pit, and climbing up 
 again, to the great discomfiture of such 
 as were seated in those parts. 
 
 One time, a gentleman being thus 
 disturbed, could not restrain his re* 
 sentment, and commenced a battery 
 on the aggressor’s back with his cane* 
 when the son of Neptune, not having 
 secured his situation, roared out to his 
 shipmates above, “ Halloo ! main-top 
 
 there, d — n my , here’s a boati- 
 
 swain in disguise on the half-deck — lend 
 a hand my lads.” Immediately two 
 more came down, and with the first 
 fastened on the gentleman. Their 
 friends from the gallery observing how 
 things stood, threw down a rope they 
 had brought, and keeping one end in 
 their possession, cried out, “ There, my 
 B 6 boys. 
 
( 12 ) 
 
 boys, splice it round his midships and 
 sling him over, then, d — n me, we’ll 
 have him to the gangway.” They in- 
 stantly obeyed, and tying it tight round 
 his waist, pitched him over the boxes, 
 and bawling out, “ Now bouce away, 
 my hearties, ” the poor gentleman 
 was immediately hauled up, his poste- 
 riors bared, and subjected to a round 
 dozen, wdiile he called in vain for 
 mercy. 
 
 Another evening, on m.y way to the 
 house, 1 was overtaken by a waggon: 
 load of them, at full gallop, commit- 
 ting every kind of extravagance, while 
 I observed, in particular, one on each 
 side heaving the lead, and roaring out, 
 ** Quarter under water seven,” &c. In 
 that manner they proceeded to the 
 doors of the theatre, where, unshipping 
 a cargo of liquor, and various sorts of 
 
 viduals. 
 
( 13 ) 
 
 victuals, they, spite of resistance, forced 
 their way up to the gallery, where they 
 gave loose to their stormy mirth. 
 
 The company remained two monthf. 
 at Portsmouth, and then proceeded to 
 their next engagement, leaving me be- 
 hind. For, previous to his departure, 
 the Manager informed me that he had 
 no farther occasion for my services, 
 assigning as a reason, that he was too 
 full, and I being the last engaged, must 
 of course submit to necessity. 1 an- 
 swered not a word, but returned disr 
 consulate to my lodgings, well know- 
 ing that his real motive for discharging 
 me w'as my incapacity ; for I had not, 
 during the whole time, discovered the 
 least spark of merit, my depressed spirits 
 never having been able to attain the 
 animated passion which many of my 
 charaders required ; and it was vvell if 
 T passed over the evening withoqt. e:^;- 
 
 citing- 
 
( H ) 
 
 citing any thing worse than silent con- 
 tempt. 
 
 I 
 
 My stock of money had now fallen 
 to nine shillings, and where I remained 
 there was not the least prosped of pro- 
 curing more, or of supporting myself 
 when that should be expended, unless 
 I submitted to the desperate alternative 
 of entering into the navy or army. 
 Finding myself, therefore, threatened 
 with poverty and contempt, my pride 
 took the alarm, and roused me to con- 
 sider on the most eligible means of pur- 
 suing my interest. 
 
 Having learned that a company was 
 performing at a town twenty miles dis- 
 tant, 1 resolved to go thither; accord- 
 ingly, selling off everything 1 possessed, 
 except the suit 1 wore and a change o£ 
 linen, I paid my landlord, and seit off 
 by four the next morning on foot, with 
 
 twenty 
 
( 15 ) 
 
 twenty shillings in my pocket and my 
 little bundle in my hand. 
 
 On my way, the cheerful asped of 
 the country had the happiest effed upon 
 my spirits : the cares of life seemed 
 suspended, and the most tranquil sen- 
 sations arose within my breast. “ Ca- 
 roline,” said I, “farewell; thy weak- 
 ness be forgotten ; I have pined enough 
 beneath oppressive care, and, from this 
 hour, renounce both that and thee.” 
 
 - I did not hasten my journey, but 
 frequently stopped to gaze on the sur- 
 rounding landscape : the face of Na- 
 ture smiled upon me, for she was, in 
 the words of Alilton, 
 
 Inall her liv’ries, deck’d of Summer’s pride. 
 
 - J ^ 
 
 At times I burst out into raptures. 
 
 O God !” cried J, “ how ample are 
 thy blessings, if man would but enjoy 
 
 them : 
 
( i6 ) 
 
 them : would he but leave those nar- 
 row views with which his misguided 
 fancy deludes him, and dwell upon the 
 beauties of thy wide creation j then 
 would he part from, half his worldly 
 cares, and rise to meet perfedlion.” 
 
 At six o’clock in the evening I reached 
 the town. It foreboded but little per- 
 manency to my elevated hopes, for I 
 perceived nothing but a number of 
 straggling. houses, meanly built,, streets ' 
 unpaved and in shocking order, and 
 people walking in them whose appear- 
 ance indicated penury and toil. On 
 addressingj myself -to one, and inquir- 
 ing for the theatre, he stared at me 
 with surprize, and demanded what ! I 
 m^ant. I then ,bid .him d.ired me to 
 the play-house. “ Wounds ! now I 
 think I, understand ye,,”, said .he,,“ I 
 suppose you mean the vagram show 
 people ^ On answering yes, he diro<fied 
 
 me 
 
( ly ) 
 
 me to a field et the farther end of the 
 town, where stood the humble temple 
 of Thespis. 
 
 I found it wretched beyond descrip- 
 tion, having been very lately a cow- 
 house. The roof in many parts was 
 broken in, and the audience conse- 
 quently exposed to the air, which, 
 however, at that season, might be 
 deemed an advantage. 
 
 I stood some time surveying it on 
 the outside, considering whether or not 
 I should enter, for 1 was so shocked at 
 its external appearance, that I dreaded 
 to look farther into the misery of its 
 tenants ; but, at last, mustering resolu- 
 tion, I accosted the door-keeper, and 
 demanded to speak with the Manager. 
 
 “ I, Sir,” said he, with a look of 
 hungry solicitude, “ am the Manager.” 
 
 “ 1 am 
 
( ) 
 
 " I am come,’' said I, “ to offer 
 you my services, should you find them 
 worthy of acceptance.” 
 
 “ Surely,” returned he, “ you mean 
 to mock me. Look at me — observe 
 this scene around you — do you imagine 
 me worthy to command such an ap- 
 pearance as your’s No, Sir, no; our 
 sharings have been of late sparing 
 enough, God knows, and we do not 
 mean to admit another to starve with 
 us ; but, as a brother aftor, you are 
 free to walk in, if you please.” 
 
 I thanked him, and asked if he 
 knew of any other company in that 
 part of the country, where I might 
 chance to get employed ? on which he 
 observed, there was one about forty 
 miles distant, but that he could give 
 me t.-o information of their state; or 
 whether 1 should stand any chance of 
 
 an 
 
( 19 ) 
 
 an engagement. Thanking him once 
 more, I entered the house, which I 
 found fully answer to its outside. 
 
 The audience consisted of about 
 fourteen persons, chiefly women, who 
 W'ere immersed in awful attention, at 
 the thunder and lightning, witches, and 
 ghosts of Macbeth^ for that was the 
 play. The poor performers were in- 
 finitely worse apparelled than the hum- 
 blest mountebank or show-people 1 
 ever saw j but I was astonished at the 
 decency, and even respedability, of 
 their a6ling, particularly that of Mac- 
 duff, and of Lady Macbeth, which would 
 have passed muster any where. 
 
 I could not but sigh at their indi- 
 gence. The sight was painful to me, 
 for 1 w'as too nearly allied to their sad 
 state, to form comparisons of an ex- 
 ulting kind j and poverty is never con- 
 temned. 
 
( 20 ) 
 
 temned, but by those who hold them- 
 selves secure from her comfort-killing 
 blast. 
 
 Before the play^ was finished I left 
 this humble theatre, and proceeded to 
 a public-house, where, having supped, 
 1 retired to bed. 
 
 Learning that the town of which the 
 poor Manager spoke, lay on the road to 
 London, I resolved to proceed thither 
 the following day ; and in case of non- 
 success, to pursue my journey to the 
 great city. I accordingly rose pretty 
 early, and breakfasting upon bread 
 and cheese and ale, set off again on 
 foot to chase my wayward fortune. But 
 stopping about noon at a public-house, 
 I found myself, after sitting a while, so 
 extremely wearied, that i was utterly 
 incapable of continuing my journey 
 that day. I therefore remained there 
 
 all 
 
( 21 ) 
 
 all night, and set forward again by tea 
 next morning. 
 
 I had not travelled eight miles before 
 I overtook an open waggon, which the 
 driver informed me was going to the 
 place of my destination : we w'ere soon 
 good friends, and for a shilling, with a 
 few treats upon the road, he agreed to 
 my riding all the way, which 1 gladly 
 embraced, and, jumping up, was con- 
 veyed to the town, which I reached by 
 nine in the evening. As nothing could 
 be done at that *late hour, 1 remained 
 at the house where the w'aggon stopped, 
 supped, and went to bed. 
 
 Next morning, making myself as 
 decent in appearance as possible, about 
 eleven o’clock I proceeded to the thea- 
 tre, which I found at the end of a lane, 
 leadino; to some fields. It seemed to 
 me infinitely too spacious for the town, 
 
 which, 
 
( 22 ) 
 
 which, though genteel, and well built, 
 was by no means populous. The 
 theatre had formerly been the stables of 
 a nobleman, and looked deficient only 
 in beight, for it really made a respedl- 
 able shew ; having been well repaired, 
 and graced with a handsome porch. 
 
 Perceiving some people going in 
 whom I judged were performers, I fol- 
 lowed them, and inquired for the Ma- 
 nager j when they informing me that 
 he was expeded in half an hour, 1 re- 
 quested permission to” wait his arrival. 
 Observing much curiosity in their look, 
 I explained to them the purpose of my 
 visit, upon which, some of them with 
 much good-nature, welcomed, and 
 wished me success. 
 
 Shortly the Manager came. He was 
 tall and meagre, but bearing in his fea- 
 tures a sensibility of expression that 
 
 com- 
 
, ( 23 ) 
 
 commanded respedt. Bowing to him, 
 I explained my business j on which, he 
 eyed me some seconds with surprize, 
 then demanded, whether I was new to 
 ' the profession. 
 
 No, indeed. Sir,” said I; “ I have 
 had some sad experience in it.” 
 
 “ But you look so ill,” observed he, 
 “ that 1 cannot believe you equal to 
 the labour of performing.” 
 
 I replied, that I had be^n severely 
 indisposed, but was "now, 1 hoped, suf- 
 ficiently recovered to resume my oc- 
 cupation. He then took me aside, 
 and said, “ I’ll tell you what. Sir, the 
 inhabitants of this town seem to possess 
 a considerable share of taste, and look 
 for adtors of distinguished merit; now, 
 if you should be found adequate to their 
 wishes, 1 will willingly engage you ; 
 
 but, 
 
( 24 ) 
 
 but, unless you can surpass the best in 
 my company, I cannot possibly give you 
 any hope.” 
 
 “ Sir,” returned I, “ it is impossible 
 for me to answer you, from my total 
 ignorance of the merits of your people ; 
 and even were I conscious of superior 
 excellence, it would be an indelicacy in 
 me to confess it ; but you may assur- 
 edly judge, by seeing me perform.” 
 “ With all my heart,” said he, “ and 
 to-morrow night you shall play the part 
 of Hastings, \n. Jane Shore; therefore, 
 prepare yourself for it j attend rehear- 
 sal in the morning, and believe me, 
 should you answex my expedations, I 
 shall be the first to rejoice at your suc- 
 cess.” 
 
 I immediately returned to the pub- 
 lic-house, and told the landlord that 1 
 should remain with him that night, and 
 
 probably 
 
( 25 ) 
 
 probably many more. In the afternoon 
 I walked in the fields, studying my 
 part as 1 went along. 
 
 At the rehearsal next day, my hopes 
 were by no means depressed, as I could 
 perceive nothing striking in any person 
 present. But 1 dwelt not too much on 
 that, for 1 had frequently witnessed a 
 performer’s affeflation and contradic- 
 tion before a rival stranger. However, 
 the evening proved that I had judged 
 aright, for I played triumphantly 
 throughout the piece, and completely 
 bore away the laurel. The audience 
 pointed out my' glory, the adlors shrunk 
 from it, and the Manager confessed it ; 
 though, indeed, I had not much to 
 pride myself upon, for, excepting the 
 lady W' ho played the rest scarcely 
 
 reached to mediocrity. 
 
 At the conclusion of my part the 
 VOL. III. c Manager 
 
{ ^6 ) 
 
 Manager called me to his room, and 
 expressed his satisfa^lion at my per- 
 formance, observing, that if twelve 
 shillings a week and a benefit at that 
 town, would content me, they were at 
 my service. Seeing no better prospect 
 at present, and anticipating a good 
 night, I accepted his offer. Accord- 
 ingly he appointed me charaders for 
 the following night, both in the play 
 and entertainment i and when it arrived, 
 I was gratified with a share of appro- 
 bation equal to my first appearance. 
 
 I continued to play with repeated 
 success, and in every new charader 
 seemed to increase in the estimation of 
 the town’s-people., 
 
 A fortnight had now passed, when, 
 one evening, having just finished the 
 charader of Hamlet^ I was informed 
 that a stranger waited at the door to 
 
 speak. 
 
( 27 ) 
 
 speak with me. Having dressed my- 
 self, I hastened to see who it could be, 
 when, just as 1 turned into the lobby, 
 a gentleman accosted me very fami- 
 liarly by my name, caught hold of my 
 hand, and gazing stedfastly on me some 
 time, demanded whether 1 did not 
 know him. 
 
 “ Indeed, Sir,” answered I, “ 1 do 
 not j but it is no wonder, for, in good 
 faith, 1 have almost forgotten myself.” 
 
 “ Why, truly,” said he, smiling, 
 “ not to flatter you, you seem greatly 
 altered for the worse : why, how pale 
 and thin you look 3 but possibly, you 
 have not yet recovered from the terrors 
 your father’s ghost has occasioned 3 but 
 do you not remember your old friend 
 and school-fellow, Harvey, the com- 
 panion of your boyish pleasures ? Sur- 
 veying his features more closely, 1 re- 
 c a membered 
 
( 28 ) 
 
 membered them, and grasping his hand, 
 expressed my happiness at seeing him. 
 
 “ Come,” said he, “ this is no place 
 for us to talk in j attend me to my 
 lodgings, where we will spend the 
 evening, and speak of great events.” 
 
 Not having to perform in the after- 
 piece, 1 accompanied him, and in a short 
 time reached his house, where, bring- 
 ing forth two bottles of wine, and 
 ordering supper, he desired I would 
 begin to enjoy myself. 
 
 “ You must know, Templeton/’ 
 said he, “ that I am determined you 
 shall try your fortune on the boards of 
 Drury, to which, in my opinion, your 
 merit Is equal, and I trust that my in- 
 fluence will secure you an entry upon 
 them, therefore we will lose no time. 
 You must resign your present engage- 
 ment, 
 
( 29 ) 
 
 ment, and proceed to London. 1 can- 
 not accompany you myself, being about 
 to proceed on a tour to the Continent, 
 but will give you a letter that shall 
 have the same effedt. I arrived here 
 but three days ago, and hearing the' 
 name of Templeton mentioned with 
 much admiration, conceived it might 
 be you ; accordingly, to ascertain that 
 opinion, I went this evening to the 
 theatre, and anxiously waited your en- 
 trance ; at last you came, and though 
 greatly altered, and disguised, yet your 
 features were too well engraved on my 
 memory to be forgotten.” 
 
 We spent the night as agreeably as 
 any two friends can imagine, after so 
 long a separation ; he overjoyed at the 
 service he hoped to render me, and I 
 full of hope and gratitude. 
 
 Next to Brent, Harvey had been my 
 c 3 most 
 
( 30 ) 
 
 most intimate friend. He informed 
 me, that after leaving school he had 
 made a voyage to the West Indies, 
 where he had remained till very lately, 
 and had considerably increased his for- 
 tune. 
 
 At twelve o’clock we parted, under a 
 mutual promise of meeting again next 
 day. 
 
 On the morning I waited on Mr. 
 Towers (the Manager), and informed 
 him of the necessity for my quitting 
 his company immediately. He at first 
 appeared extremely serious, and was 
 inclined to call in question the justice 
 of my condudt j but I pleaded my cause 
 so strongly, that in the end he shook 
 me by the hand, and wished me all 
 the success I deserved. 
 
 I would willingly have staid for my 
 
 benefit. 
 
i 3i ) 
 
 benefit, but it being a fortnight dis- 
 tant, my friend deemed it too great a 
 delay, and I myself concluded that it 
 would be impolitic to risk so bright a 
 prospedl for the chance of enriching my 
 pockets with a few pounds ; I there- 
 fore played only that evening, - and on 
 the following morning went, attended 
 by my friend, to meet the coach. Pre- 
 viously to our setting forth, he gave me 
 my letter of recommendation to the 
 Manager of Drury, and insisted on my 
 acceptance of a ten pound bank-note, 
 to defray my expences. 
 
 Having reached the inn, I took leave 
 of my friend and mounted on the out- 
 side : the coachman then drove off, 
 and the following morning 1 arrived 
 safely in London. 
 
 C4 
 
 CHAP. 
 
( 3 ^ ) - 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 HAVING paid my carriage and 
 breakfasted, I had about nine guineas 
 left, and judging that my present ap- 
 pearance would go but little towards 
 my recommendation 'among strangers, 
 I resolved to mend it, and to that end 
 went diredly to a sale shop, where I 
 purchased a decent blue coat, black 
 silk waistcoat and breeches, with a pair 
 of stockings of the same, and a ruffled 
 shirt; then hastening back to the inn, 
 dressed myself to the best advantage. 
 
 Thus attired, I went, with a pal- 
 pitating heart, to the awful theatre 
 of Drury-Lane, and inquired for the 
 Manager. The door-keeper informed 
 me that he w'as not expeded till one 
 o’clock. 
 
 At 
 
( 33 ) 
 
 At one I went again, and being ' 
 ushered into his room, found him 
 busily employed in perusing some 
 manuscripts. He rose and received me 
 with a politeness that was painful to 
 me, from an apprehension of his ima- 
 gining my business of a more import- 
 ant nature to himself. However, mak- 
 ing him as modest a bow as I could, I 
 presented him the letter, which he had 
 no sooner finished, than turning to me 
 again, with undim.inished ceremony, 
 he said, “ Sir, you are here spoken of 
 in very strong terms by Mr. Harvey, 
 and he is a gentleman so high in my 
 estimation, that you may rely on my ; 
 utmost exertions in your behalf j you 
 will have the goodness, therefore, to 
 call upon me in the course of a W'eek, 
 and in the interim 1 will name you to 
 the Proprietors.” 
 
 With my heart swelling with expecfta- 
 c 5 tion 
 
( 34 ) 
 
 tion and anticipatfid success, 1 returned 
 to the inn, where I treated myself with 
 a good dinner and a pint of wine. 
 
 In the afternoon I went to the house 
 of hirs. Foster, the lady of that gene- 
 rous friend of whom I spoke in the 
 early part of my history'; but found 
 that she had removed, and on inquiring 
 of the people who then resided there, 
 was informed that she had married 
 again. “ Is she Indeed re -married 
 said 1, and turning from the door, 
 “ then 1 have no farther title to her 
 notice ; my presence might but prove 
 obtrusive, or serve to awaken in her 
 memory 'sensations that should sleep 
 for ever.” 
 
 Finding the necessity of moving from 
 the inn, which would be too expensive, 
 I that same day hired a reasonable 
 lodging in the house of a respectable 
 
 trades- 
 
( 55 ) 
 
 tradesman named Price, who no sooner 
 learnt my profession, and prospects 
 of success, than he treated me with the 
 most redundant politeness, in which 
 he was ably seconded by his wife. 
 
 When the time arrived, I again 
 waited on the Manager, who displaying 
 the same ceremony as before, informed 
 me that he had spoken to the principal 
 Proprietor, who readily acquiesced in 
 the request of Mr. Harvey, and would 
 certainly appoint an evening for my 
 appearance. 1 then asked, when I should 
 attend him again ? to which he replied, 
 in a week or ten days, and, as a salve 
 to my impatience, presented me with 
 four box orders for the performance of 
 that night. 
 
 Though I was concerned at this de- 
 lay, yet the pleasing concurrence of the 
 Proprietor proved a sufficient antidote 
 to my temporary disappointment, 
 c 6 
 
 On 
 
( 36 ) 
 
 On my return home, 1 invited Mr. 
 Price and his wife to accompany me in 
 the evening to the play, and, as there 
 , was an order to spare, begged them to 
 compliment some friend with it j at 
 the same time, I imparted to them the 
 farther promise of the Manager. In 
 return, they requested my company to 
 dine and spend the day with them, with 
 which 1 complied. Indeed this was a 
 favour they frequently solicited my ac- 
 ceptance of; and such was the sinking 
 state of my purse, that 1 had seldom re- 
 solution enough to refuse. 
 
 The person whom they sent for to 
 join us, was an agreeable young lad)'', 
 who appeared willing to return any ad- 
 vances I chose to make, in seeking her 
 regard ; but my heart was too much 
 torn by preceding events, to admit of 
 love ; for the remembrance of Caroline 
 still kept it from repose. 
 
 After 
 
( 37 ) 
 
 -After tea we proceeded to the thea- 
 tre, and secured good front seats. The 
 play was Othello. I sat in prying ob- 
 servation on the merits of the per- 
 formers. I anxiously looked for that 
 pre-eminence which is thought to dis- 
 tinguish the town from the country 
 performers j but saw it only in a few ; 
 the greater part displaying no marked 
 genius, or even the propriety which their 
 experience ought to have given them. 
 Jt appeared as though they thought, 
 that to walk, to look, and to speak dif- 
 ferently from what they had ever seen 
 in Nature, was all that was necessary. 
 
 “ Observe,” said the jmung lady, my 
 companion — “ observe how majestically 
 
 Mr. treads the stage. O ! I never 
 
 saw any body walk like him in my life — 
 Did you. Sir ?” 
 
 “ Never, 
 
( 38 ) 
 
 “ Never, never, Madam,” said I — 
 ‘‘ Nature cannot furnish his prototype.” 
 
 His strides were a full foot beyond 
 their natural mark, while, by the motion 
 of his hinder parts, his cloak swung from 
 side to side, something resembling the 
 tail of an angry bull. The principals, 
 however, were sufficient to fill me with 
 apprehensions for myself, and 1 left the 
 house with infinitely more doubt of my 
 powers than I ever felt before. 
 
 Amid the contention of my hopes 
 and fears, I had not negleded writing 
 to the country concerning Caroline; 
 but was unable to hear the least tidings 
 of her. I still believed that she had 
 forfeited her virtue ; and that idea ra- 
 ther impressed me with revenge than 
 grief. But revenge is a headstrong 
 child of sorrow, and still 1 was un- 
 happy. 
 
 The 
 
( 39 ) 
 
 The week being elapsed, I punflilally 
 attended the Manager, who told me 
 that he had not forgotten me ; but could 
 give no answer then, desiring me, how- 
 ever, to call upon him in a few days* 
 
 I took a reluftant leave of him, for 
 my fears foreboded disappointment ^ 
 besides which, another circumstance 
 tended much to sink my spirits, name- 
 ly, that I had not more than two shil- 
 lings left. 
 
 I had for some time lived in the most 
 frugal manner possible, and, to prevent 
 an exposure of my distress, .used to 
 walk at the hour of dinner a short dis- 
 tance in the country, where I would 
 stop at some humble ale-house, and 
 make a meal of bread and-cheese, and 
 half a pint of beer. I breakfasted upon 
 milk, affeding to prefer it to any thing 
 else ; and at night would content my- 
 self at some public-house in town, with 
 
 a glass 
 
( 40 ) 
 
 a glass of porter and a biscuit. Thus 
 had 1 lived since rny arrival in town, 
 except what I owed to the generosity of 
 my landlord ; but I was now unable to 
 continue even this humble regimen. 
 
 When I next waited on the Manager, 
 he informed me that the Proprietor had 
 on the preceding day gone out of town, 
 and would return the latter part of 
 the following week, at which time he 
 would be sure to introduce me to him. 
 
 “ Alas ! Sir,” said I, “ will you let 
 necessity plead for the urgency of my 
 sentence : unless you indulge me with 
 an early fulfilment of your promise, in 
 bringing me forward, I must return 
 again to the country.” 
 
 He bowed with the utmost compla- 
 cency, presented me with a couple of 
 orders, and gave his honour to appoint 
 
 a night 
 
( 4 * ) 
 
 a night when next I should see him. 
 1 could urge no more •, but left him, 
 and returned pensively to my lodgings. 
 I gave the orders to Mrs. Price, who 
 invited me to dinner ; but I refused, 
 saying I had dined; which was false j 
 nor had I the least prospe<d; of procur- 
 ing a meal. 1 then betook myself to 
 my own room., and remained there till 
 the evening, venting my sorrow, and 
 conjedluring how I should proceed. I 
 almost came to the desperate resolution 
 of immediately going back to the coun- 
 try, and of begging my way till I met 
 with some employment ; but a ray of 
 hope forbade the execution of it, and I 
 determined, at any rate, if possible, to 
 stay, and see the Proprietor. But be- 
 ing pressed by hunger, something must 
 immediately be done, and casting my 
 eyes upon my trunk, “ the contents of 
 that, “ sighed I, “ will surely purchase 
 me bread for a few days.” 1 instantly 
 
 opened 
 
■ . ( 42 ) 
 
 opened it, and taking out every article, 
 except one shirt, a neckcloth, and pair 
 of stockings, tied them up In a hand- 
 kerchief, and proceeded to the first 
 pawnbroker’s I could find, from vdiich 
 1 issued out with twelve shillings, and 
 my spirits greatly elevated, as I was 
 now enabled to live in the manner 
 above described. 
 
 At the expiration of ten days, T again 
 went to the Manager, in the full hope 
 of obtaining a definitive answer ; but 
 was again disappointed. The Proprie- 
 tor, he said, had arrived in town that 
 day, and could not possibly transact 
 business till the next ; desiring, how- 
 ever, that I would be at the theatre by 
 twelve o’clock. 
 
 The time being come, I accordingly 
 went, and after waiting an hour and a 
 half in the Manager’s room, he entered 
 with the Proprietor. 
 
 “ This, 
 
( 43 ) 
 
 This, Sir,” said the fornier, ** is 
 Mr. T empleton, so highly recommend- 
 ed by Mr. Harvey.” 
 
 No doubt,” returned the latter, 
 with a slight bow to me — “ no doubt 
 the gentleman is equal to his prais(^ 
 but has he proposed any charadter ?” 
 
 “ None, Sir,” answered the other. 
 
 * 
 
 “ Well then, Mr. Templeton, you 
 must think of something, and in about 
 a month you shall come forward ; for 
 our nights are all fixt up to that time, 
 I believe.” 
 
 “ Cannot we contrive, Sir,” observed 
 the Manager, “for him to play before 
 that time ?” 
 
 “ How so ?” demanded the other — * 
 “ Are not the pieces all laid out ?” 
 
 “ Sir,” 
 
( 44 ) 
 
 “ Sir,” said I, “ procrastination, to 
 me, will ^ be fatal i and rather than in- 
 convenience you by preparing a play on 
 my account, 1 will gladly take a subor- 
 dinate character.” 
 
 “ O well, well, Sir,” returned he, “ I 
 have no objeftion. Let me think a 
 while — there is Hamlet. Is there any 
 part you would prefer in that, under 
 the leading charadter ?” 
 
 “ Laertes," answered I — “ LaerteSy 
 Sir, with all my heart.” 
 
 “ Well, and with all my heart too,” 
 said he : “ then, by all means, prepare 
 yourself for Laertes." 
 
 “ To-morrow week, Mr. Temple- 
 ton,” said the Manager, “ Hamlet will 
 be presented ; therefore prepare against 
 that day, and attend rehearsal in the 
 
 morning.” 
 
( 45 ) 
 
 morning.” I thanked them, and took 
 my leave. 
 
 With a heart as light as my purse, I 
 flew home, and acquainted Mr. and 
 Mrs. Price of my happy interview j for 
 I really imagined my fortune to be se- 
 cure ^ and such a stranger was 1 to 
 doubt, that 1 fnformed them also of 
 my straitened circumstances; and apo- 
 logizing for my backwardness in the 
 rent, of which 1 was three weeks in 
 arrear, I requested the loan of a few 
 guineas. Mr. Price, on this, generously 
 advanced me five. I next begged him 
 to recommend me to a tailor, which 
 he accordingly doing, 1 immediately 
 bespoke a handsome suit of clothes on. 
 credit. Three guineas of the five, I 
 laid out in necessaries, trusting the re- 
 maining two would last me till my en- 
 gagement commenced. 
 
 I now 
 
( 46 ) 
 
 ■ I now attended the theatre daily, 
 ranging at freedom behind the scenes, 
 and getting acquainted with several of 
 the performers. I could not but ad- 
 mire the happy life they seemed to en- 
 joy, when compared with their brethren 
 in the country. The first, surround- 
 ed by friends, and invited by pleasure, 
 would be studying which they should 
 oblige, or which prefer ; while the last 
 would, perhaps, be summoning all his 
 genius to his. aid, in order to procure 
 himself an humble meal. 
 
 chaf; 
 
( 47 ) 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 I 
 
 AT length the day arrived. I 
 attended rehearsal in the morning, and 
 experienced much attention from those 
 performers who were to be my partners 
 of the scene, but more particularly from 
 the gentleman who played Hamlet : he 
 honoured me with his advice in re- 
 spect to the condu6t of situation, and 
 with the utmost good-nature repeated 
 the fencing scene with me four or five 
 times. The business of the morning 
 concluded, he invited me to dine with 
 him, which, with proper acknowledg- 
 ments, I declined, that I might not 
 lose a moment’s time for preparation. 
 
 I hastened home again, and present- 
 ing my friends with eight orders the 
 
 Manager 
 
( 48 ) 
 
 Manager had given me, consented to 
 dine with them, after which 1 retired 
 to my own room, where I remained, 
 repeating my part, and studying before 
 my glass, till the hour of attendance 
 arrived. 
 
 No antiquated beau ever used such 
 pains to render himself lovely in the 
 eyes of his mistress, as 1 did in pre- 
 paring myself for the awful night of 
 trial. 
 
 I then flew to the theatre, which 1 
 no sooner entered than I proceeded 
 to the dressing-room, and was soon 
 equipped under the hands of a smart 
 youth, who 1 loaded with thanks, and 
 promises of returning obligation. This 
 task completed, 1 tripped gaily to the 
 stage, and took a peep from the cur- 
 tain. Good Heaven ! what were my 
 sensations on viewing the expanse of 
 
 the 
 
( 49 ) 
 
 the theatre, and the multitude of its 
 audience, before whom I was to ap- 
 pear in a few minutes ! 1 who had been 
 so bold before, and wantoned through. 
 my scenes on a country stage, now 
 trembled with apprehensions. 
 
 I cannot conceive a situation where 
 the courage of mental faculties are 
 more strongly required, than on a first 
 appearance before a London audience^- 
 when, if they desert him, inevitable 
 disappointment must follow. Imagine, 
 reader, for a moment, a youth brought 
 forth with all the imperfeftions of his 
 nature, to stand exposed before the in- 
 vidious examination' of envious curio- 
 sity and rigid criticism. Each of them 
 expefting to find perfedtion,' or dwell- 
 ing u^on the very errors that his fear 
 creates, with merciless scrutiny j and 
 though ten of them may not think alike, 
 yet each deeming himself infallible. 
 
 voi-..in. D A short 
 
( 50 ) 
 
 A short time I stood combating my 
 terrors, in the midst of which the cur- 
 tain drew up, and in a moment I stood 
 exposed to the tremendous assemblage 
 of critics, w'its, and gods / 
 
 I advanced, and making them the 
 accustomed bow, they returned pie 
 a salutation, which, though it in some 
 degree confounded me, had a happy 
 effe6t upon my spirits. In this scene 
 I had but one short speech, which I 
 uttered in a faultering tone ; notwith- 
 standing, the audience gave me so 
 generous an encouragement, that I 
 wished I could have spoken it over 
 again. The next scene I played with 
 increasing confidence, and at my exit 
 again received an ample proof of my 
 countrymen’s kindness. They are ever 
 the same when present at a first ap- 
 pearance ; for w'hatever errors they may 
 discover, or however much in their own 
 
 hearts, 
 
( 51 ) 
 
 hearts they may censure, they seldom 
 with-hold their enlivening support from 
 the trembling objed of their investiga- 
 tion. 
 
 In his third scene Laertes is full of 
 passion : his heart is torn by sorrow 
 for the death of his father and the in- 
 sanity of his sister, while it is bursting 
 with resentment at the fatal objed of 
 the cause. But not to tire your pa- 
 tience, reader, with too minute a rela- 
 tion, suffer me to say, that 1 received 
 such marks of approbation as I did not 
 imagine the part, or my powers, could 
 have drawn forth. It was such as led 
 me to conclude that my fame and for- 
 tune were established beyond the sub- 
 version of any thing but Fate; nor were 
 the performers and the company behind 
 the scenes backward to encourage this 
 opinion. 1 anxiously looked round for 
 the Manager, expeding to meet his 
 D 2 com- 
 
( )■ 
 
 compliments also, but not seeing him, 
 my vanity concluded that he had seated 
 himself in front, the better to form his 
 judgment. In the following parts I 
 was equally successful, and when I 
 died, the audience confirmed their satis- 
 fadlion by every demonstration that 
 their varied natures could suggest, in 
 knocking, clapping, acclamation, &c. 
 
 The curtain having dropped, I im- 
 mediately undressed myself; after which 
 I mixed in the green-room, and again 
 underwent a siege of compliments. 
 Seating myself down, I waited in hope 
 of seeing the Manager ; but remaining 
 there till the entertainment was over, 
 and the company nearly all gone, con- 
 cluded that he would not be seen that 
 evening, I therefore went home, where 
 I was received with the warmest con- 
 gratulations. They had prepared a 
 supper for me, which was enlivened by ' 
 
 their 
 
( 53 ) 
 
 their rejoicings at my success, while I, 
 in my heart, vowed lasting gratitude 
 to them. 
 
 The following morning I sent to 
 purchase ail the newspapers of the day, 
 and Oil perusing them, was utterly 
 astonished at their various and con- 
 trasted opinions. As a sample, I here 
 present you, reader, with the critiques 
 from two of the most celebrated of 
 them, and leave you to judge of their 
 different effeds upon my mind. 
 
 “ DRURY-LANE. 
 
 Last night a novelty appeared on these 
 boards in the charafler of Laertes. We under- 
 stand he has been Ipnj; wandering in the thorny 
 path to fame as a country adlor j but he has 
 acquired very little of that mastery in his pro- 
 fession, which is often the result of experience. 
 His figure is very well proportioned, and his 
 features tolerably expressive, but his tones are 
 monotonous, his aftion pantomimical, and his 
 conception poor, at the same time marked by an 
 D 3 affeftatioa 
 
( 54 ) 
 
 affcflatlon that does but little credit to his aa. 
 derstandlng. On the whole, we deem him hf 
 no means calculated to maintain any station be- 
 fore a London audience, unless it be in pan. 
 tomime, or the humblest departments of the 
 drama.” 
 
 We were last night gratified at Drury. 
 Lane Theatre, by the first appearance of a young 
 gentleman, named Templeton, in the charafter of 
 Laertes. His merits, we conceive, are such as 
 will entitle him to the highest favour of the 
 public, and we hope to see him soon brought 
 forward in a more important part. His person 
 is above the middle size, and well formed ; his 
 features, though not fine, are striking and ex- 
 pressive : his aftlon is manly and graceful, and 
 his voice sufficiently powerful, various, and well- 
 toned ; while his reading displays a masterly 
 and matured judgment. - We earnestly hope his 
 situation on these boards will be permanent, and 
 tliat his merit will be properly eneouraged.” 
 
 At noon 1 attended the theatre, 
 where 1 saw the Manager, who paid 
 
 mo. 
 
( 55 ) 
 
 me some high encomiums, but said 
 nothing relative to an engagement, or 
 my playing again j from which I con- 
 cluded that I was established, and 
 should receive my salary in due order ; 
 in which opinion a gentleman of the 
 theatre, whose advice I asked on the 
 occasion, confirmed me, 
 
 I now gave way to numberless in- 
 dulgences j such as hiring the first 
 floor of my landlord ; agreeing to board 
 entirely with him, and bespeaking 
 more clothes of the tailor. My plea- 
 sures w'ould have been for the time un- 
 interrupted, had 1 not still dwelt upon 
 Caroline, for, spite of my prospers, I 
 was no sooner left alone to refiedion, 
 than the remembrance of her embit- 
 tered every hope. 
 
 Every morning 1 pundually attended 
 the theatre, till the day of payment had 
 D 4 passed j 
 
( 56 ) 
 
 •passed; and though I took care to 
 throw myself in the Treasurer’s way, 
 he took not the least notice of me. 
 Another week passed on in the same 
 manner, and nothing transpired, either 
 from the Manager or any other person, 
 
 1 now became particularly anxious 
 to know my doom, as Mr. Price had 
 given me some very significant hints 
 respedting my delayed payment. Ac- 
 cordingly, one morning l accosted the 
 Manager, and with the utmost mo- 
 desty, requested to know the extent of 
 my hopes : he answered, that he really 
 could not then give me a definitive 
 answer, as the Proprietors had not yet 
 been consulted. 
 
 “ Sir,” said I, in a firm tone, “ my 
 situation is such as will no longer brook 
 delay on which he gave me his ho- 
 nour, that I should know the result of 
 
 their 
 
( 57 ) 
 
 their opinions before the expiration of 
 that week. This satisfied me, as I 
 conceived that the intimated consulta- 
 tion was only to fix my salary to a sum 
 according to their estimation of my 
 abilities. This opinion I imparted to 
 Mr. Price, in order to check his eager 
 glances, which frequently disturbed 
 both my conscience and my pride j for, 
 by the bye, I had borrowed three gui- 
 neas more of him. 
 
 The time being arrived, I once more 
 applied to the Manager, when, to my 
 astonishment, and unutterable disap- 
 pointment, he answered, that the Pro-' 
 prietors had been all applied to con- 
 cerning me, and their joint opinion 
 was, that my powers not being adapted 
 to so large a theatre as Drury-Lane, 
 they could not, without burthening the 
 fund with inadive performers, think 
 of engaging me, as there were no less 
 B 5 than 
 
{ 58 ) 
 
 than fifty persons, who, with preten- 
 sions equally strong as mine, w'aited the 
 first vacancies for establishments. 
 
 “ Is it possible !” exclaimed I, “that 
 the Proprietors can be so mean as to 
 rejedl me now, and under so flimsy a 
 pretence ? Why have 1 been so long 
 detained, depending on their justice ? 
 1 have forfeited my situation in the 
 country ; I have accumulated debts 
 which I cannot possibly discharge, and 
 am reduced to beggary. Why did they 
 not decide before I brought such dis- 
 tress upon my head ?” 
 
 To this he answered, that he W’as 
 much concerned to find my expeda- 
 tions had so much outrun my fortune ^ 
 but he being only the agent of others, 
 could not follow the didates of his 
 own will. Without further reply, I 
 hurried out of the theatre with a heart 
 at enmity with all mankind. 
 
 I pro- 
 
( 59 ) 
 
 I proceeded to my lodging; but on 
 approaching the door, stopped suddenly, 
 and began to refled, what had 1 to do 
 there. — “ To remain here any longer,’' 
 thought I, “ will be now dishonesty, 
 as there is no prosped of my remuner- 
 ating their kindness, or of diminishing, 
 in any degree, the debt I have con- 
 traded.” At last I determined not to 
 enter the house till dark, lest my em- 
 barrassment should be read in my coun- 
 tenance ; therefore, turning a contrary 
 way, I crossed Holborn, and stopped, 
 not till 1 had reached the fields, where 
 1 remained, venting by turns, my re- 
 proaches and my sorrow. In, that 
 strain 1 continued, without refreshment, 
 or indeed once thinking of any, till 
 the clock struck ten, when I went home, 
 and telling Mr. Price 1 had supped, 
 immediately retired to my room ; where, 
 throwing myself upon the bed, I gave 
 a loose to all the anguish of disappoint- 
 n 6 ment. 
 
( 6o ) 
 
 ment. In that manner I remained till 
 refleftion came to my aid,, and roused 
 me to a consideration of my interest 
 and safety. The whole amount of 
 what I owed to the tailor and Mr. Price, 
 was about thirty pounds, while I did 
 not possess more than four shillings. 
 The dread of a prison filled my mind, 
 and there were no means of escaping it, 
 but by immediate flight. The beha- 
 viour of Mr. Price had of late greatly 
 changed, being cold and suspicious. 
 As for my tailor, he only ailed on the 
 recommendation of others, consequent- 
 ly, there was no favour to be expeded 
 from him. 
 
 At last, I resolved to fly from the 
 gathering storm on the following day j 
 and accordingly prepared for the occa- 
 sion, by packing up two changes of 
 lirien, with as many useful articles as 
 my pockets could hold, with the addi- 
 tion 
 
( 6i ) 
 
 tion of my great coat, without render- 
 ing myself conspicuous. I next wrote 
 a letter to Mr. Price, relating to him 
 all that passed between the Proprietors, 
 the Manager, and myself j expressing 
 a deep concern for the conduct my 
 misfortunes obliged me to observe, and 
 promising faithfully to discharge my 
 obligation whenever fortune should 
 empower me. This I folded carefully 
 up, and placed in a situation where 1 
 was sure they woyld not find it, till 
 they should make a general search 
 amongst the things I was under the 
 necessity of leaving behind. 
 
 Next morning I arose at six o’clock, 
 and the servant being up, informed her 
 that I was going a .short distance into 
 the country, and probably should not 
 return before night ■, I then sauntered 
 about the streets, till I perceived a 
 pawnbroker’s shop open, and stepping 
 
 into 
 
( 62 ) 
 
 into it, parted with those things I 
 had done up for the purpose. He 
 lent me two guineas on them. Thus 
 furnished, 1 proceeded in a northern 
 diredion, and was soon beyond the 
 streets of London. 
 
 CHAP, 
 
( 63 ) 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 I CONTINUED onwards about 
 fen miles, when perceiving a detached 
 public-house, 1 entered it, and regaled - 
 myself with a pint of ale and some cold 
 beef; then pursuing my journey, stop- 
 ped not till I reached a village sixteen 
 miles farther, where, resolving to re- 
 main till the following day, 1 entered a 
 public-house, and bespoke a bed for 
 the night. 
 
 Here,' while I sat at my supper, a 
 young man came in, whom, from his 
 dress and mild deportment, I judged to 
 be of the church, which conjecture, upon 
 farther observation, was more firmly esta- 
 blished. 
 
 We 
 
( 64 ) 
 
 We commenced a conversation, in 
 the course of which he informed me, 
 that he was curate of a village about 
 twenty miles distant, to which he was 
 then on his way on foot, the state of 
 his finances, being too low to afford the 
 convenience of a stage-coach, or horse. 
 “ But one great duty in a Christian,” 
 observed he, “ is the bearing adversity 
 with patience and humility ; and, in- 
 deed, when I compare myself to others, 
 who with infinitely more virtue, are 
 yet oppressed by greater sufferings, I 
 ought rather to acknowledge the bounty 
 of that Power who bestows on me. so 
 many blessings, than dispute his jus- 
 tice, or sigh for luxuries which may be 
 dispensed with.” 
 
 “ True, Sir,” returned 1 ; “ nothing 
 can be more unreasonable, or more 
 strongly betray a selfish principle, than 
 calling the attention of Omnipotence 
 
 to 
 
{(> 5 ) 
 
 to our imaginary wants, and pining for 
 superfluities, when so many of our fel- 
 low-creatures are contending wich the 
 heaviest misfortunes ■, such as hunger, 
 sorrow, and disease ; and I think the 
 being who can presume to demand of 
 Heaven a. partial favour, deserves its 
 wrath.. It is pride insufferable; it is 
 disputing the Almighty’s justice, and 
 preferring our own wisdom to his.’* 
 
 “ Sir,” said he, “ there is a conge- 
 niality between us that should make us 
 friends ; and -I trust we shall meet 
 again.” 
 
 “ Perhaps in Heaven,” answered I; 
 
 for my circumstances preclude me 
 that happiness in this world : in the 
 first place, nothing can be more oppo- 
 site than our professions ; at least, so 
 mankind agree, though I think erro- 
 neously j for, trace them both to their 
 
 origin 
 
( 66 ) 
 
 origin, and it will be found that both 
 have virtue for their basis, and, indeed, 
 at the earliest periods of the drama, 
 the player and the priest were as one. 
 Nor is their objeit at this time dif- 
 ferent ; the first • should lead the soul 
 to virtue, for which the last prepares it, 
 I have this day travelled from London, 
 where my prospers have been disap- 
 pointed, and am now wandering I know 
 not whither, in search of a precarious 
 subsistence : this night I shall sleep 
 here, and in the morning pursue my 
 humble fortune, with no other guide 
 to lead, and no other hope to prompt 
 me, than chance.” 
 
 “ I perceive then. Sir,” said' he, 
 that your profession is the stage, 
 which from my heart I honour ; both 
 from its use, and the genius it has fur- 
 nished to the world ; although I 
 entertain some doubt, whether it 
 
 does 
 
( ^7 ) 
 
 does not produce as much evil as 
 good.” 
 
 “ And though a player, Sir,” said 
 I, “ 1 also have my- doubts. The 
 stage, T think is useful in a populous 
 city; but baneful in a village. In 
 the first, it serves to check the growth 
 of vice and folly : in the latter, 
 it disturbs the domestic peace, and 
 gives birth to levity and idleness. The 
 stage, in short, is a medicine for dis- 
 eased minds, and ought not to be ad- 
 ministered to the healthy.” 
 
 He assented to my opinion, and en- 
 tered farther into conversation. He 
 at last came to the resolution of .re- 
 maining all night at the house, for the 
 sake of pursuing his journey in the 
 morning in my company. “ We will 
 walk together,” said he, “ and conversa- 
 tion shall lighten the toil of travel.” 
 
 I an- 
 
( 68 ) 
 
 I answered, that nothing could be 
 more agreeable. He then desired the 
 landlord to prepare him a bed, and 
 ordered a bowl of punch, of whicli he in- 
 sisted on my partaking with him. Time 
 passed on in very pleasar.t conversation 
 on a variety of subjeds, in all of which 
 he was infinitely my superior. We 
 supped together, and at eleven o’clock 
 retired to our beds. 
 
 At seven next morning I rose, and 
 w'as shortly joined by my companion. 
 We immediately breakfasted, and pay- 
 ing our reckoning, set forward on the 
 road. His discourse on the way teemed, 
 with instrudion and entertainment. He 
 made some shrewd remarks upon the 
 contrasted manners of the town and 
 country people, and greatly ’ preferred 
 the happy ignorance of the latter to 
 the fallacious pleasures of the former. 
 
 “ And 
 
( 69 ) 
 
 And now,” said be, fixing his eyes 
 upon a gentleman approaching us on 
 horseback — “ and now you shall see the 
 effe(tis of a 'town education. 
 
 The gentleman was now close upon 
 us, when, to my astonishment and con- 
 fusion, my companion, masking his 
 features with a black crape, seized the 
 reins of the horse, drew a pistol from 
 his pc'cket, and pointing it to the gen- 
 tleman’s breast, in an imperious tone 
 demanded his watch and money : the 
 other, without hesitation, instantly de- 
 livered the first, and next his purse; 
 then, finding himseif treed, spurred his 
 beast, and gallopped off as swift as 
 lightning. 
 
 During this event, 1 stood nearly 
 petrified with amazement, from which 
 I was roused by my companion, wdio 
 rejoined me at the end of his encounter. 
 
 “ Such,” 
 
( 70 ) 
 
 “ Such,” said he, in an impressive 
 tone, and with the most placid coun- 
 tenance — “ such is the efFeds of a icvcn 
 education. My father ruined himself 
 in supporting me at one of the most 
 expensive schools in London, where 1 
 was taught every thing by the diffe- 
 rent masters who attended j he fondly 
 hoping that my accomplishments would 
 one day repay him with wealth and 
 honour ; but, happily, he lived not to 
 witness the baneful result of his erring: 
 indulgence. The case is, that forming 
 connexions with youth of rank and 
 fortune, my pride would not suffer me 
 to descend to any other society, and, 
 from want of other resources, I had re- 
 course to the gaming-table, where, with, 
 others ot my profession, mingling with 
 noblemen, my vanity was gratified, 
 while every principle of honour became 
 extind, and every moral virtue fled 
 before the pradices to which my ne- 
 cessities 
 
( 71 ) 
 
 cessities impelled me. At. times, when 
 driven to the lowest extremity, this 
 desperate condu£t has been my only 
 alternative ; and such it is to numbers 
 of my profession, who have courage 
 enough to venture on the game ; for 
 be assured, it is not conscience, but 
 fear only, that with-holds them. Con- 
 science, my friend, if such I may call 
 you, holds not her temple in a game- 
 ster’s breast j and never can the man 
 who seeks to bask upon another’s ruin, 
 be, restrained by any thing but the rod 
 of justice. But I feel myself at this 
 moment an exception to the rule, for 
 I am impressed with an esteem for your 
 worth, and an interest in your situation. 
 This virtue, perhaps, may be of short 
 duration, suffer me, therefore, to make 
 a happy use of it, by aiding your dis- 
 tress. This purse contains eleven gui- 
 neas, half of which is at your service.” 
 
 “ Never,’^ 
 
( 72 ) 
 
 Never,” answered I, “ never will , 
 I stand indebted to a kindness that will 
 dishonour my acceptance j and I won- 
 der to see such .sensibility and depravity 
 exist in the same heart ; moreover, I 
 beg of you, and your friendship cannot 
 better display itself than by obeying 
 my wish, that you will leave me this 
 instant ; for while I tremble for your 
 safety, I am apprehensive of my own.” 
 
 “ Will you not accept my friend- 
 ship ?” said he, “ why then we must 
 part; but first, let me_ hush your fears 
 for my safety,” — saying which, he open- 
 ed his bundle, and taking out a smock- 
 frock, a coloured handkerchief, and a, 
 pair of drab cloth spatterdashes, pulled 
 off his black coat, and dressed himself 
 in them ; then emptying the pockets 
 of the last, he packed them into a bun- 
 dle, and advanced to me with the exaft 
 appearance of a country labourer. 
 
 “ Now,” 
 
( 73 ) 
 
 - « Now,” - said he, “ are you afraid 
 of my company ?” 
 
 “ No,” replied I, “ but still we must 
 part.” 
 
 “ Well, then,” said he, “ since you 
 are on the tiptoe of morality, let me, 
 before we part, giv'fe you one piece of 
 advice ; which will shew the sincerity 
 of my esteem. Never trust appear- 
 ances, however specious but, with 
 strangers, always act with suspicion, till 
 you have incontrovertible proofs of their 
 honour. When first 1 saw you, I 
 marked you for an objefl of plunder ; 
 but discovering your poverty, my hopes 
 of course vanished : by listening to 
 your discourse, I grew pleased with 
 your society, and could not he!p com- 
 paring you to my former self. No 
 wonder, then, 1 felt an esteem for you, 
 which still, and ever will remain. But 
 
 VOL. III. ' E I will 
 
( 74 ) 
 
 f will no longer interrupf your peace, 
 
 Farewell ! fortune be your guide, 
 
 and heaven your reward.” He then 
 offered me his hand, which I accepted, 
 and exhorting him to seek a more 
 honourable way of life, bade him | 
 adieu. 
 
 j 
 
 We had now come to a cross road: 
 he turned to the right ; I still pursued 
 the diredl line. Being extremely ap- I 
 prehensive of pursuit, and fearing 1 [ 
 
 should be taken up on suspicion, 1 ran 
 a considerable w:xy, and then continued 
 in a brisk walk till four o’clock in the' ! 
 afternoon, when coming to another j 
 village, and being nearly exhausted with ’ 
 fatigue, I could not resist the tempta- 
 tion of a public-house which presented 
 itself to my view, but entered, and 
 called for a pint of ale, with bread and ' 
 cheese. My fears, however, w'culd not ■ 
 suffer me to remain there long ; for, 
 
 ♦ having 
 
( 75 ) 
 
 having finished my meal, I again set 
 forward. 
 
 I continued on my way till every 
 object was veiled in darkness, and the 
 dread of pursuit had left me. I there- 
 fore resolved to stop at the first house 
 that could accommodate me with a 
 bed. Thus determined, 1 walked on 
 as fast as my strength would enable me, 
 and the obscurity of night permit j but 
 having proceeded till I was faint 'Aitli 
 fatigue, without any signs of a dwell- 
 ing, I halted, and began doubting whe- 
 I ther it was best to go on, or stop and 
 ; take up my lodging in the field. Hav- 
 i ing remained a short time in this sus- 
 jpense, my ears were on a sudden greeted 
 by the distant sound of a violin : on 
 w'hich I concluded that a house must 
 I be at hand. But, lest my hearing 
 t might mistake the direftion from 
 E ^ whence 
 
 cr 
 
 3 
 
( 7 ^ ) 
 
 whence the sound proceeded, I mounted 
 a tree, and to my great satisfadion, 
 perceived a light beaming from the case- 
 ment of afann-house, about two hundred 
 yards to my left, at the end of a nar- 
 row-hedged lane, which the rays dis- 
 covered to me. Instantly quitting the 
 tree, 1 proceeded very cautiously, fear- 
 ful that some lurking dog might attack ' 
 me, to the door, or rather gate j the 
 house being inclosed towards the road, 
 V/ith a paling. 
 
 I listened attentively awhile, and , 
 could distinguish nothing but the sound! ^ 
 of mirth and good humour: “ These ■ 
 people,” thought I, “ are too happy! j 
 to deny an ad of humanity ; they wiil,l 
 no doubt, give me a bed, or at least a 
 resting place in some part of their habi- 
 tation.” With this hope 1 knocked at 
 the gate with a stick I had picked up 
 
 on 
 
 m 
 
( 77 ) 
 
 on my way, and in a few seconds it 
 u'as opened by a venerable old man* 
 who demanded my business. 
 
 “ 1 am a stranger,” said I, “ bc^* 
 ni 2 ;ht:ed and bewildered, and solicit a 
 shelter for the night.” 
 
 “ If thou art a stranger, and in 
 want,” returned he, “ it is but just that 
 I should grant thy request.” Then 
 taking my hand, conduded me into the 
 house, where 1 discovered a company 
 of several persons, male and female, on 
 each of whose features sat harmony and 
 joy. They were seated widely round 
 the room, as if to give space for dancing. 
 In a corner of the chimney sat an old 
 lame -fiddler, whose unfellowed legs (for 
 one was of wood) protedled an ample 
 mug of ale that stood between them on 
 the floor : next to him was an old lady, 
 mistress of the house and ceremonies, 
 E 3 smiling 
 
( 78 ) 
 
 smiling tjirough age at the pleasures of 
 youth, and which she seemed anxious 
 to increase. But the person who most 
 attraded my attention, was a fine young 
 fellow, who, though habited as a coun- 
 tryman, yet betrayed the sailor in hi? 
 Ci..'mplexion and deportment ; his right 
 arm encircled the waist of a beautiful 
 and modest girl next him, 'from whose 
 expressive eyes no objed could with- 
 draw his own. 
 
 I made my obedience to them all, 
 and observed, that I feared my serious 
 air would prove an unwelcome inter- 
 ruption to their mirth. “ J am but a 
 beggar,” concluded I, “ and too wearied 
 to mix in your mirth ; but my heart 
 will dance at your happiness.” 
 
 “ Young man,” said the old lad)^, 
 “ thou bring’st with thee two great re- 
 commendations, youth and good-na- 
 ture i 
 
( 79 ) 
 
 ture ; come, sit down by me, and I 
 will soon make thee as merry as the 
 rest.” I gladly obeyed her command, 
 which done, she rose, and placing a 
 small .round table before me, soon 
 ‘ covered it with a smiling plenty of 
 meat, pies, and tarts ; then seating her- 
 self by me,- and having filled my plate, 
 she addressed the young man I above 
 described, desiring him to fill me a mug 
 of ale. 
 
 “ V/ith‘aII my heart, mother,” said 
 he, rising from his chair, and obeying 
 her ; then advancing to me, and shak- 
 ing my hand, proceeded — “ Brother, 
 accept my hearty service ; I am glad 
 you have steered into our humble port, 
 where you will find safe anchorage and 
 as good cheer as we can bestow.” I 
 shook his hand in return, and expressed 
 my gratitude at his kindness and hospi- 
 tality. 
 
 E4 
 
 “ Why, 
 
( 8o ) 
 
 “ Why, look ye,” resumed he, “ you 
 must know this is a happy night with 
 me, for I have taken in tow a tight 
 little vessel for the voyage of life, and 
 there she sits.” 
 
 “ O, then,” exclaimed 1, “ may you 
 ever keep her to the windward of ad- 
 versity, and close hauled to happiness.” 
 
 During my meal, the old lady whis- 
 pered me, that Harry Mainland (the 
 name of the young man) Vt^as the son 
 of a neighbouring farmer j that he had 
 been bred to the sea, and been several 
 voyages to the East Indies, in which 
 trade, having made a little fortune, he 
 had that day married her daughter, to 
 whom he had been long betrothed, and 
 now Intended to spend his lite in his 
 father’s farm, v\hich was then undergo- 
 ing some repairs for their reception. 
 
 I had 
 
( Si ) 
 
 I had no sooner supped than I was 
 solicited to dance ; but on my assuring 
 them of my incapacity, from fatigue, 
 they ceased pressing me, but requested 
 I would sing, which 1 instantly com- 
 plied with, and gave infinite satisfadion. 
 Shortly after, Harry Mainland favoured 
 us with a hornpipe, which he executed 
 with much grace and wonderful agility. 
 That finished, ail the rest, except the 
 old lady, the fiddler and myself, joined 
 in a country-dance. Having again re- 
 sumed their seats, they called upon me 
 for another song, which I again willingly 
 answered j it then went round the whole 
 company, and those who could not sing 
 told a story. In short, the night passed 
 away in the happiest manner possible, 
 and had not the remembrance of Caro- 
 line glanced across my mind, I should 
 have enjoyed it in its full extent. But, 
 alas ! ray heart never expanded towards 
 E 5 delight_, 
 
( 82 ) 
 
 delight, without being checked by a 
 sigh at her loss, or a tear for her fallen 
 virtue. 
 
 My kind host, whose name I learnt 
 was Bowman, observing my melan- 
 choly, which I vainly attempted to ba- 
 nish, expressed his regret at it, and 
 gently hinted a wish to know the cause. 
 “ Perhaps,” said he, “ the advice of an 
 old man may be of use to thee.” The 
 eyes of all the company were then fixed 
 upon me, in which I perceived an eager 
 curiosity, and a hope of my com- 
 pliance ; therefore, from a conscious- 
 ness of obligation, 1 commenced a brief 
 account of my life till my marriage with 
 Caroline, when I became more circum- 
 stantial, and dwelt upon the event of 
 her loss with renewed sorrow, describ- 
 ing my wretchedness thereat, and rash 
 attempt. “ In me, my friends,” said 
 
 I, “ you 
 
( S3 ) 
 
 I, “ you behold a being who. dared 
 arrest the will of God, and throw him- 
 self upon'eternity.” 
 
 “ Stand clear, ” exclaimed Harry 
 Mainland, and springing to me with a 
 bound of joy and exultation — “ stand 
 clear ! It was I, my heart, who saved 
 you ; it was 1 who snatched you from 
 the flood ; ’twas I who carried you dead 
 in my arms to the house, and saw you 
 making into the stream of life again. 
 But I could not stop ; our ship was 
 waiting the breeze, and we sailed that 
 night.” 
 
 Reader, I cannot tell thee what I 
 felt at that moment ; I cannot describe 
 to thee the sensations of my heart, and 
 what I thought of, and how I gazed 
 at Harry, and how my soul expanded 
 to join his. These things, thou know- 
 £ 6 est 
 
( 84 ) 
 
 est as well as T, o’ertop all art, the pain- 
 ter and the poet. 
 
 Each person melted into tears ; they 
 all rose, and giving full scope to their 
 joy, embraced us both in turn. 
 
 It was some time before I could pro- 
 ceed with my history; but at last, re- 
 suming it, continued on to my arrival 
 at the door of this happy mansion. 
 
 I had no sooner made an end, than 
 Mrs. Bowman and her husband exaded 
 from me a promise to remain with them 
 a week. 
 
 About one oAlock, the charming 
 bride, in obedience to a hint from her 
 mother, retired to bed, and, shortly 
 after, the anxious Henry followed, to 
 enjoy the completion of his hopes. The 
 
 company 
 
( 85 ) 
 
 company then remained not long, but 
 taking a friendly leave of each other, 
 parted, with numberless good wishes 
 for the happy pair, while I, being 
 shewn to my room, soon sunk into 
 repose. 
 
 CHAP, 
 
( 86 ) 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 READER, thou hast left this 
 family in peace : part asleep and dead 
 to every care j part awake, alive to 
 every joy. What storm shall disturb 
 the first ; what blast destroy the last ? 
 Thou shouldst know, that life unmixed 
 with sorrow, is not the lot of man. 
 Alas ! it seems a dream, whose objedts 
 are but phantoms that float about the 
 brain and adl without a cause j ’tis 
 death alone can wake us into knowledge 
 and unfold the riddle. 
 
 The shrieks of a female roused me 
 in the morning, when, starting from 
 my bed, I dressed myself in part, and 
 apprehensive of danger, seized an iron 
 rod that stood at hand, then flew to the 
 
 spot 
 
( S? )' 
 
 spot whence the sound proceeded. It 
 was the chamber of Henry, whom I 
 found struggling to free himself from 
 the hold of two ruffians in sailor’s habits, 
 W'hile three others, with a midship- 
 man, stood by, with each a drawn hanger. 
 The distressed bride had fainted in her 
 father’s arms, and the poor old lady 
 was on her knees, imploring, in wnld 
 accents, the pity of our disturbers.” 
 
 “ A press-gang, my friend,” cried 
 Harry, seeing me approach — “ let me 
 loose,” said he to them, in a tone of 
 anguish, on beholding the situation of 
 his wife — “ let me loose, and I will 
 follow you to death.” 
 
 “ No, Sir,” roared ,out one of the 
 fellows, who grasped him, “ the King 
 wants good seamen j we have been 
 long on the hunt for you, and are now 
 
 come 
 
( S3 ) 
 
 come seven miles to make good our 
 chace, and bl — t mj^ e — s if }?oa sheer 
 off from our grapple now, so about 
 ship.” 
 
 Enraged at the barbarity of his con- 
 duft, and losing all fear in the cause of 
 my friend, I struck a blow at the ruf- 
 fian’s head, that brought him to the 
 ground, when Henry, finding one arm at 
 liberty, sent his companion reeling to the 
 farther end of the room, then springing 
 upon the officer, attempted to wrest 
 his weapon. In the mean time I stood 
 not idle ; but aimed another blow at 
 the first of the gang within my reach, 
 when, before it took effedt, 1 received a 
 cut from one behind, upon my shoul- 
 der, which totally deprived my arm of 
 its use, and it fell nerveless to my side, 
 while the rod dropped to the ground. 
 Another of them, in front, seeing me 
 
 incapable 
 
( 89 ) 
 
 incapable of resistance, struck me with 
 such effeft upon my forehead, that I 
 Jay senseless at his feet. 
 
 On revival, I found myself in bed, 
 and under the care of old Mr. Main- 
 land and Mr. Bowman, wdio were weep- 
 ing over my wounds, and endeavouring 
 to stop their bleeding. Shortly a sur- ’ 
 geon arrived, w'ho, on examining them, 
 assured me they were not mortal. The 
 one on my shoulder, he observed, was 
 the most dangerous, being cut to the 
 bone, which w^s injured by the blow ; 
 the other, on my forehead, would be 
 troublesome,, he said, but was by no 
 means so bad as the first. 
 
 This was no sooner known to the 
 good old people, than they blessed God 
 for the good tidings, and declared they 
 should forever regard me as their owm 
 child. I eagerly inquired for Henry, 
 but w-as answ'ered only by tears. 
 
 “ He 
 
( 90 ) 
 
 He is gone,” said I, — ■“ he is tom 
 from you by those living machines of 
 execrable war; may God avenge him- 
 self on those who move them ; may 
 peace fly their presence, and war be 
 theirs forever.” 
 
 They presently informed me, that he 
 had been torn away by the press-gang, 
 Who would convey him to their tender, 
 from whence he promised to write the 
 moment that pen and paper could be 
 procured. 
 
 But where,” demanded I, “ where 
 is his wife ?” 
 
 She,” said Mr. Mainland, “ after 
 vaiiily attempting to be carried with 
 her husband, to whom she clung with 
 all her strength, was torn from him by- 
 two. of the sailors, while the rest drag- 
 ged him off till he was out of sight, 
 
 and 
 
(90 
 
 and beyond the reach of her cries ; then 
 leaving her, they followed their un* 
 feeling companions. She is now upon 
 her bed, indulging in sorrow.” 
 
 The surgeon having dressed my 
 wounds, gave diredions for my treat- 
 ment and diet, and left me for that 
 day. Shortly after, my friends left me 
 to repose ; but my reflections and my 
 pains were too poignant to admit of 
 sleep. I lay revolving on my own 
 situation, and lamenting that of the 
 generous Henry. The apprehensions 
 of remaining a burthen on this good 
 family, made me very uneasy : “ and 
 yet,” thought I, ‘‘ such hearts as 
 theirs delight in the offices of hu- 
 manity, and are happy in its pradice.” 
 
 The surgeon attended again next 
 day, and re-dressed my wounds, assur- 
 ing me there would be no danger, pro- 
 vided 
 
( 92 ) 
 
 vkled T adhered to bis prescriptions 
 which, by the bye, were more rigid 
 than I could have wished. Tviy friends, 
 in the mean time, shewed me every 
 mark of tender regard which benevo- 
 lence could suggest. 
 
 The amiable consort of Henry re- 
 mained as clusely confined to her room 
 as myself, and could hardly be pre- 
 vailed upon to accept of any nourish- 
 ment. She frequently inquired for 
 me, and expressed a desire to converse, 
 or rather, to condole with me; but, 
 for a time her parents denied it, lest 
 on beholding the effeds of my friend- 
 ship for Henry, her afflidion should 
 be augmented. 
 
 Old Mr. Mainland came daily to 
 visit me, and always brought some 
 present, which, though 1 could not 
 partake of, I seldom refused ; judging 
 
 it 
 
( 93 ) 
 
 it, would be a disappointment to his 
 kindness. In short, he and his friends 
 appeared emulous to make me happy. 
 
 Three weeks had elapsed, and Henry 
 had not been heard ot ; when the dis- 
 tress of his friends increased to such a 
 degree, that his father, in the hopes of 
 alleviating it, resolved to go in quest of 
 him, when, a few hours before his intend- 
 ed departure, they received two letters, 
 one for his father, the other for his wife. 
 They stated, that being conveyed on. 
 board the tender, he offered to enter, 
 but, notwithstanding, was confined be- 
 tween decks, among several other un- 
 fortunate young men. There he re- 
 n'lained a fortnight, denied the satis- 
 faction, though he begged it with 
 tears in his eyes, of writing to his 
 friends. At last, being chosen from 
 among his fellow-prisoners, he was sent 
 pn board a fifty-gun ship, the captain of 
 
 which. 
 
( 94 ) 
 
 which, to his great happiness, proved to 
 be well known to him, having sailed in 
 his company to the East Indies. The 
 consequence was, his immediate ad- 
 mission to the rank of master’s mate, 
 and receiving the kindest treatment. 
 But all the interest of his commander 
 could not procure his discharge, so 
 greaily were they in want of experi- 
 enced seamen j however, he was pro- 
 mised, that, -on the first opportunity, 
 he should have leave to visit his friends. 
 He made particular inquiries after me, 
 and hoped he should have my esteem 
 and friendship through life. 
 
 Our fears for his safety now being, in 
 part, removed, and finding him to be 
 in a respedable situation, our care also 
 lessened by degrees. Mrs. Mainland 
 inproved in health and spirits, from the 
 hope of again having her Henry restored 
 to her arms. 
 
 In 
 
( 95 ) 
 
 In about a fortnight after these tid- 
 ings, 1 was in a condition to walk 
 abroad and enjoy the air. My time 
 was divided between the two families of 
 Mainland and Bowman, which, but 
 that 1 knew no such trivial motives 
 urged them, I should have thought, 
 strove to outvie each other in their 
 offices of friendship to me. 
 
 Mrs. Mainland shewed a sisterly 
 esteem for me, and would often be the 
 companion of my walks round the 
 fields, where we would dwell on the 
 beauties of Nature, and praise her rich 
 variety. At times, we conversed upon 
 the manners of mankind. Sl.e would 
 listen to the events I had passed, and 
 my conclusive observations, with a deep 
 attention. When 1 spoke of London, 
 she seemed particularly anxious and in- 
 quisitive i but I carefully avoided poi- 
 soning her mind with a flattering de- 
 scription 
 
( 96 ) 
 
 •crlptlon of its sedudlive pleasures ; 
 “ They are evanescent,” I would say, 
 “ and will fade, in comparison with 
 the solid joy and sweet content of a 
 country life ; for the farther we remove 
 from the city’s strife, the nigher are we 
 to that happy state which poets define — 
 THE GOLDEN AGE.” 
 
 Several weeks had now passed away, 
 without hearing farther from Henry ; 
 at last there came another letter, dated 
 from Cork ; in which he informed, that 
 a few days after his first w’riting, his 
 ship put to sea, and had been cruizing 
 off Ireland j that she was then in Cork 
 harbour, whence they were ordered to 
 protect a fleet of merchantmen up the 
 Straits; after which, he hoped to re- 
 turn lurme, and enjoy those blessings 
 he so anxiously wished for. The cap- 
 tain, he said, continued to treat him 
 with the utmost kindness, and had pro- 
 mised 
 
( 97 ) 
 
 ttiised his interest in getting him pro- 
 moted to the rank of lieutenant : “And. 
 surely,” concluded he, “ my dear Anne 
 i will be proud on seeing me return an 
 ! officer of the British Navy.” 
 
 I Though this intelligence by no 
 means banished her concern, yet, it 
 was greatly meliorated by the consi- 
 deration of his being in health, and ac- 
 companied by success. 
 
 My wounds, by this time, being 
 sufficiently healed, I began to think 
 and speak of my departure ; though 
 these worthy people, whom I loved as 
 parents,, pressed me to remain till the 
 arrival of Henry. I dispatched three 
 or four letters to as many Managers, 
 with offers of my services ; but wait- 
 I ing till my patience was exhausted, and 
 receiving no answer, I resolved to set 
 forward in a few days, and trust to 
 ' chance. 
 
 TOL. III. F Previous 
 
( 98 ) 
 
 Previous to the execution of this 
 determination, I waited on the surgeon, 
 and demanded his bill, full of appre- 
 hension, lest it should exceed my power 
 of discharging ; when he informed me, 
 that it had been paid by Mr. Mainland. 
 On desiring to know the amount, he 
 answered, five pounds fifteen and six- 
 pence. Taking leave of him, I instant- 
 ly repaired to the old gentleman, and 
 found him in his orchard, enjoying his 
 pipe and glass, under a mulberry-tree. 
 
 “ I find,” said I, “ that you have 
 anticipated -me in the surgeon’s bill j 
 which 1 hear amounts to more than I 
 possess. I will not offend you, there- 
 fore, by .offering you a part of it ; 
 but hope to refund the whole on the 
 first improvement of my fortune ; for 
 the obligations 1 have already received 
 from you, are too great, and infinitely 
 beyond my ability to compensate.” 
 
 The 
 
( 99 ) 
 
 The old gentleman taking my hand, 
 and fixing a stedfast look 'upon me 
 returned, 
 
 “ My dear boy, I was thinking of 
 thee- just as thou arriVed’st : thou hast 
 ventured thy life in defending my 
 Harry : for him hast thou suffered 
 a painful illness for him wilt thou 
 carry those marks of friendship to the 
 grave j and for his sake hast thou, 
 perhaps, been checked in the pursuit 
 of a better fortune, which may now be 
 lost. I hear that thou art about to 
 leave us ; perhaps for ever. Do not 
 be offended at my plainness, then, but 
 forget the surgeon’s billj put this in 
 thy pocket, without a word, and re- 
 member the claims thou hast upon my 
 future gratitude. My humble doors 
 shall be ever open to thee, and such as 
 I possess shall be thy own. 
 
 ? 2 
 
 Unfold- 
 
( 100 ) 
 
 Unfolding the paper which he had 
 given me, I perceived it was a twenty 
 pound bank-note. 
 
 ** I am sufficiently happy,” replied I, 
 placing it on the table, “ in having so 
 excellent a friend to depend on in time 
 of need ; but I must by no means ac- 
 cept this, and you will cease to press 
 me, when I swear by Heaven I will 
 not. The first part of your kindness 
 still remains — I mean the surgeon’s 
 bill, with every other instance of your 
 generosity ; and, to lessen your concern 
 for me, 1 do assure you that the stock 
 of money I possess is competent to my 
 present wants.” 
 
 The good man, with infinite relu6t- 
 ance, re-pocketed the note. We then 
 remained in conversation till dark, when 
 we withdrew into the house and supped. 
 
 Next 
 
( loi ) 
 
 Next day, walking on the road, and 
 pondering on the means of procuring 
 an engagement, I overtook a waggon, 
 loaded with scenery and various ap- 
 pendages of the stage. Perceiving a 
 decent youth in company with the 
 driver, I immediately concluded him 
 to be charged with the care of them 5 
 accordingly, advancing to him, I de- 
 manded whither he was bound, at the 
 same time excusing my cdriosity, by 
 saying I was in the profession. On 
 this he shook me by the hand, and an- 
 swered, that he was going to a large 
 Fair about eleven miles farther, that 
 was held in the environs of a populous 
 town, where they would make a month’s 
 stay. I then asked whether they were 
 in want of performers ? he replied yes j 
 for that his uncle, who was the Mana- 
 ger, had been some time back wishing 
 for two of respedlable talents. “ I will 
 attend him then,” said I j “ therefore 
 F 3 give 
 
( 102 ) 
 
 give me his name, with that of the 
 town.” He did so, and advised me to 
 be there three da}’s from that time, 
 when his uncle Would be ready to tre^t 
 with me. I then hastened to my friends, 
 to whom 1 related my adventure and 
 intention. 
 
 When the time of departure ar- 
 rived, they flocked round me, shewing 
 thereat every demonstration of regret. 
 We embraced in tears, and exchanged 
 the most fervent promises of lasting 
 regard. “ Farewell 1” said they; “ we 
 shall never cease to think of you, and 
 never think of you without afledtion.” 
 Then, Vv'ith my little bundle in one 
 hand, and a stick in the other, 1 once 
 more sought my w'ay ward fortune, from 
 whose winding chase I had been de- 
 layed four months. 
 
 Without meeting any thing worth 
 
 notice, 
 
( 103 ) 
 
 notice, I reached my place of destina- 
 tion about seven in the evening. I 
 found the tovm crowded with holiday 
 people, who seemed preparing for the 
 Fair, which was to open on the follow- 
 ing day. Every public-house was filled 
 by people from all parts of the sur- 
 rounding country ; so that none could 
 ‘accommodate me with a lodging; I 
 was therefore obliged to pace the streets, 
 and inquire at every door, till at last, 
 1 secured myself a garret in a private 
 house. 
 
 Next day I went, in good time, to 
 the theatre, which I found situated in. 
 a field adjoining the main road, and 
 about half w'ay between the town and 
 Fair. It was a poor temporary eredlion 
 of wood, the front being painted in a 
 paltry manner, in imitation of stone, 
 and its whole appearance serving to give 
 the beholder a most despicable opinion 
 F 4 of 
 
( 104 ) 
 
 of its occupants. While I stood gazing' 
 at it, J perceived the youth who had 
 given me the direfiion busied in fasten- 
 ing up a green curtain at the door-way, 
 for the purpose of parting the box and 
 pit entrance. Making up to him, I 
 demanded if his uncle was within.. He 
 answered in the affirmative, and imme- 
 diately conduced me to his presence*, 
 saying, “ This, Sir, is the gentleman 
 concerning whom I spoke to you.” 
 
 “ Leave us to consider awhile,” re- 
 turned he, with all the majesty he could 
 assume. Struck v^ith his manner, I 
 immediately marked him as a charader. 
 He was of a middle age, plump and 
 well made, but his features labouring 
 at a gravity that excited laughter j for 
 they were formed by Nature for a con/ 
 tinual grin, while his eyes seemed in 
 search of admiration# 
 
 Having 
 
( 105 ) 
 
 Having made a proper survey of me, 
 he broke forth as follows : “ A — have 
 you, Sir, — a — played in any a — respeSla- 
 ble company ? — for mine, 1 assure ye, is 
 not of the common order.” 
 
 I have performed in very respedlable 
 companies. Sir,” replied I, casting a 
 significant look around the house. On 
 which he desired me to give him a 
 specimen of my abilities. I diredly 
 spoke the dagger soliloquy of Macbeth^ 
 which, when I had finished, he observed, 
 was, certainly, on the whole, deserving 
 praise; but, that there were a few errors, 
 which he should take some future op- 
 portunity of eradicating from me. I 
 answered, that I should at all rimes 
 be proud of his corrections. He then, 
 said, he should try me in a first-rate 
 eharadter, which, if 1 filled well, should 
 remain in my possession — “ But what 
 salary do you exped ?” concluded he. 
 
 F 5 After 
 
( io6 ) 
 
 After a little consideration, I answered, 
 “ A guinea a week.” 
 
 “ A guinea 1 ad — m — n!” exclaimed 
 he, and starting back three paces — “ a 
 guinea a week, young man j why, sure- 
 ly, you have been schooled upon the 
 London boards, in modesty ; but speak 
 again, my dear lad, speak again — I cer- 
 tainly have misunderstood ye.” I then 
 begged him to name his own terms, 
 which, if possible, I would accept. 
 
 “ Wh}'-, then,” returned he, “ half 
 that sum is at your service.” 
 
 “ You mean, of course, to board me 
 then,” said I. 
 
 “ Board you I” cried he again — “ no, 
 I would rather submit to- your enor- 
 mous demand than board a hungry 
 player.” 
 
 “ And 
 
( 107 ) 
 
 “ And I would rather submit,” re- 
 turned I, “ to be a Merry Andrew at 
 the Fair, than accept your hungry al- 
 lowance.” Saying which, I turned 
 about, and was preparing to go, with- 
 out farther altercation, when he called 
 me back, and after several proposals 
 and rejeftions, agreed to give me thir- 
 teen shillings, which 1 thought proper 
 to accept. 
 
 The charaflers being all cast for the 
 play of that evening, he desired me to 
 take a part in the pantomime, and the 
 following night that, of Richard the 
 Third. 
 
 I now took a particular survey of the 
 house, which was lined with matting. 
 The only division of the pit and gallery 
 w'as by a wooden bar that went across. 
 The boxes appeared to have been flour 
 bins, such as are used by bakers, and 
 f 6 were 
 
( io8 ) 
 
 were now adorned with green baize. 
 The stage was raised about two feet 
 from the ground, and so extremely 
 loose, that it seemed entirely adapted 
 for tumblers. I could find no other 
 convenience for the performers, than a 
 narrow closet at the back of the scenes, 
 which served at once for green and 
 dressing-room to both sexes. But, 
 however, their appearance bespoke them 
 to be of that happy class oi mortals, 
 W'ho bear the ills of this life with an 
 excellent grace. They were fitted to 
 encounter all seasons, and any one 
 would, at first sight, have judged them 
 to be the pupils of the profound Locke, 
 who recommends the exposure of human 
 bodies to all weathers for many parts 
 of theirs were as familiar to the sun as 
 the hand and face. My attire was so 
 remarkably at variance with the fashion 
 of theirs, that they gazed upon me as 
 if I had dropped from the clouds : their 
 
 wonder 
 
(^ 09 ) 
 
 wonder being no doubt augmented, 
 from the knowledge of my being of 
 the same profession.” 
 
 I made my obedience to them all, 
 and endeavoured to converse with a 
 few j but, whether they had been awed 
 by my superior merit, or whether (as 
 was by far most probable) they con- 
 ceived a hearty contempt for me, I can- 
 not tell, none of them deigned to give 
 me a civil reply, except a young kd)', 
 who differed much from the rest j and 
 W'hether she presumed to place her 
 opinion in contrast to them, or that the 
 suavity of her temper surpassed theirs, 
 she was altogether as polite and free to 
 me as the rest were reserved and scorn- 
 ful. 
 
 This lady was pretty, genteel, and 
 sensible, and made hereself so interest- 
 ing to me, that I could not resist the 
 
 temptation 
 
( no ) 
 
 temptation of requesting to condudt 
 her home ; to which she agreed with 
 the most engaging srnile. Having 
 reached her door, a lightness of heart, 
 to which J had been long a stranger, 
 prompted me to solicit her company 
 that afternoon to the Fair. “ Most 
 gladly,” said she : “ do not disappoint 
 me i I will prepare for your coming, 
 for I am fond of mixing among the 
 happy.” 
 
 After dinner I accordingly returned 
 to her, and found she had attired her- 
 self in a very graceful style, well know- 
 ing, as most of the sex do, that the 
 way to men’s hearts is through their 
 eyes. We instantly set forward on our 
 excursion, and as we walked she enter- 
 tained me with the charaders of our 
 company, making slight observations 
 upon their professional abilities, which 
 she held in very little resped. She in- 
 formed 
 
 
( III ) 
 
 formed me, that she took the lead in 
 comedy, farce and pantomime ; in the 
 latter of which she was always the Co- 
 lumbine, and was likewise the principal 
 dancer. She confessed her having been 
 seduced by an aftor, who afterwards 
 deserted her for a rich prize whom he 
 married; that her friends then refusing 
 to receive her, she adopted this mode 
 of existence in preference to any other. 
 
 Thus did she amuse me on the road, 
 till the sound of trumpets. French- 
 horns, and the bawling of showmeri, 
 pronounced the Fair at hand ; and in a 
 few minutes we were in the midst of it. 
 
 It was on a spacious common, open 
 on all sides to the surrounding country. 
 I instantly felt my spirits rise to meet 
 the general joy that sat smiling on each 
 countenance ; and Miss Hopkins (the 
 name of my companion) danced as she 
 
 went. 
 
( ) 
 
 went. Indeed every object was so full 
 of life, that it was impossible to escape 
 the welcome contagion ; and 1 should 
 have pitied him who could. The booths 
 formed a circle of a full mile in cir- 
 cumference 3 each of them was honoured 
 with a flag at top, and plenty of com- 
 pany within, where might be seen hus- 
 bands, wives, children and servants, in 
 unrestrained mirth and good fellow- 
 ship. Numbers of shows were promis- 
 cuously placed about, and all of .them 
 filled with admiring audiences. In short, 
 the whole presented a pidure of uni- 
 versal glee. 
 
 On our rounds, we observed a large 
 circle of people gazing at a number of 
 others, who were amusing themselves 
 in a country-dance, enlivened by a 
 hand-organ and tambourin. Miss Hop- 
 kins, without saying a word, pulled me 
 to the bottom, and placing herself op- 
 posite 
 
( 1^3 ) 
 
 fosite to me, desired 1 would prepare 
 for my turn. Being by no means in a 
 humour to deny her request, I nodded 
 assent, and shortly we began to move-. 
 Our style differed so greatly from the 
 rest, that it drew the attention of all, 
 and brought forth repeated bursts of 
 applause. I was myself charmed with 
 my partner, who displayed uncommon 
 agility, accompanied by a considerable 
 share of grace, while I gave full scope 
 to all that I was master of. 
 
 The dance had no sooner ended, than 
 the rest surrounded us, and declared 
 we should not depart till we honoured 
 them by accepting a treat. They ac- 
 cordingly conduded us, in triumph, to 
 the noblest booth in the Fair, where 
 they called for as noble an entertain- 
 ment. During our repast some of them 
 formed another dance, as if emulous 
 to excite our notice, while w'e sat like 
 
 canopied 
 
( II4 ) 
 
 canopied sovereigns, dispensing our ap- 
 probation of their loyalty. We re- 
 mained in their company till it was- 
 time for us to return, when we parted, 
 with many expressions of kindness on 
 both sides. 
 
 About a hundred yards beyond the 
 borders of the fair, we descried a vast 
 concourse of people surrounding a man 
 in black, elevated above their heads on 
 a kind of rostrum, and who, by his 
 gesticulations appeared to be haran- 
 guing them in a very energetic man- 
 ner. Anxious to know his subjed', 
 W'e turned ai.d approached him ; but 
 had scarLely reached his auditors be- 
 fore he beckoned to and addressed us 
 thus ; 
 
 Come — come hither, ye children 
 of impurity, begotten L/' Sin, and 
 swimming in her poisoned streams ! 
 
 come 
 
( 115 ) 
 
 come and listen to the voice of thy 
 Maker, which shall purge away the 
 filth that now clings to thy souls, and 
 which it has gathered in the contami- 
 nated atmosphere of yonder mart of 
 hell, where Satan revels triumphant, 
 like the rampant lion, devouring by 
 multitudes the flocks of the unholy. — 
 Ye children of frailty 1 — ye giddy fools, 
 who dive headlong into seas of. brim- 
 stone, or boiling oil, when ye think ye 
 are sporting on a sunny bank, have ye 
 ^o thought of eternity ?— must the Ora- 
 cles of Heaven brawl out till they are 
 hoarse, with a voice of warning and 
 salvation, without being regarded ? — 
 Ye mites of ungodliness — ye elephants 
 of iniquity, ye will one day hear that 
 voice, when your souls, crusted round 
 by the scales of unrighteousness, shall 
 tremble, and wish it had ears to hear. — 
 But go — go, if ye will not stop in the 
 presence of the wise i go and wallow in 
 
 your 
 
( ii6 ) 
 
 your dirt — go, get drunk in the cup of 
 Beelzebub : dance to the music of Be- 
 lial, and die in the arms of fornication 1 
 — go, I say, and faint on the bosoms of 
 the wh — s of hell !’* 
 
 He had no sooner finished his climax, 
 than two constables forced their way 
 through the crowd, and seized the holy 
 orator, who, finding himself in danger, 
 strove to move his hearers to his rescue; 
 when one of the officers, perhaps ap- 
 prehensive of the charms of his elo- 
 quence, mounted the rostrum, and pro- 
 ducing a warrant, spoke as follows ; 
 
 “ Countrymen, I hope none of you 
 are weak enou«;h to become the foi* 
 lowers of this hypocrite, who is nothing 
 but a wolf in shee'/s clothing, and, 
 under the pretence of godliness, will 
 pick your pockets, dishonour your 
 wives, and seduce your daughters. 
 
 Look 
 
( ”7 ) 
 
 Look here, behold this warrant for 
 his apprehension. He has infamously 
 abused a good, but simple man, who 
 took him into his house, relieved his 
 wants, and therished him. He has 
 broken the heart of this man ; he has 
 taught his son to rob him, while he 
 has purloined the articles of theft and 
 seduced and diseased the daughter. 
 Now, let me ask you — is this a man 
 who can shew you the way to Heaven ?” 
 
 The crowd immediately dispersed^ 
 with shame, leaving the constables to 
 carry off their hero, while Miss Hop- 
 kins and myself hurried to the theatre. 
 
 chap; 
 
( iiS ) 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 WE found the house so full, - 
 that many persons were disappointed of 
 admission. The play was ready, and 
 waited but for my companion, who had 
 scarcely time to dress before she was 
 called upon. 
 
 I had now an opportunity ofjudging 
 of her performance, which infinitely 
 surpassed my expectations. It was vi- 
 vacious and easy, and would have en- 
 sured applause before the most rigid 
 assemblage of critics. The rest of the 
 company were really unexceptionable ; 
 for they seemed moved by one soul; 
 and any body would have imagined ‘ 
 them to have sworn not to excel each 
 other ; their philosophy disdaining all 
 
 passion. 
 
( ”9 ) 
 
 .passion, and their genius all point. Not 
 a hand of theif audience moved to ap- 
 prove, unless when the author’s rnerit 
 burst through their tameness. 
 
 My part in the pantomime was the 
 Fop, a rejected lover of Columbine, 
 in which I acquitted myself to the sa- 
 tisfaction of our Manager, who ob- 
 served, it was vtry fair. 
 
 1 had agreed to see Miss Hopkins 
 home ; accordingly, the moment she 
 was ready, we set off tOj^ether. 
 
 My interest in this young lady in- 
 creased every moment from our first 
 meeting, and had now risen to a. very 
 eminent degree. I began to indulge in 
 thoughts which had been long strangers 
 to me. The wine I had drank, at the 
 Fair, no doubt, tended to exhilarate my 
 spirits, which, together v/ith some very 
 
 inqui- 
 
( 120 ) 
 
 inquisitive looks of hers, and a yieldlng^ 
 air, conspired to set me in a flame. All 
 the way to her lodgings, my arms were 
 encircled round her waist, and the 
 darkness of the night precluding the 
 impertinent observations of man, our 
 lips met each others with peculiar free- 
 dom, till vye arrived at her door. 
 
 “ We must not part, my dear Miss 
 Hopkins,” sighed I. 
 
 “ You know best,” returned she, 
 with an archness that banished all ce- 
 remony. 
 
 Then the devil take me,” exclaim- - 
 ed 1, “ and let me suffer all the tor- 
 ments of the Methodist’s threats, if I 
 desert so sweet a partner.” 
 
 “ Heaven forbid you should,” said 
 she, and opening the door with a key, 
 
 hurried 
 
( I2I ') 
 
 hurried up to her room, while 1 closely 
 followed her. — And now, reader, thou 
 art, no doubt, watching my every mo- 
 tion ; but do not be rude — the curtains 
 are drawn — good night. 
 
 In the morning, a little girl came in- 
 to the room, and throwing back the 
 curtains of our bed, demanded whe- 
 ther Miss Hopkins would have milk 
 for breakfast ; but she being fast asleep, 
 I raised up my head, and, in a peevish 
 tone, bid her begone. The child no 
 sooner saw a strange face, and heard a 
 strange voice, than she screamed out, 
 and running with all speed down to her 
 mother, cried out : “ O mother, mo- 
 ther, such a thing ! there’s a man in 
 bed, and Miss Hopkins is dead ! O, 
 he has kill’d Miss Hopkins !” 
 
 “ Ch — st of his mercy forbid !” ex- 
 claimed the good woman. “ Come 
 
 VOL. HI. G along 
 
( 122 ) 
 
 along with me, child ; we will raise the 
 neighbours.” Her tongue then ceased, 
 and immediately after 1 heard the door 
 shut. Foreseeing the consequences, 1 
 waked Miss Hopkins, and related the 
 circumstance to her. “ Remember,” 
 said she, with a happy presence of 
 mind— “ Remember, that you are my 
 husband,* and that you arrived last 
 night, and mean to remain here.” 
 
 '^Ve had not finished dressing our- 
 selves before the landlady returned, ac- 
 companied by six or seven men, one 
 of whom, having reached the stairs, 
 roared out, 
 
 “ Go thee first, Tomkins; cock thy 
 blunderbuss, and mind how thee open’st 
 the door ; for mayhap a may knocken 
 thee down : who knows what bloody 
 weapons a may have, or what a bloody- 
 minded fellow a may be — up, my lad, 
 and we’ll follow thee.” 
 
 The 
 
( ) 
 
 The formidable cavalcade accordins!” 
 ly marched, ia slow order, up stairs ^ 
 and, having reached the top, com- 
 tuenced a heavy battery against our 
 door. 
 
 I a6lually began to feel some ap- 
 prehensions for my life, imagining they 
 might fire without ascertaining the guilt 
 of their object ; on which I desired Miss 
 Hopkins would address them, and do 
 away their false alarm. She^ in com- 
 pliance, began with, 
 
 “ In the name of peace, what is the 
 meaning of this unusual noise, good 
 people ?” 
 
 “ Halloo !” bawled out one of the 
 champions — “ who be’est thee ? — Pray 
 an’t there a bloody murderer in this 
 yere room ? and han’t he slaughter’d a 
 young Oman that lodges yere ?” 
 
 G ^ 
 
 Good 
 
( 124 ) 
 
 “ Good J — s !” returned she, “ what 
 murder and nonsense are you prating 
 about ? I am the young woman you 
 are speaking of, and here is no other 
 murderer but what your own mad brains 
 have created j I beg, my good friends, 
 you will not molest a woman in her own 
 apartment, but return home and send 
 Mrs. Jacobs, my landlady, to me.” 
 
 “ Why, Miss Hopkins,” cried the 
 latter from the bottom of the stairs, 
 “ what, be’est thee alive in earnest ! 
 Ch — St be blest ! but an’t you the devil’s 
 imp feigning her voice, and colleagued 
 with the murderer ?” 
 
 “ Dong it, well said,” roared one of 
 the countrymen — “ mayhap a be the 
 devil ; don’t let’s go till we are sure ; 
 so open the door, and shew yer horns 
 and cloven feet,” 
 
 Fools,” 
 
( 125 ) 
 
 “ Fools/’ cried Miss Hopkins, “ 1 
 am neither the devil nor his imp, but 
 a mortal being like yourselves : I am 
 not dressed yet, and will not open my 
 door till you are gone : if you persist 
 farther to disturb me, or to force it 
 from the lock, the law shall teach you 
 better manners than to intrude on the 
 privacy of a woman.” 
 
 At the word law, they tumbled down 
 as though the rod of justice was already 
 at their back, and rushed immediately 
 out of the house. 
 
 The coast being clear, we deemed it 
 advisable to inform the landlady of the 
 whole affair, keeping to the story of my 
 being her husband. 
 
 “ And why not,” said I, “ have I 
 not the same regard ? let me have the 
 same enjoyments too : our fortunes are 
 G 3 the 
 
( 126 ) 
 
 the same ; let us combine them j they 
 will become lighter, and life will pass 
 away more gaily.” 
 
 “ Be it so, with all my heart,” re- 
 plied she, smiling, and immediately 
 went down to establish the story. 
 
 She presently returned, informing 
 me that the good lady fell readily into 
 a belief of what she had advanced j 
 and admitted the stridl propriety of our 
 living together j but nothing tended 
 farther to convince her, than a volun- 
 tary promise of raising our rent. 
 
 Things being tlius adjusted, W'e sat 
 down to breakfast, and expressed our 
 mutual plcasute at the scheme w'e had 
 ananped. Our meal beino; over, 1 went 
 to my former lodgings, settled, and 
 brought away the few articles 1 pos- 
 sessed. 
 
 At 
 
{ *27 ) 
 
 At eleven o’clock we went arm in 
 arm to the theatre, where, with the 
 most steady assurance, we battled alt 
 the secret laughter and comments of 
 our company, for we foresaw the im- 
 possibility of keeping our connexion a 
 secret from them : nor was Miss Hop- 
 kins in the least degree disconcerted at 
 the publicity of it. 
 
 I could not but admire the state of 
 importance which the Manager kept up 
 during rehearsal. He would not suffer 
 the slightest omission of any part of 
 the performance, even to the movement 
 of the scenery. He two or three times 
 made me repeat a sentence, insisting 
 upon the emphasis being placed ac- 
 cording to his own suggestions ; which, 
 by the bye, were extremely outre : how- 
 ever, I did not think it worth while to 
 oppose his extravagance, though I took 
 c 4 the 
 
( 128 ) 
 
 the liberty of forgetting it at the re- 
 presentation. 
 
 After dinner we again went to the 
 Fair; but purposely avoided the honours 
 we had entered into on the preceding 
 day; yet, notwithstanding our studied 
 evasion, there were several who recog- 
 nized us, and testified their remem- 
 brance by nods and smiles. 
 
 During our perambulations a boy pre- 
 sented us with a play-bill, a full yard in 
 length, and to the following purport : 
 
 THIS NIGHT WILL BE PERFORMED, 
 BY MR. HINDES’S COMPANY, 
 ALLOWED TO BE THE FIRST IN ENG- 
 LAND, 
 
 THE HISTORICAL AND TRAGICAL 
 PLAY OF 
 
 KING RICHARD THE THIRD; 
 
 OR, THE BLOODY CROOK-BACK’d 
 TYRANT : 
 
 IN 
 
( 129 ) 
 
 In which will be shewn the 
 
 MURDER OF KING HENRY, AND THE 
 SMOTHERING OF THE INNOCENT 
 YOUNG PRINCES OF THE BLOOD, 
 WITH THE DEATH OF THE CRUEL 
 TYRANT, AND CORONATION OF HEN- 
 RY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 The whole to conclude with 
 
 A GRAND PROCESSION OF KETTLE- 
 DRUJMS, TRUMPETS, FRENCH-HORNS, 
 AND THE VICTORIOUS ARMY. 
 
 Then followed the list of charaflers, 
 with the performers’ names, and a 
 long and curious description of the 
 pantomime, which was to be repeated. 
 
 We were at the theatre in good time, 
 and soon prepared for business. Miss 
 Hopkins was the Lady Ann, which she 
 played with much effed. I went 
 through my part with as little nicety as 
 fear i bustling on at a most prepos- 
 G 5 terous 
 
{ 130 ) ’ 
 
 terous rate. But, nevertheless, 1 failed 
 not to bring down the natives^ or, in 
 plainer words, the applause of my au- 
 dience, who doubtless thought me one 
 of the greatest geniuses that ever ap- 
 peared in those parts before. Once at 
 my exit, amidst the thunders of their 
 approbation, Mr. Hindes seized me by 
 the hand, and cried out in exultation, 
 
 “ There, Sir, you see the effeds of 
 my tuition j you will be sure to please 
 while you ad from my instrudion. I 
 rejoice in your success, and am heartily 
 glad that you are not above my advice 
 and experience : it is the only way for 
 a young man to get on.” I ever after 
 found, that he attributed all my suc- 
 cess to his own ingenuity, and though 
 I differed from him in every point, he 
 still w'ould claim the honour of my 
 praise. 
 
 ' Our 
 
( I3I ) 
 
 Our business of the night being over, 
 Miss Hopkins and myself retired home. 
 I felt a secret satisladion in the pos- 
 session of her i for it seqmed a revenge 
 on the perfidy of Caroline, who 1 re- 
 nounced for ever; though at times, a 
 pidure of her former virtue would pre- 
 sent itself, and leave an impression of 
 melancholy behind it. 
 
 The Fair continued two days longer, 
 to our Manager’s satisfadion, and, for 
 a week after, the theatre filled in a very 
 ample manner ; but after that period, 
 began to slacken, and towards the 
 close of his license, it scarcely answered 
 its nightly expences. 
 
 From hence, we removed to a town 
 thirty miles off ; small, and extremely 
 mean in its appearance, where we staid 
 near two months, with miserable encou- 
 G 6 ragement ; 
 
( 13 ^ ) 
 
 ragement ; experienceing nothing but 
 poverty and contempt. 
 
 I was poor myself ^ but yet, my 
 state was affluence, when compared 
 with many of my brethren’s j several 
 of whom had not more than from 
 eight to ten shillings a week. Their 
 attire was but a little degree above that 
 of a common beggar ; except, that it 
 was put on with more care, ' or perhaps 
 with somewhat more regard to clean- 
 liness. Happy were they, who, with 
 a threadbare great coat, could hide the 
 ravages of time upon their under gar- 
 ments, and prevent the mockery of 
 their observers. I have seen them mix 
 in the lowest dregs of society, where 
 they have subjedted themselves to every 
 degradation for the poor, yet, to them 
 rich reward, of sharing their bread and 
 cheese ; there have they answered the 
 
 commands 
 
( 133 ) 
 
 commands of their rude companions, 
 by singing, dancing, and inventing 
 tales : stretching their wearied faculties 
 for some strange conceit j and when 
 they have failed to please, the coarsest 
 reproaches and abuse have been their 
 return. 
 
 T often sickened at the prospedt of 
 their distress, and frequently resolved 
 to quit them and their profession for 
 ever ; but the dread of meeting no 
 other kind of employment, and some 
 little hopes of improvement in this, 
 withheld me. 
 
 1 had written for a better engagement 
 to two or three superior companies ; 
 but having received no answer, was on 
 the point of making a personal search, 
 when a secret from the Manager’s ne- 
 phew checked that intention. It was, 
 that his uncle, at the next town we 
 
 should 
 
( 134 ) ! 
 
 should proceed to, would join another 
 Manager, and combine the two pro- j 
 perties ; that in consequence, we should 
 have a more respeftable circuit, every ' 
 thing would be improved, and each 
 individual benefited. Pleased at the 
 young man’s information, 1 resolved to 
 wait the event. 
 
 Our time being expired, we departed ; 
 every heart being lighter in the hope ol 
 better times under the new system, 
 which was now made public to the 
 whole company. i 
 
 Miss Hopkins and myself, on our 
 last journey, had travelled by the stage, t 
 but now thought proper to go as the 
 rest did, namely, by the waggon, which j 
 conveyed the apparatus of our profes- i 
 sion. On our way, we refreshed when 
 the horses did, at the doors of public- ' 
 houses, and on the humblest fare. 
 
 Being j 
 
( ) 
 
 Being arrived at the end of our jour- 
 ney, we took leave of the rest, and se- 
 cured a lodging. 1 had forgotten to ob- 
 serve, that at my first engagement in 
 this company, 1 entered under the name 
 of Clode, and was known by no other. 
 This arose frorn an apprehension that 
 my own would militate against my in- 
 terest, from being known to have fail- 
 ed on the London boards. 
 
 Many of the profession, however, 
 adopt this pradlice, from motives far 
 different. Many performers on the 
 London boards have sunk in oblivion 
 their paternal names, and assumed 
 others to which they have had no 
 claim. Why is this ? Are they ashamed 
 of their origin ? Is it infamous ? — No ; 
 but it is poor. Poor ! — poor too is the 
 pride that can blush to own it. Their 
 fathers, perhaps, are useful mechanics, 
 or industrious husbandmen. I think 
 
 It 
 
( 136 ) 
 
 it is Alexander Pope who says, that 
 the man who plants an acorn in the j 
 earth, benefits mankind more than any 
 poet who ever wrote. If this could be 
 applied to those creative minds which 
 give birth to noble thought, how will 
 it stand with such as are but the hollow 
 echoes of them ? Do they fear that 
 their merits will not outweigh their 
 humble origin in the public estimation ? 
 Shame, shame on such deceptive con- 
 duit ! and shame on the heart that can j 
 in glittering parade disown the honest j 
 author of its existence ! I recommend 
 to them the following observation of 
 Addison : j 
 
 If every man were to trace back his ancestry, . 
 none would have cause to boast or be ashamed of ! 
 them. A beggar would find among his rela- 
 tives, nobles, princes, and patriots ; while a - 
 prince would discover beggars, robbers, and trai- 
 tors. 
 
 These 
 
( 137 ) 
 
 These are not the precise words of 
 that elegant writer j my memory fails 
 me, and 1 cannot at present find them j 
 but they are to the same purport. 
 
 The following day we proceeded to 
 the theatre, and passing along, were 
 much gratified at the appearance of 
 the streets, houses, and inhabitants, 
 which so greatly surpassed those we last 
 came from. The whole company were 
 assembled on the stage, anxiously wait- 
 ing the arrival of their two Managers, 
 who were at a public-house hard by. 
 In half an hour they made their appear- 
 ance ; but judge my surprize, reader, on 
 beholding our new master to be no 
 other than my old acquaintance Barha- 
 rossa, whom I mentioned in the early 
 part of my adventures at the Private 
 Theatre, and with whom I had so dire 
 a contest, respefting his fatal mispro- 
 nunciation of the word altar. 
 
 Every 
 
{ I3S ) 
 
 Every person present, myself except- 
 ed, received him with profound resped, 
 which he returned in the most gracious 
 manner. For my own part, 1 stood 
 gazing upon him with a mixture of 
 wonder and admiration. I wondered 
 what the devil could have made him a 
 Manager, and I admired his new and 
 singular attire. 
 
 He wore a scarlet coat of the most 
 formal cut, embroidered with large 
 stripes of gold lace : his vraistcoat was 
 black sattin, and bis breeches green shag. 
 His head was ornamented with a tower- 
 ing peruke, and that was covered, or 
 more properly, topped, by the most di- 
 minutive cocked-hat that ever pate was 
 graced with. In short, his whole ap- 
 pearance was so metamorphosed, that, 
 but for “ a villanous hanging of his 
 nether lip,” I should not have knov/n 
 him. 
 
 At 
 
{ M9 ) 
 
 At first 1 was under some appre- 
 hension, lest he should call me by my 
 name, and so betray me. But it was 
 unfounded ; for he appeared not to re- 
 tain the most distant recolleftion of me, 
 nor ever after acknowled 2 ;ed our old 
 acquaintance, although he was evidently 
 conscious of it. 
 
 Mr. Hindes, after strutting about 
 some time, gave orders for the adjust- 
 ment of the theatre, which proved to 
 be a very neat and convenient house ; 
 having a little green-room, two for 
 dressing, and one for the Managers ; 
 with pit, box, and gallery, built in re- 
 gular order. 
 
 In a little time there arrived at the 
 door a cart-load of additional scenery^ 
 &c. the augmentation of Barbarossaj 
 who, in future, I will call by his proper 
 name, which was Vine. The fruits of 
 
 the 
 
( 140 ) 
 
 the Vine, then, were unloaded, and 
 brought into the august temple of the 
 Muses with all imagiiiabie care and ex- 
 pedition, where they became subject to 
 the mechanical genius of our carpenter. 
 
 It afforded me some pleasure, to sec 
 our state promise so much improve- 
 ment from this double reign. I viewed 
 our acquisitions with much attention, 
 and finding them painted in a very able 
 style, became loud in the commenda- 
 tion of their designer and artist : the 
 former honour Mr. Vine took to him- 
 self, and seemed not a little pleased at 
 my approval of his taste. 
 
 The day was nearly spent In fitting 
 up, preparatory to our opening, which 
 was to be the followdng day. 1 joined 
 my aid to the rest, while the Managers 
 treated us with ale and cold meat from 
 an adjoining house. Things being in a 
 
 great 
 
{ HI ) 
 
 great measure completed, we left the 
 theatre, and parted our several ways. 
 
 I took the first opportunity of enter- 
 ing into conversation with Mr. Hindes* 
 nephew, respedling the story of Mana- 
 ger Vine, of whom I learnt the follow- 
 ing particulars : 
 
 A relation having bequeathed him a 
 legacy of three or four hundred pounds, 
 he immediately formed the resolution 
 of becoming a Manager and Proprietor; 
 towards which intention, he employed a 
 young man of genius to paint his sce- 
 nery, and assist him in purchasing ever/ 
 other requisite for furnishing a small 
 theatre. He next, by dint of a little 
 interest and close application, obtained 
 permission to open in two or three 
 towns of little note. Having succeeded 
 thus far, he summoned a meeting of 
 his spouting friends, mad as himself, 
 
 and 
 
{ 142 ) 
 
 aiid with them proceeded on his expe- 
 dition. But, luckless chance ! his 
 benches remained empty, his friends 
 forsook him, and, at the end of a year, 
 he found himself alone, in the midst of 
 his theatrical treasure, with about twenty 
 pounds in his purs'e. Puzzling his poor 
 brains for some days, in concerting new 
 schemes, he at last resolved to join him- 
 self to some established and more suc- 
 cessful Proprietor ; when learning the 
 admissibility of our company, he in- 
 stantly proposed himself to Mr. Hindes, 
 and was accordingly admitted to all the 
 honours and extensive profits of his firm. 
 
 We commenced w'ith great encou- 
 ragement ; the house being completely 
 filled, and with very genteel audiences, 
 for the first fortnight j when, finding 
 them beginning to thin, we played but 
 three times a week, and afterwards 
 only twice. 
 
 Mr. 
 
( 143 ) 
 
 Mr.' Vine invariably took the lead, 
 both in tragedy and comedy, while I, 
 in general, played his second. His 
 pronunciation had by no means been 
 refined, but was still so barbarous as 
 frequently to excite the risibility of 
 his hearers ; which, however, he deigned 
 not to understand, but repeatedly at- 
 tributed it to some error of. another 
 performer in the scene, whom. he failed 
 not calling to account on his exit j 
 , when he would make more noise be- 
 I hind, than he had before in front of the 
 curtain. 
 
 Happily, I stood aloof from his cen- 
 sures j the audience receiving me so 
 well, that he presumed not to oppose 
 his opinion to such numbers ; but I 
 plainly perceived a secret enmity about 
 him, and at times overheard him whis- 
 pering to my prejudice, especially on 
 those nights when our different recep- 
 tions 
 
( 144 ) 
 
 tions were so glaringly in my favour. 
 However, as he afFeded a shew of civi- 
 lity towards me, I did not appear to 
 notice it. 
 
 He was, of all men, the most desti-’ 
 tute of grace I ever saw, both in liis 
 delivery and adion j the last of which 
 was at times so offensive as hardly to 
 be borne, particularly by the female 
 class of his audience. He had a vile 
 knack of thrusting his two forefingers 
 into the flap of his breeches, and some- 
 times his whole hand. Another was, his 
 constantly turning that part, which 1 
 will not prophane my book by naming, 
 towards the front of the house, and 
 scarcely ever would he shew his face, 
 unless he had some favourite sentence to 
 deliver, when he would adv^ance to the 
 verge of the orchestra, and roar out to 
 the astonishment of all hearers. Such 
 were his eccentricities, that half the 
 
 people 
 
( H5 ) 
 
 people came to laugh at him, and the 
 audience have frequently, in the midst 
 of scenes that should call forth tears 
 and sighs, been in one general burst of 
 merriment. The town, however, at 
 last became weary of this burlesque 
 tragedy, of which they shewed their 
 contempt, by a total desertion of the 
 theatre. 
 
 This circumstance Mr. Vine attri- 
 buted to nothing less than the indiffe- 
 rent acting of nearly all the rest of our 
 company. In consequence of which, 
 he and his brother Manager consulted 
 together, and, in the end, resolved upon 
 waiting immediately for some new per- 
 formers. This task being assigned to 
 Barbarossa, he dispatched letters to some 
 of his old spouting friends in London, 
 summoning them to meet him in readi- 
 ness at our next town. 
 
 VOL. III. H I had. 
 
( 146 ) 
 
 I had here the choice of a benefit, 
 but, fearful of being a loser, thought 
 proper to decline it. Miss Hopkins, 
 however, aded on the contrary, and 
 happily succeeded so far as to clear six 
 guineas, which was owing to her per- 
 sonal application among the town’s- 
 people, who possessed more gallantry 
 than to refuse a lady, whose merit they 
 had acknowledged, and from whom 
 they had received considerable amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 While one morning walking a little way 
 in the country, _my constant custom in 
 fine weather, I saw approaching me two 
 curious figures, so strangely contrasted, 
 that I knew not which to admire most. 
 The one short and fat, was dressed in 
 an old suit of black velvet, with broad 
 gold lace, a bob-wig and cocked hat. 
 The other tall and lusty, in a plain 
 ' suit, but ragged ail over; and both 
 
 were 
 
( H7 ) 
 
 were mounted upon jack-asses, bridled 
 and saddled. 
 
 I could not forbear stopping to sur- 
 vey them, and guess my surprize on 
 discovering the first to be my old ac- 
 quaintance and brother aftor, Joey Ma- 
 son, who no sooner recognized me, than 
 he saluted me with a hearty shake of 
 the hand. 
 
 On demanding whither he was bound, 
 he answered, for a new engagement. 
 “ For you must know,” said he, “ that 
 I have left Master Bantom, who is both 
 rogue and fool, and if 3^ou will turn 
 back with us, I will relate the whole 
 story to you.” 1 willingly agreed to 
 his proposal, and proceeding towards 
 the town, he began as follows : 
 
 “ You see, Mr. Templeton, thcr^ 
 lately came to play with us for one 
 H 2 weekj 
 
( 148 ) 
 
 week, a London adlor and his wife. 
 So, forsooth, to accommodate their 
 mightinesses, every thing must be turned 
 topsy-turvy. And above all, the green- 
 room must be made their dressing- 
 room, and we fairly kicked out from 
 the right of entering it. But do you 
 think I bore this like an owl ? No ! — 1 
 ler things go on till the curtain was 
 ready to draw, when I called my friends 
 together, and addressed them in a 
 very brilliant speech ; telling them, if 
 they would submit to such tumble-me- 
 down treatment, they deserved to sweep 
 the stage as long as life should last. 
 What,” said I, “ is it not enow that 
 these hungry v/olves, let loose from their 
 golden dens, shall come and plunder 
 all your stores, and leave the empty 
 vessels for ye to lick your starveling 
 tongues in ; but must they drive ye 
 from your haunts, and laugh at your 
 huniUity Shall they tumble ye into 
 
 the 
 
( H9 ) 
 
 the mire, and then grin at j'our dis- 
 tress ? Say, are ye not men, like them ? 
 Are ye not aftors, like them ? and are 
 ye not Apollo’s children too, like them ? 
 or are ye but his bastards ? Shame on 
 ye all — take courage — hunt these turtle- 
 fed blood-suckers from your temple, 
 and reign there your own masters,” 
 
 This inspired harangue, Mr. Tem- 
 pleton, you may be sure, had the de- 
 sired efied : they all ran into the green- 
 room, turned out those selfish prowler^ 
 and stood for their rights.” 
 
 “ This is every a, b, c of it true,’’ cried 
 the companion of Mr. Mason, in an Irish 
 accent, observing he had concluded. 
 “ This is every letter true ! and I’ll tell 
 you a bit more, as true as that : you 
 see, honey, master Londoner was grow- 
 ing impertinent, and calling us beggars, 
 and raggamuffins, and such like civil 
 H 3 phrases , 
 
( 15 ° ) 
 
 phrases ; so says I, let me try if ragged 
 honesty can’t do as good an adion as 
 gilded pride. With that/ 1 took his 
 handsome body into my arms, and 
 threw him plump into the pit, by way 
 of washing off his sins j and Mr. Ban- 
 tom making a great botheration about 
 the matter, I threw him after ; so you 
 see, fearing the business would not be 
 made up in a hurry, my friend and my- 
 self left the place, and are now going to 
 another.” 
 
 Pleased with their condud, I accom- 
 panied them to a good house jn the 
 town, where we spent a very jovial 
 night, and parted highly satisfied with 
 each other’s company. 
 
 Our stay at this place was ten weeks, 
 and notwithstanding the poor houses 
 towards the latter part, the Proprietors, 
 on the whole, reaped a good harvest. 
 
 We 
 
( ) 
 
 We next proceeded to a town forty 
 miles hence, where a mart was then 
 held. Miss Hopkins being now flush 
 of money, scorned the lowly manner in 
 which she had last travelled, and insisted 
 on eidier the inside of a stage, or a post- 
 chaise. Accordingly we chose the former^ 
 and set ofFby five in the morning. 
 
 H4 
 
 CHAP. 
 
( 152 T 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 THE coach stopped at noon m 
 a neat village, - where the passengers 
 alighted and dined at an inn. 
 
 Our meal ended, we were returning 
 to our seats, when at the door a person 
 accosted me with, “ Bless me, Mr. 
 Templeton! is it you I see ?* Examin- 
 ing his features,- 1 immediately recog- 
 nized Mr. Wilmot, the friend of Caro- 
 'line and myself. Seizing his hand, I 
 expressed the joy I felt on seeing him, 
 and asked concerning his family and 
 fortune. He by turns surveyed Miss 
 Hopkins, whose arm was in mine, and 
 myself, for the space of some seconds ; 
 ' then with a very serious tone said. 
 
 “ Where 
 
( 153 ) 
 
 Where is Caroline ?” 
 
 CC 
 
 “ Caroline,” answered 1, “ is false. 
 She has proved herself unworthy both of 
 your respecft and my love.” 
 
 “ Tel] me,” demanded he, “ how 
 has Caroline Sterling proved herself un- 
 worthy ?” 
 
 “ By deserting a husband whose hap- 
 piness was centered in her aifedion, and 
 flying to unbridled vice,” returned I. 
 At that moment the coachman inter- 
 rupted us ; swearing, that unless we 
 ■resumed 'our places, he would instantly 
 drive off without us. 
 
 My friend,” said I, to Mr. Wil- 
 mot, who stood fixed in' silent asto- 
 nishment, “ such is the depravity of 
 human nature ! Caroline is false !” then 
 handing in Miss Hopkins, 1 leaped after 
 her. 
 
cc 
 
 ( 154 ) 
 
 ril not believe it,” cried Mr. 
 Wilmot, “ though an angel came from 
 Heaven to tell me so. She has been 
 basely wronged by you, or some one 
 else. Caroline is as innocent as the 
 babe new born.” 
 
 The coach now moved, and I beard 
 no more. But it was enough. A 
 thousand refledions crowded on my 
 mind, and occupied it all the rest of 
 my journey. Nothing but Caroline 
 was present to me, and she appeared in 
 all her virtue. I thought of the joys 
 her presence had afforded me, and 
 traced back every circumstance of her 
 condud, 
 
 “ It is impossible,” said I in my 
 heart, “ it is impossible that Caroline 
 can have wronged me.” 
 
 What an atom ; what a shadow will 
 
 some- 
 
 \ 
 
( 155 ) 
 
 sometimes bias the mind of man. His 
 opinion is ever on the float, and Reason 
 in vain attempts to bind it to her laws. 
 A dream had filled me with jealousy — 
 the voice of reproof vyith melancholy. 
 
 1 now drooped my head in silence* 
 and resigned myself to imagination. 
 All those fatal ideas which possessed me 
 at her loss, revived — again I saw her 
 torn from me by force ; or calling me 
 to rescue her from accidental death — 
 “ I will mourn for thee, my Caroline, 
 for ever !” sighed I, as the coach stopped 
 at the end of our journey. 
 
 I lifted up my eyes, and fixed them 
 on Miss Hopkins — the sight was no 
 longer grateful to them, and I wished 
 they had never beheld her. Yet still 
 she deserved my attention : I leaped 
 into the inn-yard, and assisted her to 
 alight also. We paid our carriage, and 
 
 H 6 
 
 going 
 
( 13 ^ ) 
 
 going into the house, ordered tea, 
 which was immediately brought. A 
 long silence ensued oji both sides,, 
 when she at last began with ; 
 
 “ So, it seems, you are married, Mr» 
 Clode — Templeton I mean ; for that, 
 it appears, is your proper name.” 
 
 “ I have been married,” returned I, in 
 a grave tone, some time, and to a wo- 
 man I adored ; but whose memory I 
 have basely wronged.” 
 
 “ You shall wrong her no more on 
 my account. Sir,” said she, with a 
 look and accent very unusual to her. 
 
 “ What do you mean, Miss Hop- 
 kins ?” demanded I. 
 
 “ 1 mean,” replied she, “ that we 
 part this very hour,” 
 
 I know 
 
( 157 ) 
 
 1 know not whether this arose from 
 her respeft to an injured wife, or a 
 jealousy on hearing me name her with 
 such emotion j but I conceive the 
 latter reason most probable : however, 
 it amply answered my wish. 
 
 “ The obligations I owe you, Miss 
 Hopkins,” resumed I, “ shall never 
 be forgotten : you are the mistress of 
 your own conduct, and no person has 
 a title to dispute your will ; but, be- 
 fore we part, suffer me to assist you 
 in procuring a convenient lodging.” 
 
 Silence again ensued, nor was it broken 
 by either till the tea equipage was re- 
 moved, when I observed that we had 
 better commence our inquiries while 
 day-light remained. At this she arose, 
 and answered she w'as ready: : then dis- 
 charging the waiter, and taking up her 
 portmanteau, which contained both our 
 
 apparel, 
 
( 158 ) 
 
 apparel, 1 proceeded into the street, 
 while she followed me in silence. 
 
 In less than half an hour we found a 
 lodging, which she said would fully 
 answer her purpose; and being left to- 
 gether, she immediately unpacked her 
 things, and, separating mine, presented 
 them to me with much affeded care- 
 lessness, thanking me for the trouble I 
 had been at on her account. 
 
 “We shall never be less than friends, 
 M iss Hopkins,” said 1, 
 
 No,” returned she, “ why should 
 we ? we have done each other no in- 
 jury.” We then bade adieu, and paited. 
 
 “ O Caroline!” exclaimed I, turn- 
 ing from the house — “ dear Caroline I 
 where shall I find such perfedions as 
 •were combined in thee ?” 
 
 Being 
 
( 159 ) 
 
 Being in no humour to be nice in 
 tlje choice of a lodging for myself, and 
 meeting one at the second public-house 
 I inquired at, 1 instantly agreed for it at 
 a fair price, supped early, and retired 
 to bed. 
 
 Next morning I went to the theatre, 
 which was in a street that opened into 
 the market-place, where the mart was 
 held. It had a good brick front, and a 
 portico at the entrance. 1 found all 
 the company assembled in the green- 
 room, with the addition of three gen- 
 tlemen and a lady, whom I discovered 
 were the persons Mr. Vine had sent for 
 from London. With these the two Ma- 
 nagers were in close conversation, pay- 
 ing them many marks of outw'ard re- 
 speft, such as bowing, smiling, and 
 whispering. After a considerable time 
 being passed in this manner, they se- 
 parated, and began to distribute tli<gm- 
 
 selves 
 
( i6o ) 
 
 selves about the room. Presently two 
 of these newly engaged approached to- 
 wards me, and, while passing, one of 
 them staring in my face with matchless 
 impudence, turned to the other, and 
 pronounced aloud, while he grinned in 
 triumph, 
 
 “ Why, d — n me, that’s Templeton, 
 who was damn’d at Drury.” 
 
 Shocked at this unprovoked Inso- 
 lence, I immediately rose, and step- 
 ping before him, demanded what he 
 meant. To which, with a stupidity 
 equal to his impertinence, he answered, 
 
 ** What’s the matter. Sir, what’s the 
 matter ; can’t a man make his own 
 observations without being called to ac- 
 count ?” 
 
 It would be an endless labour,” 
 
 said 
 
( i6i ) 
 
 said I, “ to'watch your observations j 
 for a person so employed must have the 
 rod constantly in his hand to flog you. 
 into manners.” 
 
 “ You are not going to flog me, I 
 hope,” cried he. 
 
 “ That,” returned I, “ depends on 
 your future behaviour j but rest assured, 
 that one consideration alone can secure 
 you from my resentment — your insigni- 
 ficance.” He then, with an afleded 
 laugh, turned upon his heel, and strut- 
 ted off. 
 
 This altercation had been heard by 
 all present, and at its conclusion some 
 took part with the stranger, while others 
 applauded the spirit 1 had shewn. 
 Shortly after 1 heard the name of Tem- 
 pleton buzzed about the room, while 
 every eye was fixed upon me, as a new 
 
 being j 
 
( 1^2 ) 
 
 being; some with contempt, others 
 With respeft. 
 
 I heard one gentleman in particular, 
 a iVJr. Broom, ,who had been long in 
 the company, loud in the censure of 
 my condufl, which, he said,' was un- 
 gentiemanly to our new comers. But 
 the virulence ot poor Broom arose from 
 offended pride ; for 1 had deprived him 
 ot his best and m )st favourite charac- 
 ters. However, lie found but little ac- 
 count in his gallant defence, being, with 
 three others, discharged a week, aft r, 
 as useless members. Some years after 
 this, I saw him reduced to the humble 
 characder of a showman’s Merry An- 
 drew, but avoided discovering myself 
 to him, lest his feelings should have 
 suffered a pang which I had no desire 
 to excite. 
 
 1 was greatly surprized to find the 
 
 third 
 
( 1^3 ) 
 
 third gentleman, who came from Lon- 
 don, apparently avoid the other two, 
 and side with me. 
 
 “ I heartily commend. Sir,” said he 
 in a low tone, your conduct to Mr. 
 Roberts-, who, I am conscious, is very 
 apt to be rude and vulgar.” The name 
 of this gentleman was Hawker, and I 
 afterwards learned the cause of his aver- 
 
 I 
 
 sion to the others. 
 
 They had all belonged to one pri- 
 vate theatre, in which Messrs. Hawker 
 and Roberts, being the leading heroes, 
 bad strongly contended for fame, and 
 carried their rivalship to-such a pitch, 
 that even blows had more than once 
 been the result. Another reason for 
 inclining myself to Mr. Hawker, was 
 a similitude of fortune ; for he too had 
 appeared at Drury Lane, and, like me, 
 had been unsuccessful. He had been 
 
 introduced 
 
( ^64 ) 
 
 introduced in one of the first characters 
 of the drama, ri\d by a great part of 
 the public was ' nought to have acquit- 
 ted himself W‘ n much credit j but 
 owing to two or three of the principal 
 performers opposiP.g him, on account 
 of his belonging to a private theatre, 
 he was rejeCled. So at least the report 
 went, wuich, hOwc ’er, 1 gave no credit 
 toj rather believing his disappointment 
 to have arisen from a want of those re- 
 quisites which in an aeftor are, or ought 
 to be, indispensible, namely, a good 
 figure, good feai ares, and an easy habit 
 whereas his figure was inelegant, his 
 features broad, flat and unmeaning, 
 and his gait ungraceful. 
 
 After remaining some hours amidst 
 the bustle of preparing the scenes, &c. 
 Mr. Hindes gave out the play of Henry 
 the Fourth for the first night of open- 
 ing. To Mr. Hawker he assigned tire 
 
 part 
 
( ) 
 
 part of Hotspur ; to Mr. Roberts^ Prince 
 of fValeSy and to the other stranger 
 Falslaff ; while I was presented with Sir 
 Richard Vernon, with which, by the bye, 
 I was well content ; for all ambition 
 had become extind, since my reflec- 
 tions were revived on the fate of Caro- 
 line. 
 
 When the evening airived, I. paid 
 particular attention to the above three 
 gentlemen. Mr. Kawker played in 
 an even manner throughout, discover- 
 ing no force of conception, and as little 
 energy of feeling. 
 
 There are parts in every prominent 
 charader, which an inferior ador will 
 point out by mechanism ; common 
 sense, and observation inform him, that 
 they call for some particular atcempt, 
 and he will accordingly work himself 
 up to soiuething like what his author 
 
 means. 
 
( i66 ) 
 
 means, and, in part, give the required 
 eifed, so as to succeed with the un- 
 discerning million. But the fire of ge- 
 nius, controlled by the finer movements 
 of the soul, will alone gratify the man 
 of taste and sentiment. 
 
 Mr. Hawker had not a spark of this. 
 He gave the w'ords, but not the cha- 
 rader of Hotspur ; whose wild impa- 
 tience and youthful heat, he spoke like 
 a reverend junior preparing his maiden 
 sermon for the pulpit, and whose sole 
 ambition rests upon the modulation of 
 his tones. — For the other two, they 
 were the sworn disciples of Vine, at 
 least they had all the appearance of 
 having studied under one master. Their 
 whole performance W'as nothing but 
 extravagance and stupidity. But yet 
 they failed not to obtain applause, 
 which certainly they owed to the irre- 
 sistible wit of Shakespeai'i although 
 
 they 
 
( 1^7 ) 
 
 they assumed it all to the efFeds of their 
 own merit, and were, in consequence, 
 so extremely vain and insolent, that it 
 required an unusual forbearance of tem- 
 per to pass it by unnoticed. They 
 stood at the side wings, laughing at and 
 ridiculing the performance of every 
 other person, except mine, which they 
 thought proper to pass over in silence. 
 
 The Managers were so satisfied of 
 their abilities, and, certainly with more 
 credit to their judgments, with those of 
 Mr.. Hawker, that they were appointed 
 to fill the three first charaders, of their 
 own choosing, for several following 
 nights. 
 
 On the next representation, the 
 young lady who accompanied them, 
 made her debut. Her performance was 
 such as neither to excite censure or 
 admiration. She also had maintained 
 
 a sove- 
 
( i68 ) 
 
 a sovereign reign on the boards of a 
 private theatre. 
 
 When we had been here about ten 
 days, there joined us a gentleman from 
 the stage of Covent-Garden. His 
 sphere was low comedy. He was one 
 of those, who, without any striking 
 marks of excellence, was always respec- 
 table enough to ensure success.' He 
 made his entry with us \n Captain Boba^ 
 dii^ which he bustled through with 
 much effedl. He then went through a 
 train of charadlers from modern pro- 
 dudions, in all of which he appeared to 
 great advantage ; but when he assumed 
 those of Shakespear, his powers failed. 
 
 The charaders of our immortal dra- 
 matist are most difficult to personate. 
 It is because they are imaged by the 
 hand of Nature, and can be pour- 
 Uayed only by a strength of perception 
 
 equal 
 
( ) 
 
 equal to their author’s invention. It 
 is Nature herself who speaks through 
 every sentence, and impresses herself 
 upon our judgment and our hearts. 
 When, therefore, she is echoed by an 
 unskilful a£lor, her force is lost : we 
 instantly feel the subversion of her 
 beauties, and become disgusted j where- 
 as those monsters of vice or virtue, 
 (for every deviation from Nature may 
 be termed a monster), which owe their 
 creation to indilferent writers, are above, 
 or below our judgment. We can fix 
 no criterion whereby to ascertain their 
 merits, if I may so prophane that word. 
 The comedian, therefore, may unbridle 
 his extravagance — he may sport at 
 large in his own ideal excellence, and 
 fly from every law of criticism, with- 
 out the danger of incurring its censure. 
 
 The above gentleman, at his benefit 
 favoured the town with imitations of 
 
 VOL. III. I the 
 
( 17 ° ) 
 
 the most celebrated adlors of the day. 
 This wretched merit, the favourite of 
 more wretched tastes, seems waning 
 from public approbation, and will soon, I 
 hope, be quite banished from the stage. 
 Such performers alone indulge in it, 
 ^s possess but limited powers of their 
 own j for genius will never stoop to be> 
 in the words of Churchill, 
 
 A mere, mere mimic’s mimic.** 
 
 This London gentleman, or, to use 
 the title of my friend Mason, this 
 hungry wolf, remained with us a fort- 
 night j carrying awa)q what with salary 
 «.nd benefit, the profits of our season. 
 
 Previous to his setting off, he sold 
 our Managers a manuscript pantomime : 
 for, not content with the title of an 
 eflor, he aspired also to that of an au- 
 thor, and racked his poor brains a long 
 time, in hopes of producing a play, or 
 
 an 
 
( 17 ^ ) 
 
 Itn entertainment of dialogue ; but, 
 finding himself inadequate to the task, 
 he entered into league with a dancer, 
 by the efforts of w'hose mighty facul- 
 ties, and his own, he succeeded in fur- 
 nishing Covent-Garden with a panto- 
 mime or two ; but which, indeed, 
 were mere patch-work, torn from the 
 hacknied works of others, and the dusty ' 
 accumulations of an age. He should 
 .have known that, 
 
 “ One science only can one genius fit." 
 
 My business had now become ex- 
 tremely light. The charaders which 
 .1 had hitherto sustained were taken 
 from me and given to others, while I 
 moved in nothing but subordinate ones, 
 and those frequently of the meanest 
 class. But I repined not : the ambi- 
 tion of my rivals was gratified, and 
 my melancholy left to its own indul- 
 
 gence. 
 
( 17 ^ ) 
 
 One evening, while sauntering in the 
 mart, I was surprized on hearing my 
 name mentioned with particular em- 
 phasis, and raising up my eyes, observed 
 before me. Manager Vine and Miss 
 Hopkins arm in arm. Curiosity 
 prompted me to listen, when I was 
 amused with the following dialogue : 
 
 Templeton handsome ! no. Sir, 
 I never thought him handsome, I must 
 say.” 
 
 Why, then, what the devil could 
 you see in his jew-looking face to ad- 
 mire ? besides, he is so dull — was he so 
 very generous ?” 
 
 ‘‘ There is no accounting for the 
 choice of women, you knowj Sir : he 
 is ugly enough, the Lord help him ! 
 but, when first I knew him, he was by 
 no means dull. As for his generosity, 
 
 I can 
 
( 173 ) 
 
 I can be no judge of that, he being 
 always too poor to shew it.” 
 
 ** Well, well, we shall see who is 
 the generousest, he or L” 
 
 “ O dear Sir ! I hope you don’t mean 
 to compare yourself with him j 1 know 
 very well who has the best soul of the 
 two.” 
 
 ril tell you what, Miss, we must 
 some how or other oist im hout of hour 
 company j but Mr. Hindes thinks so 
 much of his d — n’d hacling, that I 
 can’t persuade im to it, though I ham 
 for ever pointing hout is faults and 
 you know as well as high, that he is no 
 haft or; so d — n him, he shall go by- 
 hook or crook.” 
 
 Why, indeed. Sir, as you have 
 got such excellent performers in your 
 13 own 
 
{ *74 > 
 
 own friends, I do not see that he is of 
 much use.” 
 
 “ No, d — n Im ! he is of no use 
 at all, and if he was here, I’d tell him 
 so to his face.” 
 
 He had no sooner finished the last 
 sentence, than I instantly sprung be* 
 fore them, stared in their faces, and 
 broke into a loud laugh. Miss Hop- 
 kins had virtue enough to blush at her 
 duplicity, while Vine put on an affedted 
 grin, and stammered out, 
 
 “ Its an old saying and a true one, 
 that listeners never hear good of them- 
 selves.” 
 
 “ True,” returned I, looking by 
 turns on him and Miss Hopkins — “ but 
 listeners sometimes discover hypocrisy 
 and insignificance.” I then turned 
 
 away, 
 
(175 ) 
 
 away, leaving them to pursue their own 
 journey amidst their confusion, while 
 I went back to my lodging, with an- 
 other example of human instability. 
 
 It would be tedious to relate the 
 numerous attempts of Vine, after this 
 event, to render my situation unplea- 
 sant. He w'ould loudly extol the per- 
 formance of his friends in those cha- 
 rafters in which I had so often been 
 applauded ; declaring they had never 
 been so finished before. He would 
 saddle on me the most contemptible 
 parts of the drama, and whenever Mr. 
 Hindes insisted on my having a leading 
 one, was sure to deprive me of the pro- 
 per dress. 
 
 These trifles by no means irritated 
 me. I v/as no longer emulous to excel 
 in the company; though at times I 
 could not restrain that pride w'hich be- 
 I 4 longs 
 
( * 7 ^ ) 
 
 longs to the profession ; for wlien a fair 
 opportunity offered of giving scope tO 
 niy powers, I never failed to triumph 
 over my rivals, whose vanity would be 
 tamed by the plaudits 1 received. 
 
 Miss Hopkins was now the acknow,- 
 ledged mistress of Vine, living at his 
 lodgings. Though she was obliged, aS 
 the most successful way of pleasing her 
 gallant, to take part against me, yet in 
 my presence she was always silent. In- 
 deed, spite of her faults, she was a 
 sensible girl, and retained some respedt 
 for tl)e feelings of a person whom she 
 had once esteemed. 
 
 Amidst this warfare of parties, the 
 only exertions of my spirits were, on 
 all occasions, to revenge myself upon 
 Vii.e and his two associates, whom I 
 took every method to ridicule, and in- 
 deed there seldom was a want of op- 
 
 portunity. 
 
( 177 ) 
 
 portunli}’’. One evening, however, I 
 enjoyed it to^the full extent. 
 
 This triumvirate being assembled in 
 the green-room, surrounded by a num- 
 ber of their humble ndmirers and par- 
 tisans, were expatiating, with wonderous 
 ingenuity, on the merits of some emi- 
 nent persons, with whom they alFe<ffed 
 to be well acquainted, w'hen Mr. Ro- 
 berts, after having enumerated several 
 other qualifications, proceeded thus ; 
 
 “ Besides, we know him to be fun- 
 damentally deep in all kinds of learning, 
 such as raterick, hellicution, the ology, 
 and bells letters. 
 
 “ O,” interrupted his companion, I 
 have often heard of the bells letters 
 spoken of — Pray who is the author of 
 it r 
 
 15 
 
 1 can- 
 
C 178 ) 
 
 j I cannot exaftly tell you,” returned 
 he, “ who the author is j but 1 know 
 its a wonderful thing : perhaps Mr. 
 Vine can inform us.” 
 
 “ The bell letters^ gentlemen,” said 
 the Manager, casting round his eyes in 
 order to summon the attention of all 
 present — “ the bell letters^ gentlemen, 
 you certainly mistake it. It means no 
 book at all j and 1 am surprized that 
 you are no better informed about the 
 matter. The bell letters are nothing 
 more or less than those letters which 
 the London postmen ring for after the 
 clock has struck five, and for which 
 they are paid a penny a-piece j and a 
 very pretty penny they make of their 
 bell letters too, I assure ye.” 
 
 , I listened to his definition till he had 
 finished, with all possible gravity, when 
 I could contain myself no longer, but 
 
( 179 ) 
 
 gave loose to the most unbounded 
 laughter that my risible faculties could 
 sustain. 
 
 Every one present expressed their 
 astonishment at my behaviour, except 
 the few who understood the cause of 
 it. 
 
 Vine, who no doubt s.uspefVed his 
 error, stood for a time in silent con- 
 fusion ; till, at last, hoping to redeem 
 his credit, he exclaimed, 
 
 “ Poor fellow ! he’s in a fit, at least 
 a fit of foolery and ignorance.” But his 
 friends were more harsh in their retorts, 
 and freely vented out, “ coxcomb, fool, 
 and puppy.” In the mean while, I sat 
 enjojingmy triumph, crying out at in- 
 tervals, “ O gentle belle-lettres, suffer 
 not my ignorance to offend you 1” 
 
 Ivlr, 
 
 i6 
 
( i8o ) 
 
 Mr. Ha.vk^r, with a few others, who 
 saw the merit of their Manager’s learn- 
 ed elucidation, were under the necessity 
 of retiring, for the purpose of venting 
 their mirth in private, leaving me be- 
 hind, exposed to the reproaches of my 
 adversaries. 
 
 Vine, notwithstanding the philoso- 
 phy with which he had beheld my tur- 
 bulence, the following day insisted upon 
 Mr. Hindes discharging me immedi- 
 ately, as a burthen to the company ; 
 and, upon his refusing to assent, a rup- 
 ture had nigh taken place between them, 
 which, however, was prevented, by Air. 
 Hindes’ promising never to give me a 
 leading charadler without the concur- 
 rence of the other. But a short time 
 after this an event took place, that en- 
 tirely banished all their differences on 
 my account. 
 
 One 
 
( ISI ) 
 
 One night I and Roberts being on 
 in the same scene, he gave me a wrong 
 cue, and J, not being very perfedt, was 
 at a loss, and stood silent on the stage j 
 on which he, stepping to the front, 
 pronounced aloud, 
 
 “ Here’s a pretty adlor, ladies and 
 gentlemen ; he hasn’t got his part !” 
 
 1 was so struck at this unparalleled 
 assurance, that my recoiled ion quite 
 forsook me, and I stood exposed to the 
 noise and hissing of the audience. N um- 
 bers of them clapped, and cried, 
 
 “Don’t be alarmed — go on, Sir;” 
 and then again the hisses overpowered 
 me. 
 
 But whether they were at him or my- 
 self, it was impossible to ascertain, though, 
 from the liberality of the public, it may 
 
 be 
 
( i 82 ) 
 
 be deemed the first. However, I was 
 so completely deprived of confidence, 
 that, leaving the scene unfinished, I 
 flew into the green-room, panting with 
 revenge for the coming of Roberts. 
 
 He no sooner approached than I 
 sprung upon him, and following up my 
 blows without mercy, he soon fell be- 
 neath my rage ^ but my afl ive passion 
 still continued, and would have done, 
 perhaps, till I had murdered him, had 
 not a violent stroke on my face, from 
 Vine, withdrarvn my vengeance from 
 its first objecfl, and turned itself on him. 
 Strong, even to madness, I seized this 
 second offender, and soon reduced him 
 to as destitute a state as his friend ; but 
 a third assailant, more desperate than 
 the last, struck me on the head with 
 his truncheon so elfedlually, that I fell 
 to the ground. Pie was pursuing his 
 advantage, when, happily, Mr. Hindes 
 
 and 
 
( i83 ) 
 
 and his nephew rushed in, and saved 
 me from farther harm. 
 
 I soon recovered my legs, and casting 
 round my eyes, beheld the whole room 
 in confusion, divided into two parties; 
 one wiping the blood from Roberts’s 
 nostrils, the other condoling at the suf- 
 fering dignity of Manager Vine ; while 
 none regarded me but the two Mr* 
 Hindes. 
 
 I called aloud for the man who struck 
 me; but no one would deign to point 
 him out. Teeming with rage and dis- 
 gust, I ran to the dressing-room, put 
 on my own apparel, then went back to 
 Mr. Hindes, and seizing 'his hand, 
 cried, 
 
 “ Sir, I owe you an eternal obliga- 
 tion, which neither time or circum- 
 stance' shall ever efface ; but I cannot 
 
 thank 
 
( i84 ) 
 
 thank you now ; nor can I any longer 
 remain in your theatre, where J am 
 subjeifl to the controul of Vine, and the 
 insolence of those beings who disgrace 
 all they are conneAed with. Farewell, 
 then, till better times shall throw me in 
 your way.” 
 
 Without waiting his reply, I quitted 
 the house, and hurried to my lodgings, 
 which I no sooner entered, than falling 
 on my knees, I called upon the sacred 
 name of God, by which 1 swore never 
 more to set my foot upon a stage! 
 
 “ Adieu !” said I, “ thou gaudy idol 
 of my youth — thou mockery of good. 
 Thou hast proved to me as a dream, 
 wherein hope awhile deludes the wan- 
 dering sense, then wakens it to disap- 
 pointment. Adieu! I cast thee off for- 
 ever 1” 
 
 CHAP, 
 
{ iS5 ) 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 I REMAINED awake the great- 
 est part of the night, pondering on what 
 steps I should pursue, in order to pro- 
 cure subsistence 3 and although a thou- 
 sand difficulties presented themselves to 
 my fancy, I by no means regretted the 
 oath which I had made, and which I 
 resolved to hold inviolate. Before my 
 eyes were closed in sleep, 1 determined 
 pn quitting the town next day. 
 
 % 
 
 I arose not till late in the morning, 
 when having breakfasted, I collected my 
 little property together, which tying up 
 in my pocket-handkerchief, 1 settled 
 with my landlord, and parted. 
 
 It was Tuesdajq and having received 
 
 my 
 
( i86 ) 
 
 my salary on the preceding morning, I 
 had, of course, no farther demand. On 
 I went, then, with my whole worldly 
 possessions, namely, two and fourpence 
 in cash, two shirts, two stocks, and 
 two pair of stockings ; the last of which 
 were so darned, as entirely to efface 
 every bit of their original cotton, and 
 withal, their feet pierced by such tre- 
 mendous seams, that my poor soles suf- 
 fered a martyrdom from them. I had 
 but one pair of shoes, and they w^ere 
 toeless, a pair of white cloth-breeches, 
 with waistcoat of the same, both well 
 covered with chalk, and a thread-bare 
 blue coat, but tolerably clean.- All 
 these were crowned by a hat of so con- 
 venient a texture and formation, that 
 it was alternately a cocked and a round 
 one, just as its master’s necessities re- 
 quired. 
 
 f 
 
 Thus equipped, I again launched 
 
 forth 
 
(187) 
 
 forth in search of adventure, hoping to 
 .find in another sphere a repose which 
 1 had long sighed for in vain. 
 
 By the dusk of evening I reached a 
 town situated on the banks of a de- 
 lightful river, navigable many miles up 
 the country, and which received its 
 fiood f^rjm a large wash that opened 
 into the sea. The streets were neatly 
 built, and the inhabitants wore a cheer- 
 ful look, in w'hich were depicted con- 
 tent, health, and industry. “ Here,” 
 said I, “ methinks I could remain for- 
 ever.” 
 
 I entered a public-house that faced' 
 the river, and demanded whether I 
 could have a lodging there, when being 
 answered in the affirmative,, I seated 
 myself in the parlour, and ordered re- 
 freshment. 
 
 Ther 
 
( 188 ) 
 
 There were several other persons sit- 
 ting round a table, who appeared to be 
 tradesmen of the town, and neighbour- 
 ing farmers. Their conversation run- 
 ing on the history of their own con- 
 cerns, gave no opportunity for me to 
 join them. Every time the landlord 
 came in, he entered into their chat, 
 and seamed ambitious of diverting them, 
 by venting all the little anecdotes he 
 had gathered since their last meeting ; 
 but they were untinged with the mis- 
 chiefs of detradion, and at the expence 
 ol no one’s character. 
 
 I greatly admired the sociality that 
 reigned among them, and could not 
 help wishing to be fixed within their 
 friendly circle. Finding the landlord 
 address himself to me with much good- 
 nature, I resolved, if possible, to make 
 him my triend, and request his assist- 
 ance in procuring me some employ- 
 ment. 
 
( i89 ) 
 
 ment. The following morning, I there- 
 fore put my scheme in execution. I 
 gave him a brief history of my life, told 
 him I was disgusted at the stage, and 
 solicited his advice and friendship to- 
 wards the attainment of some other 
 source which might enable me to live. 
 
 He approved my intention, and hear- 
 tily wished me success ; but shewed a 
 reluftance to recommend me ; observ- 
 ing, that people were very cautious of 
 engaging strangers, and advised my re- ■ 
 turning to the place where I was born, 
 
 I informed him, that before it was pos- 
 sible for me to reach it, I must either 
 starve or be reduced to beggary, my 
 purse being so low, as to render my 
 immediate application to some employ- 
 ment necessary. 
 
 “ Well,” said he, “ if that be the 
 case, there can be no harm in your 
 
 trying 
 
{ 190 ) 
 
 trying them. You had better, there- 
 fore, go about it diredly.” 
 
 He then direfted me to the most 
 likely places ; upon which, making 
 myself as decent as my poor wardrobe 
 would allow, I sallied forth in quest of 
 what I wanted. 
 
 The first house that caught my at- 
 tention, was a large corn-fadlor’s, into 
 which 1 stepped j and seeing a mean- 
 lo.oking man, whose appearance be- 
 spoke him a Quaker, employed in 
 counting empty sacks, addressed my- 
 self to him, and demanded to speak 
 with his master. 
 
 My master,” answered he, still 
 attending to his business, “ is in 
 Heaven, where he reigneth supreme : I 
 a-h'w no other. But suppose I had an 
 cart lily master, friend, what might be 
 toy concern with him ?” 
 
 “ I am 
 

 ( 191 ) 
 
 I am mistaken, Sir,’^ said T, bovr? 
 ing — “ You are the gentleman of this 
 house 
 
 “ This dwelling,” returned he, and 
 all which doth inherit and pertain unto, 
 it, belongeth unto me. What would" 
 est thou seek, young man ?” 
 
 “ I am in want of employment. Sir, 
 and seek it now of you.” 
 
 “ Of what handicraft or profession 
 art thou ?” . .. 
 
 “ Alas ! Sir, I have been taught no 
 trade, but would willingly be useful irx 
 any thing, and should rejoice to serve 
 worthy master.” 
 
 - But of what use canst thou be to 
 me, or any other man, seeing thou hast 
 cot learnt a business by which thou 
 
 canst 
 
( 19 ^ ) 
 
 canst exist : I pray thee, tell me friend, 
 what was thy last situation, and how 
 hast thou hitherto lived ?” 
 
 “ My last situation was the stage,, 
 and I lived by its profession.” 
 
 “ Avaunt, thou son of Sin !” ex- 
 claimed he, starting back a consider- 
 able distance, in apparent horror, as if 
 he had really beheld the prince of dark- 
 ness. “ Avaunt, thou unclean one, 
 and defile not my floor with thy unhal- 
 lowed feet !” 
 
 Imagining the man to be no less 
 than mad, 1 hurried out of his shop 
 with all possible expedition, leaving him 
 to recover his affright at leisure. 
 
 Upon refleding on the antipathy" 
 which the brethren entertain to the 
 drama and its votaries, my surprize 
 
 ceased 
 
( m 1 
 
 peased at tlie alarm into which 1 had 
 
 thrown this son of purity ; but enter> 
 
 • 
 
 taining better hopes from one of my 
 own religion, continued my walk till I 
 tame to a respedable upholsterer^s, where 
 observing a young girl at work in the 
 W'arehouse, accosted her, and requested 
 to see the master of the house. She 
 instantly went backward, and calling 
 “ Father,” w'as followed by a brisk and 
 pleasant Lookirig man about fifty years 
 old, w'ho bowed to me with much po* 
 liteness, and demanded my business. 
 
 “ I am so unhappy. Sir,” said *1, 
 as to be poor and friendless yet, ho- 
 nest and industrious: Can you assist 
 me to any kind of employment ?” 
 
 “ Were you bred an upholsterer?” • 
 
 “ No, Sir, I never learnt the byai* 
 ness.” ... 
 
 VOL. lit. 
 
 What 
 
( 194 ) 
 
 What trade are you then, young 
 man?’^ 
 
 “ 1 have been taught no trade, Sir ; 
 but trust, that I might be useful in 
 any. I can keep your books, and at- 
 tend your warehouse. I have been, 
 formerly, clerk in an office.” 
 
 “ You were not born in this town ?” 
 
 “ No, Sir, I received my birth in 
 London.” 
 
 “ Bless my soul ; and do you come 
 from London to seek a place of that 
 kind here ? O dear ! O dear ! business 
 is not so flourishing among us, but 
 every master can post his own ledger. 
 No, good youth, you would be as use- 
 less to me as an infant. 1 advise you, 
 by all means, go back again to London ; 
 for, depend upon it, you will stand a 
 poor chance of succeeding here.” 
 
 ^ O Rous- 
 
• { 195 ) 
 
 ■■ “ O Rousseau!” exclaimed I, 'turn- 
 ing from the shop, “ how wise wert 
 I thou, in making thy Emilius a carpen- 
 ter I” 
 
 j I next went into a woollen-draper’s, 
 i where seeing an old gentleman, whose 
 j aspe6t bore the authority of a master, 
 I I approached him, and said. 
 
 “ ‘I am come. Sir, to offer you my 
 1 services, if you should haply need them ; 
 . j for Lam poor, and w'ant a master.” 
 
 t , 
 
 J I “ And I want a servant, young man,” 
 j replied he, “ and will engage the first 
 , j who happens to please me.” My breast 
 , I at this dilated with hope, and I ex- 
 j claimed, 
 
 hi. 
 
 Then, Sir, 1 trust you will find a 
 iivorthy one in me.” 
 
( ^96 ) ; 
 
 “ 1 wish it may prove sOj wkh all f 
 tny heart,” said he, “ for 1 like the jn 
 adiyity of your manner : pray whd N 
 was your last master ?” - , 3n 
 
 My last master. Sir,” replied T, 
 with hesitation — “ my last master is int 
 not an inhabitant of this town.” fe 
 
 l; 
 
 “ Well, but who are your friends,; 
 and what- are your connexions in ihis 
 town?” 
 
 “ Alas! Sir, I have neither friends 
 or connexions. I am an entire stranger 
 to every one around me, and know 
 them no farther than as their being oi 
 the same species with myself ; bu| 
 trust that Will be no impediment t| 
 cny hopes of your approbation.” 
 
 if 
 
 }ev 
 
 leb 
 
 )US 
 
 stra 
 
 caci 
 
 L 
 
 iuy 
 
 useli 
 
 undi 
 
 - You have nO friends, no con- fk 
 oexions, and yet presume to think I iog 
 sh^ll hire you as my servant ! why, deavi 
 ' ' young . 
 
( 197 ) 
 
 yovmg man, you must either deem me 
 mad, or you must be mad yourself.-^ 
 No, no, you won’t do — you vvon’t do by 
 any means.” 
 
 “ Unfeeling people,” cried I, leav*. 
 ing his shop — “ then must I perish, 
 because 1 am a stranger !” 
 
 Fallen as were my hopes, I tried at 
 geveral other places j but met the same 
 rebuff from all. My having learnt no 
 businessi and being an unfriended 
 stranger, aded as impassable barriers tp 
 each attempt. 
 
 Loaded with vexation, I returned to 
 ,my landlord, and informed him of my 
 useless labours.. He bade me not sink 
 under disappointment, but be of good 
 cheer, and try once more on the follow- 
 ing day. I did so ; but found my en- 
 deavours equally unpropitious as on the 
 K 3 pre- 
 
( 198 ) 
 
 preceding, and after walking about till 
 I began to find myself noticed in a 
 particular manner by several of the in- 
 habitants, who probably conjeftured me 
 to be an impostor, or perhaps a spy» 
 I gave over the pursuit, and resigned 
 myself to despair. 
 
 My money was all spent, and seeing no 
 means of procuring even a trifle to pay 
 what I ov/ed my landlord for two meals, 
 I explicitly confessed to him my situ- 
 ation, and entreated his influence in 
 procuring me work of any kind. 
 
 “ Will you make hay ?” said he. 
 
 Most joyfully,” answered I, “ if 
 any one will employ me.” 
 
 “ Then rest content,” returned he, 
 
 for to-morrow 1 will get you a mas- - 
 ter.” 
 
 ( 
 
 He 
 
( 199 ) 
 
 He kept his promise ; and that very 
 day spoke to a farmer, who readily took 
 me on his recommendation. The fol- 
 lowing morning 1 set off on foot, and at 
 noon arrived at the farm of my nfew 
 master. 
 
 On entering the kitchen, I saw an 
 old woman raking out of a boiler some 
 large pieces of pork and a number of 
 coarse plumb-puddings, which she 
 stowed into three or four wooden bowls ; 
 then centering them over very carefully 
 with cloths, desired a lad who stood by 
 to take them to the pudding-cart, and 
 make all possible haste. 
 
 Admiring what I saw, and anxious 
 to recommend myself, 1 voluntarily as- 
 sisted the youth in conveying them, 
 which courtesy he received in a very 
 thankful manner. I then returned to 
 the old lady, who, before 1 could speak, 
 accosted me thus : 
 
 K 4 “ Young 
 
( 20a ) 
 
 - “ Young man, I thank thee for thy 
 kludly service. Hast thee had any din« 
 HCFr yet ?” 
 
 •> “ None,” said 1. 
 
 “ None ! God help thee j why thee 
 I'ook’st woundy hungry. Come, sit 
 down and take a bit with me and the 
 maids.” She then went to the door, 
 and ringing a bell, came back, attended 
 by three buxom wenches, who instantly^ 
 spreading the cloth, and placing on the 
 grateful fare, we sat down to our meal, 
 with the satisfadion that ever accom- 
 panies health and appetite. 
 
 Upon inquiry, I learned that my, 
 master was a widower ; his chief com- 
 panion a niece, w'ho was then out with 
 him, and would not return till the 
 evening. I informed them of my be- 
 ing their fellow-servant, and begged 
 „ ' them 
 
C 201 ) 
 
 Aem to command my services in any: 
 thing that might assist them. But, after 
 expressing their satisfadion, they de- 
 sired I would remain and rest myself in 
 the kitchen all that day. . ) 
 
 . About six In the evening my masteF 
 and his niece arrived. The last was 
 a charming girl, apparently eighteen 
 years of age i her manners simple and 
 graceful. The first, who had seen me 
 before at my friendly landlord’s, nodded 
 to me, and desired 1 would rise in the 
 ■morning with his people, and attend 
 themTo the field. 
 
 At dusk the men, six in number^ 
 exclusive of the lad, returned from 
 their labour, supped;? and immediately 
 .retired to rest, and I with them. 
 
 There was a youth among them, 
 .■whose rnanners and appearance so dis- 
 i-.'j K 5 tinguished 
 
( 202 } 
 
 tinguished him from the rest, that I 
 could- not help attaching myself more 
 particularly to his society. His features 
 were clouded with melancholy, and 
 every obje6t seemed to interrupt his 
 thoughts. In me, he no doubt saw a 
 similarity of sentiment ■ and fortune, 
 which ever begets esteem i He there- 
 fore met the advances of my friend- 
 ship, and, from the first meeting, we 
 were as brothers. 
 
 One room held us all, -in which were 
 four -little beds, well adapted to the 
 season, by the scantiness of their-cloath- 
 ing ; I, and rhe lad, whose name W'as 
 ■James, occupied one. 
 
 i 
 
 We arose at five in the morning, 
 when each man being furnished with 
 his implement of husbandry, and I be- 
 ing honoured with; a^raheV pfbceeded 
 cheerfully tp the field of industry. On 
 
 ■ OUE 
 
( 203 ) 
 
 our arrival there, I found a num-^ 
 ber of other persons, who were also 
 employed by our master; but they be- 
 ing merely temporary servants, lived at 
 their own houses with their wives and 
 children, some of whom accompanied 
 them, and shared their labour. 
 
 Seeing the rest begin work, I stripped 
 off my coat, and submitted myself to 
 their diredlion, with an elevation of 
 spirits that seldom accompanies labour.'- 
 
 In about thfefe hours we assembled 
 to breakfast, which consisted of cold 
 meat, bread, cheese, and excellent small 
 beer, all which we had brought with 
 us. Our repast ended, ' we resumed 
 our work. I continued my humble 
 task with infinite satisfadtion, and com- 
 paring my present situation with the 
 cares 1 had recently undergone, could 
 not help fancying myself transported 
 K 6 from 
 
 
( 204 ) 
 
 from the dominions of Circe to the 
 fields of Elysium, amidst health, peace, 
 and plenty. But the sun now began 
 to shed intolerable day ; and from being 
 unaccustomed to labour under his meri' 
 dian influence, I could scarcely support 
 it. The happy arrival, however, o^ 
 James with our dinner, raised and in- 
 vigorated me. 
 
 We shared our welcome meal under 
 a shady part of the field j after which, 
 we rested, and then renewed our toil, 
 which ended not till the god of day 
 had sunk beneath the horizon, when we 
 chatted tooether awhile, and then re- 
 turned to our homes. Never did the 
 temptations of creative luxury taste so 
 sweet as did my humble supper, and 
 never did the downy beds of princes 
 invite more strongly to sleep, than did 
 my lowly cot after my first day’s toil. 
 
( ^05 ) 
 
 The following days passed on nearly 
 as the first, except their being sweetened 
 by a little amusement. The singularity, 
 of my manners, when compared with 
 those of my companions, proved ex- 
 tremely agreeable to them. They would 
 listen to my descriptions of the world 
 with the utmost interest ; and every 
 evenins, the interval between labour 
 and rest became lengthened, for -the 
 sake of indulging in the relation of my 
 adventures. 1 was happy enough to 
 afford them another kind of entertain- 
 ment, no less acceptable to them than 
 the former. 
 
 . My nielancholy friend, whom they 
 called William, was in possession of an 
 excellent English flute, which he had 
 but just began to learn. One evening 
 having played till he was tired, he laid 
 it on the table with some impatience ; 
 on which I took it up, and saying, 
 
 “ Hear, 
 
( 2o6 ) 
 
 ** Hear, William, the efFedt of perse- 
 verance, ” commenced a performance! 
 tipon it that charmed their rustic taste. 
 But let me inform you, reader, that I 
 was, from a boy, accounted a proficient 
 on that negleded instrument, and have 
 frequently delighted ears accustomed to 
 refined music. 
 
 Among the test, Edith, our master’s 
 niece, came forth and listened to my 
 strains. During her presence I perceived 
 the blood flow and recede from the cheeks 
 of my friend William. His eyes were, 
 by turns, fixed on her and on the 
 ground. His heart heaved with re- 
 peated sighs, and his whole frame seemed 
 agitated under the influence of love.' 
 I laid down my flute ; the young lady 
 retired, and William was again him- 
 self. 
 
 . Next morning I taxed him with his 
 
 passion. 
 
( 207 ) 
 
 passion. His looks confessed, but his 
 tongue would not acknowledge it. 
 
 “ Alas 1” said he, forcing a smile— 
 you must think me mad-,^ to. fall in 
 love with one so much above me. What 
 hopes could I entertain for, a return of 
 her regard ; I who am her uncle’s- ser- 
 vant, from her who is his heiress ?” 
 
 “William,” replied I, “love is as 
 little a respeder of persons as death. His 
 Jaws know no distinction. His arrows 
 fly at random, and the same shaft bas 
 been known to pierce the breast- of a 
 princess-and a--peasant. - That you are 
 deeply in love with our master’s niece, 
 is palpable to rne, from your behaviour 
 last night in her presence. 1 should 
 deem myself ungenerous - to encourage 
 in you a hope that I was conscious 
 might lead ^ro disappointment ; but 1 
 wili^by no means suifer-^you to- droop 
 ^ from 
 
( 2,o8 ) 
 
 from imaginary obstacles. We will de- 
 vise some means that may determine 
 your fate. In the mean time be cheer- 
 ful, and let your features wear a hap- 
 pier ,aspejfl:,”. , . ..... . • 
 
 The heart of William swelled with 
 gratitude : he seized my hand, con>- 
 fessed his love, and then turned to hi.s 
 work, in order to hide from my view 
 the emotions’ which my words had 
 yaised,: 
 
 But our attempts were unsuccessful;; 
 for Edith was never to be found alone, 
 3he was always either in tlie.epmpany 
 of her uncle or of the maids, while 
 •William and myself were :SO surround- 
 ed by our fellow-servants, that it 
 .impossible to speak with her, Ujtjob-^ 
 •served. He would not venture a letter, 
 lest she should take offence at his pre- 
 s,muptlon,.,and betray him tP her un- 
 cle. 
 
( ^09 ) 
 
 cle, though I in vain attempted to do 
 away that apprehension ; for she would, 
 still come and listen in the evening to 
 our alternate music on the flute, and 
 shew the most engaging condescension. 
 
 One evening I composed the follov/- 
 ing song, which I set to a popular air, 
 and sung to my companions. Edith 
 heard it also, and so much admired it, 
 that she desired the maids (who gave 
 me the secret) to request my repeating 
 it each successive night. 
 
 r LQVE AND LIBERTY.r 
 
 Ufon. a bank of lilies fair, ^ 
 
 In sweet repose was laid 
 A Nymph, who breath’d a heavenly air. 
 
 And heavenly charms display’d ; 
 
 From forth the hills and distant wilds she came, ■ 
 Immortal she, and Liberty her name. 
 
 > 
 
 Long had the tyrant God of Love , 
 
 Her freedom sought t’ insnare ; , 
 
 But 
 
( 210 ) 
 
 But idle all ills arts did prove — ■ 
 
 She scorn’d both him and Care ; 
 
 And when he bent his bow, cr play’d his wiles, 
 Laugh'd at his threats, his dimples, ' and hi* 
 smiles. 
 
 The vanqui. h’d God, asham’d to find 
 His boasted skill so vain, 
 
 Mounted in sad despair the wind, 
 
 And fled from her disdain. 
 
 Swift to the haunts of mortal throngs he drove^ 
 And slavish mortals own’d the tyrant Love, 
 
 But wand’ring now, he chanc’d to stray 
 Along the green bank’s side, 
 
 Till passing where the Fair-one lay, 
 
 He strung his bow, and cried — 
 
 Now take, proud Nymph, my surest, keenest 
 “ dart ; 
 
 Now feel my empire o’er thy wayward heart." 
 
 The arrow flew, the Nymph arose, 
 
 Her eyes shot vengeful fire — 
 
 “ Dastard!” she cried, “ ’gainst my repose 
 Dar’st thou thy arts conspire ? 
 
 Lo ! from my breast thy foolish shaft recoils. 
 And my free heart disdains thy feeble toils.” 
 
 Thus 
 
( 2II ) 
 
 Thils said. In dire revenge she springs 
 To seize her trembling foe : 
 
 In anger clips his silken vi'ings. 
 
 And breaks his silver bow. 
 
 That fatal day this doom was fix’d by Jove-— 
 “ Part, part forever, Liberty froai 
 “ Love !** 
 
 f . 
 
 
 CHAP» 
 
( 212 )' 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 TIME passed on in this man- 
 ner till seven weeks had elapsed ; when 
 the harvest was successful!)^ finished, 
 our master satisfied, and the accustom- 
 ed supper of HARVEST HOME was to 
 complete the grateful season. 
 
 To join this genial feast, several 
 fnends were invited, both rich and 
 poor, who, with our own people, form- 
 ed a numerous party. The kitchen v/as 
 prepared for the occasion, and enriched 
 with all the honours of the house. 
 
 At last the happy night arrived ; the 
 company were assembled ; a fi . Idler 
 hired to enliven them ; and I undertook 
 to play the flute. The master, friend, 
 
 and 
 
( 213 ) 
 
 and servant, were seated in protni'ScvK 
 ous order ; no disdiidion known ; but 
 he who was most cheerful, was now 
 most honoured. In shbrt» nothing was 
 ^,een but j.ienty, harmony, and joy. 
 
 . Come, jQ votaries of ambition, wh0 
 seek your glory in the smiles of princes 
 and the pomp of courts — come, and 
 compare thy sensations with those that 
 glowed within the breasts of this happy 
 society. As the false meteors of the 
 night are to the sun’s prolific beams, so 
 are thy pleasures, when compared with 
 theirs. Thy glory flutters on the breath 
 of men j theirs rests on the beneficence 
 of God. 
 
 Our 'feast being over, the tables were 
 removed, to make room for the dance ; 
 in the bustle of preparing for which, I 
 seized the hand of Edith, and pointing 
 to WiliSam, loid her that, through th$ 
 . medium 
 
( 214 ) 
 
 medium of me, he sought the happiness 
 of dancing with her. .. . 
 
 ^‘'And why,” said she, with a tone 
 and look that would have induced 
 many a heart to have betrayed its 
 friend— “ and why will not you dance 
 with me ?” 
 
 Awakened in a moment to a convic* 
 tion of her regard, yet still true to my 
 trust, I replied, 
 
 ' “ Alas ! sweet Edith, J have not the 
 claim that William has. He loves you 
 to distradion, and would think the 
 troubles of his life repaid by your con- 
 descension. Besides, I do not possess 
 the wish to join in such 'delight ; for 
 my spirits are oppressed with care, oc- 
 casioned by the loss of an amiable wife — - 
 lost I know not how. By turns I mourn 
 her death, when perhaps she still :exists; 
 
 or 
 
( 215 -) 
 
 or hope I yet may meet her, when, per* 
 haps, she is in the grave.” 
 
 Edith withdrew her hand from mine. 
 “ 1 cannot dance to-night,” said she j 
 and retired to another part of the room, 
 while I rejoined my friend. 
 
 “ I have been recommendinj you,” 
 said I, “ as her partner j but she is in- 
 disposed, and cannot dance this even- 
 ing.” 
 
 “ O no !” said he, “ you have been 
 wrong : there is a person more welcome 
 to her than ever I can be, and him you 
 should have offered.” 
 
 “ And who,” demanded 1, “ is that 
 happy person ?” / 
 
 “ You cannot surely be ignorant of 
 him,” replied he, with a painful smile, 
 
 for it is yourself.” 
 
 However 
 
{ 2i6 ) 
 
 'However true this might be, I deem- 
 ed it proper to efface, if possible, the 
 impression from his mind ; and my in- 
 tention sprung from the purest motive j 
 for I still hoped for his success. 
 
 “Do not, my friend,” rejoined I, 
 harbour that opinion, for it is unjust j 
 and, to banish every apprehension of 
 that nature, listen to me. 1 am mar- 
 ried. Believe me still farther — she 
 knows it ; consequently she cannot be 
 attached to a man whom she never can 
 possess, and of whom you, I hope, think 
 better, than to believe he would betray 
 his friend.” 
 
 I was now obliged to repair to my 
 station by the fiddler, and prepare m,y 
 flute, the dancers being all coupled, 
 and only waiting for Edith, whose part- 
 ner a good-natured old gentleman inf 
 sisted upon being. She at first attempt- 
 
 ed' 
 
( ^17 ) 
 
 ed to excuse herself, but a look from 
 her uncle urged her to comply. She 
 therefore took her station, and the 
 dance began. 
 
 William beheld the gracefulness of 
 her motion, unmixed with jealousy, 
 seeing nothing to fear from so contrast- 
 ed a rival as the old gentleman. I could 
 not but admire the ease of her motion i 
 her dress, manners, and features, be- 
 speaking the sweetest simplicity imagin- 
 able. 
 
 The dance finished, each couple re- 
 turned to their seats, in order to make 
 room for others ; and the partner of 
 Edith began pouring forth his compli- 
 ments upon her merit, bewailing at the 
 same time his age and incapacity. 
 
 “ But, however, my sweet little 
 wench,” said he, casting round his eyes, 
 
 VOL. III. h and 
 
( 2i8 ) 
 
 and fixing them at last on William, 
 “ for thy kindness, thou shalt not be 
 any longer troubled with an old fellow, 
 especially as I see a lad here, who I 
 think will suit thee a deal better. So 
 ^ome, ni join thy hands ; and the de- 
 vil take them who shall attempt to part 
 ye.” 
 
 It is impossible to paint the joy that 
 sparkled in the eyes of William, when 
 first he felt the touch of Edith. He 
 bowed to her with the most modest re- 
 spefl, and spoke his raptures in a kiss, 
 which he imprinted on her hand j while 
 she returned it with a smile. The dance 
 was again renewed, and William and 
 his Edith moved gaily in the throng. 
 
 It had not ended, before a violent 
 knocking at the outer gate alarmed us 
 all. Immediately a man was dispatched 
 to answer it. He instantly returned 
 
 with 
 
( 219 ) 
 
 with a strange gentleman in black, who 
 exclaimed in accents of joy, 
 
 “Where is my boy 1 Where art thou, 
 my son !” and fell upon the neck of Wil- 
 liam.' 
 
 “ O, my dear father !” responded 
 the latter, gazing on him with delight. 
 
 The mirth of the company was sus- 
 I pended in admiration at the scene be- 
 fore them. But judge my surprize, read- 
 er, when, on examining the stranger’s 
 features, I recognized those of Mr. 
 Freeman, my prison-friend ! The first 
 sensations of his full heart being past, 
 he cried, 
 
 “ My good boy, I am glad to see 
 thee — very, very glad, because 1 bring 
 thee joy. Thou hast hitherto been 
 poor and honest, and need not be 
 L z ashamed 
 
t 
 
 ( 220 ) 
 
 ashamed at what hath past. God pre- 
 serve thy heart the same ! Thou art 
 now as good a gentleman as any in this 
 happy society, if five hundred a-year 
 can make thee so.” 
 
 “ But how,” cried William — “ how 
 comes this wonderous fortune ?” 
 
 “ Thy uncle', my boy, is dead,” re- 
 plied he, “ and to atone for his living 
 cruelty, has been just in death. He has 
 made a settlement on me, and left thee 
 his heir.” 
 
 Heavens!” exclaimed William, then 
 turning to his partner, continued in a 
 transport, “ how Edith, sweet Edith, 
 can you love me ?” Edith answered 
 not, but blushing, hid her face. 
 
 Mr. Freeman being seated,^ I arose, 
 and standing before him, said, 
 
 “ May 
 
( 221 ) 
 
 “ May an old and humble friend 
 hope to live in your remembrance ?” 
 
 He instantly knew me, arid, grasp- 
 ing my hand, expressed as much satis- 
 faction as if I had been another son. 
 
 Yes, my good youth,” said he, “I 
 never shall forget thee. Thou wert 
 the companion of my miseries, and 
 many a sad day hath been banished in 
 thy presence. Thou shalt share our 
 fortune.” 
 
 Our master immediately prepared re- 
 freshment for his new guest, whom he 
 attended with the utmost respeCl. 
 
 The dances ceased by the concur- 
 rence of all parties, and the pleasures 
 of the evening became more tranquil : 
 the old amusing themselves with the 
 stories of their youth, and the young 
 anticipating new delights. 
 
 ^ 3 
 
 William, 
 
( 222 ) 
 
 William, grown bold by his fortune, 
 could not restrain the transports it in- 
 spired, nor rest till his glory was com- 
 plete. He openly, before all present, 
 <ivowed his passion, and sought the 
 sandion both of his master and his 
 parent, who both willingly assented ; 
 wdiile the gentle Edith smiled her sweet 
 consent. The whole company wished 
 them joy, and parted in the happiest 
 friendship. 
 
 The love of my friend could not 
 brook procrastination j for the next day 
 he dispatched a messenger for a mar- 
 riage-license, and on the following Sun- 
 day was blessed in the possession of his 
 Edith. 
 
 The house was now a scene of gene- 
 ral joy ; or, if an exception could be 
 found, it was with me j for though 1 
 rejoiced in the happiness of those around 
 
 me, 
 
( 2^3 ) 
 
 me, my own cares were still present at 
 my heart. I pined under the doubts of 
 Caroline’s fate, and resolved not to 
 think of peace till I had ascertained it. 
 I therefore determined on proceeding to 
 that place where she was lost, and ac- 
 cordingly imparted my intention to my 
 friends. In vain did William and his 
 father entreat my accompanying them, 
 to their estate, and share their for- 
 tune j when, finding they could not 
 prevail, they offered me a fifty pound 
 bank-note, to defray my journey. But 
 1 would accept no more than five 
 guineas, and William’s flute for a re- 
 membrance. With these, and my pro- 
 mises of joining them as soon as the 
 objeft of my journey was fulfilled, 
 they suffered me, w'ith many expres- 
 sions of regret, to depart. 
 
 My treasure, with the five guineas 
 L 4 and 
 
( 24 ) 
 
 ^nd the wages duC'to me, amounted 
 to seven pounds odd. With this, hav- 
 ing taken leave of all, I once more set 
 forward in search of Caroline. 
 
 
 CHAP, 
 
( 225 . ) 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 THE distance of the town where 
 the cause of all my sorrow took place, 
 was a hundred and seventy miles, which, 
 for the sake of economy, 1 resolved to 
 walk. 
 
 The first day I travelled eight and 
 twenty miles, and in the evening stop- 
 ped at a small country ale-house, where 
 I supped and slept. The following 
 morning I again set forward, first fur- 
 nishing myself with viduals for the day. 
 1 continued my journey at a very brisk 
 pace till noon, when the heat began to 
 overpower me ; and looking about for 
 a resting-place, I. espied an opening into 
 a field, which immediately taking ad- 
 wantage of, I sheltered myself under the 
 L 5 shade 
 
(• 226 ) 
 
 shade of a chesnut-tree, and spreading 
 out my humble fare upon the grasSj 
 commenced my meal with as much 
 zest as if it had been prepared by a pro- 
 fessed London cook. 
 
 The situation I had chosen was de- 
 lightful. It commanded a view of some 
 distant hills to the right, whose sum- 
 mits seemed to reach the heavens ; 
 and on my left was a valley, whence I 
 saw the smoke ascending from a lowly 
 village. When I had finished my 
 repast, I gathered up the remnants, 
 and tying them up in my handkerchief, 
 with the rest of my little treasure, sub- 
 mitted to the enjoyment of the scene 
 around me^ but ere 1 had contem- 
 plated long, fell into an involuntary 
 slumber. My mind, however, was still 
 employed on the same objedt who pos- 
 sessed it when awake.. 
 
 I fancied 
 
( 227 ) 
 
 I fancied myself sailing on a calm sea, 
 when suddenly a storm arose, that 
 threatened the destruftion of our vessel. 
 Amid the horror of expedled death, I 
 cast my eyes toward Heaven, whence I 
 saw Caroline descending, arrayed in 
 white, appearing as an angel, and alight- 
 ed on our ship. 
 
 My William,” said she, smiling, 
 “ thy troubles now are over.” 1 im- 
 mediately attempted to clasp her in my 
 armsj but before I could efFedt it, a 
 mountainous wave burst over our heads, 
 and immersed us in the deep. Caroline 
 then held me by the hand, and the sea 
 became calm at her command j nor did 
 it affedt my respiration. We descended 
 gradually down, till 1 found myself in a' 
 new world— such as the poets describe 
 Elysium to be. Enraptured with the 
 scene around me, I caught Caroline in' 
 L 6 my 
 
{ 228 ) 
 
 my arms, and in the excess of transport 
 awoke. 
 
 My mind was so absorbed in the de- 
 lirium, that for a time I could not re- 
 member where I was, till, rousing my- 
 self, 1 regained my senses, and found 
 that 1 had lost my bundle. Apprehen- 
 sive of worse consequences, I thrust my 
 hand into my pocket, and missed my 
 purse, W'ith every shilling it contained. 
 In vain I rose, and looked around the 
 field. I looked and looked again} but 
 all was gone. 
 
 “Fool, fool!” cried 1, in madness, 
 
 fortune may smile on thee in vain ; 
 still will thy own preposterous folly mar 
 each good she brings. 
 
 Conscious of having been robbed 
 during my repose, there were but 'two 
 
 alter- 
 
( 229 ) 
 
 ^ilternatlves, namely, either of going 
 back to my friends for a fresh supply, or 
 of begging my way forward, I weighed 
 them some time ia my mind, and at 
 length determined on the latter. The 
 shame of returning with a ridiculous 
 story, with the delay it would occasion, 
 prevented my choosing the former. Ac- 
 cordingly, I proceeded onward, and 
 soon arrived at the village on my left. 
 At its extremity I came to a farm- 
 house, w'hich entering, and finding the 
 mistress and two maids, 1 related my 
 story to them. They pitied, and re- 
 lieved me. The mistress ordering bread, 
 cheese and ale, presented them to me 
 with a shilling, while the servants would 
 insist on my acceptance of sixpence 
 from each of them, which 1 took with 
 much reludfance, and departed. 
 
 I had inquired the distance to the 
 next town, and learning it to be no 
 
 more 
 
( ^30 y 
 
 more than five miles, resolved on pro- 
 ceeding thither, and abiding there that 
 night. 
 
 About half past eight I reached it, 
 and entering the first public-house that 
 presented itself, demanded if I could 
 not sleep there j when being answered 
 yes, I indulged myself with a pint of 
 ale, and went to bed. 
 
 For a time I lay ruminating on my 
 condition, and concerting how I should 
 proceed. The money in my possession 
 would not keep me another day j nor 
 had I any prospedl of procuring more. 
 I at last came to the determination, 
 rather than trouble my friends by send- 
 ing back to them, of stating my cir- 
 cumstances to the publican, and re- 
 questing his aid in procuring me some 
 employment, which would, in a short 
 time, furnish me with a" sufficient sum 
 
 to 
 
( 231 ) 
 
 to pursue my journey. Accordingly,' 
 next morning after breakfast 1 opened 
 my mind to him. 
 
 If ever misanthropy personified itself 
 on earth, it surely breathed within this 
 man, whose whole appearance, word 
 and look, seemed at war with all man-, 
 kind. 
 
 His answer to my inquiry was — 
 “ Work ! yes; there’s work enough for 
 you if you are not lazy.” Telling him 
 that 1 might possibly sleep again at his 
 house that night, 1 sallied forth to seek 
 a temporary means of existence, and 
 soon offered myself to a number of per- 
 sons,, but met with the same reception 
 as on the former occasion ; every one' 
 answering me with the same language 
 as the quaker, the upholsterer, and the . 
 woollen-draper. 1 told my tale to many 
 of them. They observed that it was 
 
 hard. 
 
( 252 ) 
 
 liard, but offered me no relief, and the 
 evening commenced without a prospect 
 of my procuring a shelter. My money 
 was now reduced to threepence, which, 
 unable to resist the calls of Nature, I 
 spent at another public-house, in two- 
 penny worth of bread and cheese, and 
 half a pint of beer. 
 
 I told this landlord my story also, 
 and emboldened by distress, requested 
 permission to rest in any part of his 
 house for the night. He shook his 
 head, and answered, that he was sorry 
 for me, but his incumbrances were too 
 great for admitting him to serve a 
 stranger. I urged him no farther, but 
 rushed into the street, and proceeded 
 I know not whither, till a wooden 
 porch, with benches on each side, at- 
 tradled my notice. 
 
 Here,” said I, “ v^ill I rest this 
 
 night j” 
 
(^ 33 ) 
 
 riiglit and accordingly laying my- 
 self at full length, submitted to ne- 
 cessity. My repose was uninterupted 
 till the morning, when the early children 
 of labour awoke me as they passed. 
 Friendless, moneyless, and hungry, I 
 Sgain issued forth in search of work ; 
 but alas ! it seemed as though some 
 mark was stamped upon my front to 
 set mankind against me. 1 wandered 
 through the streets all day, rejeded and 
 unrelieved, till dark, when faint from 
 fatigue and hunger, 1 came to the gate 
 of an inn, and reclining against one 
 of the posts, waited in hope for the 
 arrival of some generous stranger who 
 might alford me assistance. 
 
 In a short time a gentleman on horse- 
 back, followed by his groom, approach- 
 ed, and alighted at the entrance. Re- 
 gartiiess of any thing but my wants, I 
 
 moved 
 
( ^34 ) 
 
 moved towards him, seized his arm, and 
 in agitated accents begged relief. 
 
 “ Impudent rufEan !” said he, and 
 gave me a violent blow with his cane. 
 
 Depressed as I was by poverty, my 
 spirit could not brook the insult. 1 
 clenched my hand and returned his 
 blows, when a violent scuffle ensued, 
 till the servant, seeing his master at- 
 tacked, and fearful of leaving the 
 horses, called aloud for help. On which 
 there instantly came forth both ostlers 
 and waiters, who beholding the scene, fell 
 upon me witliout mercy, till 1 dropped 
 to the ground, where they still con* 
 tinned their fury, crying out, 
 
 “ We’ll teach such rascals as you to 
 molest a gentleman !” till the unfeeling 
 man himself, fearful perhaps of my life, 
 
 desired 
 
( 5^35 ) 
 
 "desiied them to desist ; when they left 
 me, covered with wounds, to crawl 
 away at my leisure. 
 
 Their blows having fallen at random, 
 and been in some measure baffled by 
 their numbers, did me no alarming in- 
 jury ; so that 1 w'as able to walk at a 
 slow pace, and in the hope af exciting 
 some pity by my misfortunes, proceeded 
 to the publican with whom I lodged 
 on the first night. J told the event to 
 him, and prayed for some little refresh- 
 ment, with permission to sleep in any 
 part of his premises for that one night, 
 in order to screen my bruises from the 
 nodturnal air. 
 
 He imriiediately broke into a passion, 
 swearing all was false ; for that no gen- 
 tleman would have so treated me, with- 
 out a just provocation, and. concluded 
 by insisting on my instantly quitting 
 
 his 
 
( 236 ) 
 
 his house, which sliould not be dis- 
 graced by any such impostor, 
 
 I obeyed his harsh commands, and 
 once more sought my humble porch, 
 where, resolving to leave the inhos- 
 pitable town - next morning, I shrunk 
 into a corner, and resigned myself to 
 sleep. 
 
 I was awakened at an early hour by a 
 team with bells passing me; and find- 
 ing it broad daydight, attempted to 
 rise, but was so extremely feeble, that I 
 could not effect it till after repeated 
 efforts. At last, however, I set for- 
 ward, and happily meeting a milk-maid 
 with full pails, begged a draught of her, 
 wiih which she kindly obliged me. 
 This greatly refreshed me, and I pur- 
 sued my journey with a lighter heart, 
 till I soon found myself upon the 
 country-road. 
 
 1 walked 
 
( 237 ) 
 
 I walked but at a slow pace till noon, 
 meeting on my way but three persons, of 
 whom 1 asked, relief, and succeeded 
 with one, a poor fellow, who gave me 
 two-pence, which was, however, of no 
 immediate use, there being no house at 
 hand wherein 1 could procure refresh- 
 ment. 
 
 On inquiring of a farmer’s boy, he 
 informed me I had left a viila 2 ,e a mile 
 on my right ■, and that, about three 
 miles farther there was another. Hop- 
 ing that my wearied limbs would bear 
 me to the last, I continued onward for 
 infinitely more than ' that distance, 
 when finding the boy had made a jest 
 of me, and overcome with heat, fatigue 
 and hunger, 1 was cornpelled to stop. 
 
 Seeing a gate which opened into a 
 field where a large hay-stack stood, I 
 with much difficulty climbed over it, 
 
 and 
 
( 238 ) 
 
 and reached the inviting spot: when 
 choosing the shaded side, in order to 
 screen me from the sun, I laid myself 
 at length upon the ground, and gave 
 full scope to my sorrows. Soon the 
 torments of hunger and refledion gave 
 way to my exhausted spirits, and I sunk 
 to sleep. 
 
 " Nature herself seemed bent on sport- 
 ing with my misfortunes ; for she suf- 
 fered me to rest till midnight, and then 
 awakened me to all her horrors, exposed 
 to one of the most tremendous storms 
 I ever witnessed. The thunder rolled 
 with unremitted terrors over my head ; 
 the lightning flashed from every part 
 of Heaven, and seemed to threaten all 
 around with destrudion ; while tor- 
 rents of rain overwhelmed me in their 
 flood. In the midst of this contention 
 of the elements, a horse passed by me 
 in wild affright j but fate overtook him 
 
 in 
 
( 239 ) 
 
 in his flight ; I saw a vivid dart strike 
 him, and he fell lifeless on the ground. 
 Impressed with awe. at the scene, I 
 strove to rise upon my knees, and im- 
 plore the mercy of Heaven. But my 
 limbs denied their office, So far from 
 being able to lift myself from the 
 ground, I had scarcely sufficient power 
 to move ; every part being numbed 
 almost to death. In vain I attempted 
 to crawl from the stack, as conscious 
 of my danger, from its being a con- 
 dudor to the eledric fluid, and which, 
 by its attradion, might end me in an 
 instant. For wretched as my condi- 
 tion was, I thought on Caroline, and 
 wished to live. But all exertions w'ere 
 ineffedual. My weakness, arising from 
 rvant of nourishment, deprived me of 
 all power, and 1 remained fixed to the 
 spot, expeding each moment to share 
 the same fate as the animal before me. 
 
 At 
 
( 24 ® ) 
 
 At length the storm had spent 
 fury, and Nature appeared to atone, by 
 bringing in the morn with all the splen- 
 dour of autumnal glory. The clouds 
 dispersed before the sun ; the elements 
 were hushed, and every obje<5t smiled 
 but me ; for I remained a prey to all 
 the pangs of mortal dissolution, Death 
 seemed to have overspread my body, 
 and fast advancing to my vitals. I 
 gave over every hope of life, and awaited 
 my approaching fate, groaning at 
 times, and calling on the name of 
 Caroline. 
 
 In the midst of this agony, I was sur- 
 prized by a voice, that uttered, from 
 the very soul of charity, 
 
 “ Poor, poor youth ! what ails thee ?** 
 and raising my eyes, observed a vener- 
 able old man in humble apparel. 
 
 “ Leave 
 
( 241 ) 
 
 “ Leave me,” Said I, “ to diej I 
 shall soon be past thy help.” 
 
 “ Alas, alas !” returned he, bending 
 to me, and taking my hand, “ 1 must 
 not see thee perish, perhaps from want 
 of Christian charity : come, poor lad, 
 let me lead thee to my cottage, which 
 is hard by, and my dame, shall nurse 
 thee into health. But, lack-a-day ! 
 how cold is thy poor flesh ! Canst thou 
 not walk ?” 
 
 With his assistance, and a violent 
 struggle of my own, 1 raised myself up, 
 and reclined against the hay-stack ; 
 another effort brought me on my legs. 
 But the first step I attempted to make, 
 I dropped again to the ground, while 
 the good old man, still holding me, in 
 part broke the fall, 
 
 VOL. III. M ‘‘Well, 
 
( 242 ) 
 
 “ Well, well,” said he, “ since thou 
 canst not walk. I’ll e’en carry thee.” 
 
 “ O no,” returned I j “ thy age 
 cannot support me.” 
 
 “ I warrant thee,” rejoined he ; “ the 
 cause will make me strong.” He ac- 
 cordingly bent down to me once more, 
 and placing my arms over his shoul- 
 ders, rose, and carried me to his little 
 home, which was situated about three 
 hundred yards from the field, a good 
 distance from the road, and in a small 
 inclosure, agreeably interspersed with 
 garden and orchard. 
 
 “ God bless thee, husband !” ex- 
 claimed his dame, the moment she saw 
 us — “ who hast thee got there ?” 
 
 “ A poor lad,” answered he, “ whom 
 t found perishing in the field.” 
 
 “ Poor 
 
( 243 ) 
 
 “ Poor boy,” said she, how pale, 
 and sad thee look’st ! how long hast 
 thou been in the field ?” 
 
 ” All night, good mother,” replied I. 
 
 “ Heaven pity thee !” cried she — “ all 
 in that frightful storm ! come husband, 
 let us put him in our bed, and comfort 
 him.” They did so ; and assisting 
 me to undress, wrapped me up in a 
 blanket. Soon after, the good old wo- 
 man brought me a bason of v/arm milk 
 porridge, from which I found immediate 
 benefit. Her husband then, shaking 
 my hand, bid me be of good heart, and 
 went to pursue his work. 
 
 I soon felt the effeds of the flannel 
 on my limbs, which now began to re- 
 sume their use, though with so much 
 pain as to prevent my sleeping, and I 
 was still awake when the cottager re- 
 al 2 turned 
 
( 244 ) 
 
 turned from his labour. In his hand 
 he brought a small basket, from which 
 he took out two bottles, a trussed fowl, 
 and a piece of raw beef. 
 
 Here, wife,” said he, “ make the 
 best of these good things for the poor 
 youth : I told my master of the affair, 
 and he gave me these two bottles of 
 wine to cheer him, this chicken for his 
 dinner, and this beef to make him some 
 broth.” 
 
 “ God bless him !” exclaimed the 
 old lady, he is always doing good.” 
 
 And who, my friend,” said I, “ is 
 your master ; tell me, that I too may 
 bless him.” He then informed me 
 that his name was Lambert ; that 
 he lived but a quarter of a mile off, 
 and was admired and beloved by 
 all around him, for his affability and 
 
 con- 
 
( HS ) 
 
 condescension to the poor, whom he 
 befriended on every .occasion. “ I,” 
 concluded the old man, “ am em- 
 ployed in managing his orchard, and 
 enjoy as happy a life under him as a 
 servant can wish to lead.” 
 
 My kind nurse instantly prepared 
 my dinner, which served greatly to 
 recruit me, for my w'eakness chiefly 
 proceeded from the want of food. 
 However, I was still unable to rise, 
 and when night came, this charitable 
 pair insisted on my remaining in their 
 bed, while they made a temporary one 
 for themselves. 
 
 I remained a week confined under 
 this humble and hospitable roof, with- 
 out being able to walk abroad ; during 
 which time its kind inhabitants treated 
 me with the tenderness of parents, 
 while Mr. Lambert continued his libe- 
 M 3 rality, 
 
{ 246 ) 
 
 rality, ordering a dodlor to attend, and 
 supplying me with every necessary. 
 
 I anxiously prayed for the moment 
 .when 1 might, in person, express my 
 gratitude to this gentleman, whoi 
 though unacquainted with my deserts, 
 so amply extended his beneficence. At 
 last it arrived, and my friendly cot- 
 tager undertook the office of leading 
 me to his house. 
 
 Previous to setting forth, I took 
 some pains to render my appearance 
 as decent as possible, and in the adt 
 of putting on my neckcloth, looked 
 into a mirror. 1 cannot describe my 
 surprize on viewing my features. 
 They really shocked me. My com- 
 plexion wore a death-like paleness ; 
 my bones seemed bursting through 
 my skin, while my eyes were sunk deep 
 into my head, expressive both of corpo- 
 real and mental infirmity. 
 
 CHAP, 
 
{ 247 ) 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 ABOUT three in the afternoon 
 I set forward with my kind condudor, 
 the man to whom I owed my life. 
 
 Soon the house appeared. It was 
 situated on the declivity of a hill, whose 
 summit commanded a prosped of the 
 sea, and was adorned with a grove of 
 pines, while the divided land from 
 thence to its base, gave it the appear- 
 ance of one beautiful garden. The house 
 had a charming air of simplicity, and 
 was surrounded by gardens of its own, 
 laid out in romantic order, with such ef- 
 fed as to impress the mind with a 
 pleasing melancholy. 
 
 Arriving at the gate, my friend open- 
 M 4 ed 
 
( m8 ) 
 
 eel it, and led me round by a l^ack way 
 to the kitchen, where I thought proper 
 to wait till he should go before with 
 my respeds, and request permission for 
 me to acknowledge my sense of obliga- 
 tion. He immediately returned, and 
 conducing me to the parlour-doorj 
 which was open, left me. 
 
 My ears were delighted, by the tones 
 of a chamber-organ, played upon with 
 exquisite taste. 1 stopped some time,, 
 as unwilling to disturb the harmon 3 q 
 till fearful of being expedted, I entered 
 the room, and, casting my eyes round, 
 perceived the performer to be a lady in 
 mourning, whose back was towards me. 
 On one side of her stood a servant, 
 holding in her arms a child, who seem- 
 ed listening in raptures to the music. 
 Still fearful to interrupt, I stood fixed 
 to my station, in silent delight at what 
 I heard and saw. At length the lady 
 
 ceased, 
 
( 249 ) 
 
 ceased, and, taking the child in her 
 arms, imprinted on its infant cheeks, - 
 a kiss that spoke nothing less than ma- 
 ternal love. 
 
 Finding she did not observe me, 1 
 approached, and uttering, “ Madam,” 
 
 she turned her face to me ^Good 
 
 God, it was Caroline ] 
 
 I started back in surprize mixed with 
 joy, and remained in one position for 
 a cojisiderable time, with my eyes fixed 
 upon her, without being able to move, 
 or utter a single sentence ■, while she, 
 pressing the child to her bosom, disco- 
 vered nothing but symptoms of alarm, 
 and said, in a trembling accent, 
 
 “ Good man, what is the matter 
 
 “ Do you not know me, Caroline ?” 
 said I. 
 
( 250 ) 
 
 With an Instinftive motion, she gave 
 the child to its nurse, shrieked aloud, 
 and fell senseless into my arms. '* 
 
 The servant screamed at the situation 
 of her mistress ; and before I could ex- 
 plain a word, Mr. Sterling rushed into 
 the room, and flew to the assistance of 
 his daughter. ‘ r-'" 
 
 His anxiety for her, prevented his 
 observance of me ; and the moment she 
 revived, he asked in the tenderest man- 
 ner the cause of her alarm. But the 
 heart of Caroline was too big for utter- 
 ance. She smiled in his face, ^pointed 
 at me, and burst into a flood of tears* 
 
 “ Good God 1” cried Mr. Sterling, 
 observing me with surprize, “ what 
 does this mean .? Speak, Caroline.” 
 
 “ Do you not know my Templeton?” 
 said she. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 “ Your 
 
( 251 ) 
 
 “ Your Templeton !” responded he, 
 surveying my features with astonish- 
 ment — “ What, Templeton, my child!” 
 
 “ The same,” replied I, “ whom once 
 you deigned to call your friend : the 
 same in heart, though sickness and 
 misfortunes have so changed his fea- 
 tures.” 
 
 C 
 
 “ Good Heaven 1” exclaimed he, fly- 
 ing to embrace me, “ canst thou be so 
 altered I Welcome, welcome! You 
 meet us now in joy ; indeed you bring 
 it with you. Our fortune is entirely 
 changed, and every blessing of life is 
 in our possession, now that you have 
 joined us. And here,” continued he, 
 taking the child from its nurse — “ here, 
 let me present you with a new friend, 
 whom yet you have not thought of — 
 This girl is yours.” 
 
 It was the first time I ever felt the 
 M 6 emotions 
 
( 25 ^) 
 
 emotions of a parent j and parents alone 
 can conceive them, when 1 pressed the 
 child in my embrace, and heard her 
 lisp the name of “ father.” 
 
 The tumult of our meeting had 
 brought every servant of the family 
 around us, amongst whom was my 
 cottage friend, who no sooner learned 
 the happiness arising from his huma- 
 nity, than he was unable to restrain his 
 joy. He by turns kissed the hand of 
 Caroline, grasped mine and Mr. Ster- 
 ling’s, and hugged the child. 
 
 “ There is another person,” said I, 
 interrupting his ecstacies, “ wanting to 
 complete this scene : where is Mr. Lam- 
 bert?” 
 
 “ I know of no other,” answered he, 
 pointing to Mr. Sterling, “ than my 
 worthy master.” 
 
 “ That 
 
( 253 ) 
 
 “ That mystery shall soon be cleared 
 up to you, my son,” said Mr. Sterling — 
 then turning to the servants, bade them 
 make themselves as happy as they pos- 
 sibly could, and let nothing be wanting 
 to that end. My old friend followed 
 them, spite of our wishes to detain 
 him with us. 
 
 “ No,” said he, “ I cannot rest till 
 my good dame has heard the story.” 
 
 Mr. Sterling, Caroline, our child, and 
 myself, being now left together, re- 
 mained some time gazing alternately at 
 each other in expressive silence. At 
 length Mr. Sterling, addressing himself 
 to me, said, 
 
 “ You must, no doubt, be anxious 
 to know the circumstances of our for- 
 tune. Yours will be no less interesting 
 to us i but, in order that Caroline may 
 
 prepare 
 
( 254 ) 
 
 prepare herself, I will first relate mine. 
 We will previously, however, take some 
 refreshment. He then ordered in cof- 
 fee, and began as follows : 
 
 “ I must first explain my motives for 
 writing you that letter, previous to my 
 quitting the theatre at which you were 
 engaged. Assured, in my own mind, 
 of Caroline’s frailty, I could not believe 
 that a nature such as yours would link 
 itself in marriage to her errors j for I 
 had learned of a friend who saw you 
 both perform, that you lived together j 
 but he could inform me no further. 
 Anxious, however, to know the truth, 
 I wrote to Mr. Case, with whom I had 
 formerly played, and who was then in 
 your company, requesting he would 
 explain to me the nature of your con- 
 nexion. His answer w'as, that you 
 passed as a new- married couple j but 
 he, with many others, had reason to 
 
 rejedt 
 
( 255 ) 
 
 rejedl the belief j which reasons, how- 
 ever, he did not state. This, notwith- 
 standing, served almost to confirm the 
 doubts which had previously possessed 
 me. 
 
 “ When I heard of your engage- 
 ment in the. company to which I be- 
 longed, 1 Instantly resolved to quit it j 
 and the very day before your arrival, 
 resigned, with the Manager’s consent, 
 and left the town on the next j first 
 leaving that harsh letter with my land- 
 lord, charging him to give it to you so 
 soon as he should learn your address. 
 
 “ I will not tire you by a relation of 
 events that could afford but little in- 
 terest, and are in common with our 
 profession. 
 
 “ Eight weeks had elapsed, when 
 one evening sitting in a public-house,, 
 
 rumi- 
 
( 256 ) 
 
 ruminating upon the fluduating state 
 of an aflor’s life, and suggesting some 
 means of renouncing it for one more 
 congenial to my wishes, 1 was roused 
 by a person at the other side of the 
 room, who, looking earnestly in a news- 
 paper, repeated to his companion, “ Ster- 
 ling, the name is Sterling j observe how 
 it is spelt. 
 
 “ Feeling, of course, some interest 
 upon the occasion, I arose, and begged 
 permission to look at the part; on which 
 he,' with much good-nature, pointed 
 it our to me. 
 
 “ Guess my surprize, my friend, on 
 seeing an advertisement describing my 
 name, family, and former residence, 
 and stating, that by applying to an at- 
 torney at Norwich, 1 should hear of 
 something greatly . to my advantage. 
 
 “ This 
 
( 25 / ) 
 
 “ This was no subjecl for delay : 1 
 took stage the following morning, ahd 
 in the evening of the same day reached 
 the attorney’s house, where I learned, 
 that an aunt, of my mother’s side, had 
 died, and bequeathed me the whole of 
 her possessions, under condition of my 
 taking the sirname of Lambert, which 
 was that of her family. My person 
 was identified, my title proved, and in 
 a week I was in possession and master 
 of this estate, with landed property to 
 the amount of twelve hundred a-year. 
 
 “ The only objedl now wanting to 
 complete my happiness, was a virtuous 
 daughter. But my false conception 
 deemed it honeless. However, I re- 
 solved to seek and settle upon my Ca- 
 roline an independence that should keep 
 her above want. Accordingly I wrote 
 to the proprietor in whose company I 
 had left you both. He informed me 
 
 that 
 
( 258 ) 
 
 that Caroline was drowned, and you, 
 Templeton, in a fit of despair, had 
 put a period to your existence. 
 
 “ My feelings upon this intelligence 
 may better be imagined than described. 
 But to what bitterness of sorrow were 
 they raised, on learning from Mr. Wil- 
 mot, some time after, that you had 
 been united by the chaste laws of ma- 
 trimony, at his house, and that Caro- 
 line had never erred. 
 
 “ I then lost all relish for my situa- 
 tion, and found, that to a mind not at 
 ease fortune proved no blessing. I flew 
 from society, and sought only to alle- 
 viate the poignancy of reflexion by a 
 few choice books. The sea being but 
 a short walk from my house, I would, 
 with a volume in my hand, walk upon 
 its shore for hours together, and a 
 storm never failed to attradt me on 
 those visits. 
 
 “ One 
 
( 259 ) 
 
 “ One morning I was awakened by 
 the loud tempest pealing over my head. 
 Jt was scarcely day-light ; yet I arose, 
 and, according to my custom, repaired 
 to the sea-shore, from whence I soon 
 espied a sloop in the most imminent 
 danger, attempting, in vain, to make 
 the land. At times the waves hid her 
 from my view, and again she rose above 
 them, discovering her distress, till at 
 last a huge sea burst upon her, and 
 she was seen no more. 
 
 “ In a moment after, the shrieks of 
 human misery reached my ears, when, 
 looking earnestly upon the water, I be- 
 held a female with one arm encircling 
 an infant, while the other clung round 
 a plank that served to buoy her up. 
 One moment she was ovewhelmed in 
 the surge, the next, emerging, and cry- 
 ing for assistance. Careless of all dan- 
 ger 1 plunged in to save her, and, be- 
 
 ing 
 
( 26 o ) 
 
 ing an expert swimmer, soon reached, 
 and, with much struggling, brought her 
 to the sands, she still grasping her in- 
 fant. Redeemed from danger, she cast 
 a look upon my face, exclaimed, “ Fa- 
 ther !” and fainted. — Templeton, it 
 was your Caroline !” 
 
 The sensations of Mr. Lambert here 
 overpowered his utterance. Caroline 
 and I wept over each other, kissed our 
 child, and bathed our father’s haird 
 with tears, while he, with a kind of 
 agonizing joy, gave us his blessing. An 
 interval of silence composed him, and 
 he proceeded thus : 
 
 “ TVTy daughter and her child lay 
 senseless at my feet ! Full of unutter- 
 able fears, I raised the first in my arms, 
 
 “ O, Caroline ! exclaimed I, live for 
 your child ! 
 
 “ The 
 
( 26l ) 
 
 The last accent seemingly called 
 her back to life, and seizing the objedt 
 of her concern, she rent the air with 
 complaints. I snatched it from her 
 embrace, and using every possible exer- 
 tion towards its recovery, 1 in a short 
 time happily proved successful j she be- 
 came re' animated, when her innocent 
 looks seemed to thank my care. 
 
 “ T had been so busy in the fate of 
 these dear objedfs, that no others could 
 draw my attention till their safety was 
 ensured, when, casting my eyes round, 
 I observed two sailors who had escaped 
 the wreck, one supporting the other, 
 and leading him towards us. The 
 ablest told me, in broken English, they 
 W'ere brothers ; that he, the youngest, 
 being the best swimmer, soon made the 
 shore, but seeing the elder nearly ex- 
 hausted, went back to his assistance, 
 and, at nearly the expence of his own 
 
 life, 
 
( 262. ) 
 
 life,' brought him safely out. There 
 was one more hand, who made up their 
 little crew, and he was lost.” 
 
 “ We all proceeded to my house, 
 where, w'ith proper care, the poor suf- 
 ferers were soon in pefetfl; health. The 
 tw'o sailors remained with me a fort- 
 night, when furnishing them with a 
 sum sufficient for conveying them 
 home, and making up their loss, they 
 departed for their native country. 
 
 “ Caroline, though escaped from 
 death, could yet feel no enjoyment. 
 The uncertainty of your fate entirely 
 engrossed her mind, and debarred every 
 joy. I forbore speaking of your sup- 
 posed misfortune ; for finding the story 
 of my daughter erroneous, 1 hoped that 
 your’s might also prove so. 
 
 « We have advertised you ■, been to 
 
 London 
 
( 263 ) 
 
 London in search of you, and em- 
 ployed persons to traverse the country 
 for that purpose, and in which they 
 are occupied to this very hour. We 
 heard of your appearance on the boards 
 of Drury-Lane through the medium 
 of a Mr. Price, v.'ith whom we cleared 
 up your arrears, as also with a tailor. 
 Mr. Price shewed us a letter which 
 you left previous to your quitting Lon- 
 don, and as it plainly evinced distress, 
 our sorrow was consequently much 
 augmented. 
 
 “ Caroline now fludtuated between 
 hope and fear ; but the latter had th^. 
 most powerful influence. She would 
 gaze on her little Emma for hours, and 
 cry, “ Sweet babe, where is thy poor 
 father ! never, never wilt thou see him, 
 my child !” then burst into tears and 
 kiss her, till she seemed to lose her 
 sorrow in her love. At my request 
 
 she 
 
( 264 ) 
 
 »he would often seek amusement on 
 the organ, which delighted her infant, 
 and diverted my heavy moments. 
 
 “ Thus passed our time, amid the 
 dread of losing and the hope of finding 
 you j but the event of this day is, I 
 trust, a period to our cares.” 
 
 Mr. Lambert ceased, and a short 
 silence again ensued, which Caroline 
 interrupted by observing, that as the 
 evening was so far spent, she would de- 
 fer her story till after supper, which, 
 she smiling said, would completely 
 wind up our novel. 
 
 The time soon passed away, our meal 
 was finished, and Caroline thus began : 
 
 CHAP, 
 
( 265 ) 
 
 CHAP, XII» 
 
 ‘‘ HAVING passed the preced-' 
 ing part of that fatal day, the 'cause of 
 all our sorrows, in reading, about four 
 in the afterftoon I walked to the beach, 
 for the sake of enjoying more freely 
 the beauty of th'e weather. Numbeb 
 w'ere invited by tlve same attradion, 
 and were passing to and fro ; but I, 
 preferring solitude, moved to V secluded 
 part, where I remained, gazing with 
 admiration at the vast ocean, and the 
 pleasing diversity of the landscape. 
 
 ^ 'jr - r • 
 
 “ Ha\^ing remained there some time, 
 rj!)erceived a woman approaching. In 
 orff I'iahd she held a basket, and with 
 the other led a fine boy about five years 
 old; ‘Ori coming' bp fo' me, “she curt- 
 vot. 111. 3$ sied. 
 
( 266 ) 
 
 sied, and with much good-nature spoke 
 of the serenity of the evening. I kissed 
 the child, and asked him a few ques- 
 tions, but he was dumb from bashful- 
 ness. His mother, therefore, answered 
 for him, and we presently fell into con- 
 versation.. 
 
 “ She told me that her husband was 
 a fisherman, whom she shortly expected 
 with his boat, in which she meant to 
 take a sail, haying for that purpose 
 brought tea tackle and provisions in the 
 basket she, carried. She concluded by- 
 saying, that if I would venture with 
 them, her own sister should not be 
 more w^elcome. I remained in hesita- 
 tion till the boat came, when her hus- 
 band called her on board. She again 
 invited m^e to go, and. he also joined in 
 persuasion w'ith, equal good-nature, tell- 
 ing me there was no danger, and mo- 
 destly hinting^^t^is.ovvn skill and ex- 
 perience. 
 
( 267 ) 
 
 perience.' There appeared such unaf- 
 fedted kindness in their manners, that 
 I at last yielded to it : the boat put olF, 
 and, for the first time, I found myself 
 upon the sea. 
 
 “ We moved at a very gentle rate 
 till the spot whence we sailed was 
 lost to our sight. Still all was calm 
 and happy. We prepared our tea, and 
 drank it with peculiar pleasure : I in 
 particular, for the scene was new tome, 
 and unconscious of danger, I gave my 
 mind up to- its enjoyment. 
 
 “ Still we glided smoothly along, 
 till the darkening sky shewed the pro- 
 priety of our return; and on my first 
 intimation, the fisherman turned about 
 to obey my wishes. 
 
 “ All on a sudden, a sharp gale 
 sprung up, and diredlly opposite to 
 our course, which alarmed me exceed- 
 N 2 itJgly* 
 
( 468 ) 
 
 ingly. They endeavoured to hush my 
 fears, by assuring me that all the in- 
 jury it could do, was that of prolonging 
 our time ; which, to my regret, I saw : 
 for he now went an entirely new way 
 to work ; turning first to the right, and 
 then to the left, which he called tack- 
 ing. On each of these tacks, the boat 
 did so lean on one side, that I expedted 
 each moment to be engulphed in the 
 waves. To the terrors of my appre- 
 hension was added the misery of sea 
 sickn ss. O heavens ! how did I re- 
 pent my rashness, in venturing from 
 the shore. But, alas ! I trembled at 
 a shadow, when a demon was at hand. 
 
 “ My fears augmented as the night 
 increased. My companions, however, 
 felt no uneasiness but on my account, 
 till our boat was intercepted by a ves- 
 sel with, two masts, and hailed by a 
 voice we could not understand. 
 
 The 
 
{. 269 ) 
 
 “ The fisherman no sooner found her 
 making towards us, than he exclaimed, 
 “ Good God !” with marks of eviderit 
 concern, which his wife demanded the 
 cause of. But, before he could answer 
 her, a gun was fired from the ship, the 
 shot -of which pierced the front of our 
 boat. The wife screamed, her husband 
 let down his sails, and in a moment the 
 ship was upon us. 
 
 ** What are these ?” cried I. 
 
 “ Dutchmen,” answered the fisher- 
 man, “ and we are prisoners to a 
 Dutch privateer !” . 
 
 “ Instantly, two or three barbarians 
 jumped into our boat, and without the 
 least respedt to our situation, rudely lifted 
 us upon the deck of their own vessel, 
 where I saw ten or twelve men, one of 
 whom came towards us, and with asava2;e 
 N 3 look, 
 
( 27 ° ) 
 
 look, beckoned us to follow him. We 
 obeyed, when he led us into his cabin, 
 and, assisted by two others of his crew, 
 rifled our pockets of all they contained. 
 
 Amidst the horror of my situation, 
 ■O Templeton ! 1 began to feel the 
 pains of child-birth, which were brought 
 ■on by the fright, and increased in a 
 short time to such a degree, that I 
 threw my arms round the neck of the 
 fisherman’s wife, and with grief almost 
 unutterable, explained my sad condi- 
 tion. I'his companion of my misfor- 
 tune forgot all sense of her own danger 
 in mine a she wept aloud, and endea- 
 voured to make the Dutchmen sensible 
 of my condition. But for a long timie, 
 either their cruelty or stupidity, pre- 
 vented their attention, till my agonies 
 became so great, that, unable to sup- 
 port myself, 1 fell upon the floor. 
 
 
 My 
 
( ) 
 
 ** My friend now discovered more vio- 
 lence in her manner. She pointed at 
 me, then at her child, and attempted 
 to force them out of the cabin j as she 
 did her son and husband likewise. 
 
 The sailors muttered to them- 
 selves, and darted furious looks at me, 
 while one of them seized, and ^as 
 proceeding tb drag me from the spot. 
 Imagining no less than that he meant 
 to throw me into the sea, I rent the air 
 with shrieks. My companion’s were as 
 loud as mine : she threw herself upon 
 her knees ; her little boy followed her 
 example, and her husband clasped his 
 hands, each imploring the mercy of our 
 enemies, till at length, the Captain 
 commanded the ruffian to quit his 
 hold of me, when immediately they all 
 went out, followed by the fisherman 
 and his son. 
 
( ^72 ) 
 
 . . Now left to ourselves, my friend 
 
 fastened the door, prepared me a bed 
 upon the ground, and in half an hour 
 my Emma saw the world ! 
 
 “ It is impossible to rdate the emo- 
 tions that possessed me amid so many 
 troubles. But my anxiety for my in- 
 fant called forth all my fortitude, and 
 while I pressed her to my breast, I 
 hoped that the Almighty would one 
 day grant me the blessing of presenting 
 her to you. 
 
 “ Some time after, the Captain re- 
 turned to ' his’ cabin, and looking 
 at me.with much earnestness, drew a 
 sliding closet, whence taking a bottle of 
 liquor, some biscuit, and cold meat, 
 he placed them, on a table, giving us to 
 understand they were at our service. 
 He then, without more ceremony, laid 
 himself at length upon a large' chest, 
 and fell asleep. 
 
 My 
 
( 273 ) 
 
 ** My kind nurse having procured 
 a little warm water, prepared me some 
 refreshment. Soon after the little boy 
 came in, telling us that his father had 
 sent him to remain in the cabin. On 
 which his mother making him a bed of 
 a piece of canvas, laid him upon it, 
 and he soOri followed the Captain’s ex- 
 ample i while she remained with me all 
 night, condoling and sympathizing in 
 her own and my misfortune. 
 
 “ I felt the vessel’s motion all night, 
 and my poor brains were nearly dis- 
 tradled by the pain arising from that, 
 and refledling on the alarm into which 
 you would be thrown on losing me. 
 
 “ We continued sailing all the fol- 
 lowing day and night, and on the se- 
 cond morning from our disaster, were 
 surprized by an unusual noise, pro- 
 ceeding from a number of strange 
 N5 
 
 voices 5 
 
( 274 ) 
 
 ; voices ; but all in a language unknown 
 to us. Amidst our wonder, the hus- 
 band of my friend came and explained, 
 that we were in one of the dykes of 
 Rotterdam, and should soon be put on 
 shore. 
 
 “ He bad scarcely finished, before 
 several of the crew came in, and mad& 
 signs for us to go. But perceiving my 
 extreme weakness, two of thcm-dragged 
 me up, a:’.d forced me to ascend the 
 deck, from whence I perceived that 
 we were in a narrow river, with streets 
 on each side, and a concourse of peo- 
 ple passing and re-passing. 
 
 “ A broad plank was fixed from our 
 ship to the land, over which they led 
 me, and carelessly resting me against 
 a house, would have left me to drop, 
 -had not the fisherman sprung to my 
 assistance, followed by his wife, with 
 
 out 
 
( 275 ) 
 
 our child in her arms, and her own by 
 her side, 
 
 ** Good God !” said I, “ what will 
 become of us? tell me what these 
 cruel people mean to do.” 
 
 « Nothing more, dear lady,” an- 
 swered my countryman j “ they have 
 got all they want, and now left us to 
 shift for ourselves. We must either 
 beg or starve. But God knows, I 
 would do any thing to lessen your 
 sufferings.” 
 
 ** I will knock at this door,” said 
 his wife, fulfilling her promise, “ and 
 demand their charity.” 
 
 “ It w'as instantly opened by a woman, 
 to w'hom we attempted to make our- 
 selves understood j but whether or not 
 N 6 we 
 
( 276 ) 
 
 we did, I cannot tell ; for she frowned, 
 and shut the door against us. 
 
 I “ My fellow-sufferers now led me 
 gently on, and tried at several other 
 houses ; but met with as little pity a* 
 at the first. 
 
 O, my dear Templeton ! conceive 
 our situation. I think 1 now see the 
 sorrowful look of the poor fisherman, 
 supporting my trembling frame, and 
 endeavouring to console me. On the 
 other hand, his wife bedewing my in- 
 fant with her tears, while her own child 
 clung by turns to each of us, venting 
 |the affliiftions of bis little heart aloud.) 
 
 tt 
 
 “ They spoke to every person who 
 passed them, in .hopes, ^ of finding one 
 that might understand our language, 
 and advise us where, to proceejd. But 
 ' their 
 
( 2 ?) ) 
 
 their hopes were vain. We. continued 
 .moving on, till my strength was quite 
 exhausted, and 1 could sustain myself 
 no longer; resting, therefore, upon the 
 threshold of a door, I took my child 
 -and fed her at my breast. 
 
 “ My female friend, emboldened by 
 our distress, once more sovight relief 
 from;, this inhospitable town, by knock- 
 ing at the house under which we rested. 
 Immediately a girl appeared, who, igno- 
 rant of our wants, left the door open, 
 apd. ran.ba^ii: Ji>to the house by.t pre» 
 .sently returned with q, lady,, whose. ap- 
 pearance differed from all 1 had. ^ yet 
 seen in the place. Her mien was grace^ 
 fulj. a-rid her features a/Fable. , / 
 
 “ My friends addressed her .in theif 
 usual manner; but she understood them 
 not; and fixing her ^ eyes^^pn^me, de- 
 manded in the French itongue, _tj?p na- 
 i i turc 
 
( ) 
 
 ture of our distress. A momentary joy 
 vibrated on my heart, and 1 briefly in- 
 formed her in that language of our dis- 
 aster. Without hearing me to an end, 
 she burst into tears, assisted to raise me 
 from the stone, and led me, followed by 
 my friends, into her parlour, where she 
 kissed our children, and sympathized in 
 our misfortunes. Nor did she negleft 
 the means of alleviating them, but like 
 Benevolence herself, prepared a wel- 
 come refreshment. 
 
 “In a short time a gentleman came in, 
 whom presently I found to be her hus- 
 band. He too, as well as herself, was 
 a native of France. She no sooner ex- 
 plained our situation, than he welcomed 
 us to his house, and expressed the high- 
 est pleasure at his lady’s condud. 
 
 .. f 
 
 “ The moment I had taken the nou- 
 rishment that had been presented me, 
 
 the 
 
( ^79 ) 
 
 the generous lady and my countrywo- 
 man led me up to bed, where they left 
 me with my child to repose. 
 
 ; 
 
 “ I slept several hours, and, on wak- 
 ing, found Madame Montel, that was 
 the name of my benefaftress, sitting at 
 my bed-side. Perceiving me move, 
 she tenderly inquired after my health. 
 
 “ I am extremely weak, Madam,” 
 said I, “ but it is impossible to feel 
 misfortunes in your presence.” 
 
 “ Compose yourself,” returned she, 
 “ and all will yet beivell : my husband 
 will use his interest to send back'your 
 companions the first opportunity, when 
 they can. relate your situation to your 
 friends, and on your recovery, he will 
 also find means to procure you a safe 
 conveyance. Let not this event, thercr 
 fore, prey upon your peace,, since' you 
 
 have 
 
( 28 o ) 
 
 have nothing to fear, and' are with peo- 
 ple who respedl no distinftion among 
 mankind, but regard alike, of every 
 country, the children of misfortune.” 
 
 “ Near two months had passed away, 
 and notwithstanding the care of all 
 around me, I still remained in such a 
 state as to be confined to my bed, when 
 one evening, my countrywoman came 
 tyeeping into the room, and for a time 
 iunable to speak. 
 
 “What is the matter, my dear friend ?” 
 said I. 
 
 “ I am going to leave you,” answered 
 slie. ,i 
 
 “It is a. happy circumstance,” re- 
 turned I : “ your own friends will re- 
 joice at your return,, and you will do 
 away, the apprehensions of mine.” 
 
 ,.i “ O, but 
 
( 28l ) 
 
 “ O, but to leave you,” cried she, io 
 afflidion and illness, among strangers 
 too — 1 cannot bear the thought !” 
 
 “ Strangers !” said I— “ alas ! can you 
 call them strangers ? Say, did you ever 
 witness more virtues in your own coun- 
 try, than you have found in these amia- 
 ,ble foreigners ?” 
 
 “ No, never, never,” answered , she j 
 “ and the God of all goodness sliower 
 down his blessings on their heads !” 
 
 “ At that moment Monsieur Montel 
 and his' lady entered the room. The 
 first told me, that an. officer, a parti* 
 cujar friend of his, would early in the 
 morning set sail for England with a cai> 
 tel, and, at h.is request, had consented 
 to tra,nsport my friends thither. 
 
 4 
 
 “You will not, Madam,” said, he, 
 
 smiling 
 
( 282 ) 
 
 smiling — “ you will not fear being left 
 alone with dn enemy ?” 
 
 “ I could wish, Sir,” returned I, 
 “ that Heaven would always bless me 
 with such, and grant me the power of 
 proving how I hate them.” Madame 
 Montc'l then observing, that as my 
 companions would so soon leave- me, I 
 had best take advantage of the time, 
 and think of all I had to say, which I 
 might send by them; she then with her 
 husband withdrew. 
 
 Weak as 1 was, I sat up in my 
 bed, and filled a sheet of paper to you, 
 my Templeton ; in vdrich, alter de- 
 scribing every incident, I solicited your 
 forgiveness for the rashness of my con- 
 dud. 1 then gave it to my friend, with 
 diredions how to convey it, judging 
 you must have left that town from 
 whence I sailed. 
 
 “ This. 
 
( 283 ) 
 
 “ This faithful companion insisted on 
 sitting up with me all night j nor did 1 
 objed; to her w’ishes, as it w'as joy to 
 dwell upon the coming event that would 
 alleviate the cares of my husband. 
 
 “ We remained in conversation till 
 day-light, when her little boy came 
 in, bidding her prepare for departure, 
 and telling me that his father waited at 
 the door, to take his leave of me. . I 
 immediately desired him to come in,; 
 when he expressed a deep concern at 
 leaving me in a strange countiy, pro- 
 mising to use every endeavour to see 
 you, and explain every particular. He 
 shewed me twenty guineas, which he 
 said Monsieur Montel had given him, 
 with every necessary, for their voyage, 
 assuring him at the same time, that 
 every care should be taken of me, till 
 health permitted my returning home. 
 
 “ Mon- 
 
( 2^4 ) 
 
 “ Monsieur Montel now joined us, 
 and urged the necessity of my friends 
 immediately departing. The fisherman 
 now kissed my hand, and then my 
 child, bidding us farewell, while his 
 wife embraced me with the tenderest 
 afiediion, and wept over our little Em- 
 ma as though she had been her own ; 
 while their little boy, in his turn, 'kissed 
 and cried over us. Monsieur Montel, 
 who telt alike for all, finished this af- 
 fed'ing scene, by leading them out of 
 the room. 
 
 “ They had not been gone long, 
 ere Madame Montel came in, and 
 with her presence cheered me for their 
 loss. In less than an hour her husband 
 returned, and inlormed me that he had 
 seen them embark in safety, and the 
 vessel set sail with a fair wind. Those 
 worthy people arrived in England the 
 second day from their departure. I 
 
 fre- 
 
( ^85 ) 
 
 frequently see them j my father has 
 been their great friend, and still conti- 
 nues such. You too shall know them 
 shortly, and thank them for their care. 
 
 Monsieur Montel was partner in a 
 house of great establishment, and had 
 resided in Rotterdam sixteen years. 
 His connexions were extensive j but; 
 his friends few. Indeed, the temper of 
 the people was by ,no mea,ns congenial 
 to his. They had but one pursuit, and 
 one pleasure, which was j' while his 
 heart was open to every sentiment of 
 social bliss. He sought, in vain, to 
 g’utify this nature ■ among t.h^ frigid 
 Dutchmen, till finding his attempts 
 abortive, he resigned his leisure hours 
 entirely to domestic enjoyments, and 
 found in his lady and his library the sa- 
 tisfauiion which he was denied abroad. 
 
 “ I remained confided to my roorq 
 
 ten 
 
( 286 ) 
 
 ten weeks longer, and at one time was 
 in so dangerous a state, that the physi- 
 cian despaired of my life. I was under 
 a necessity of submitting to the ablacta- 
 tion of my child, and even denied the 
 gratification ,of kissing her, lest my fe- 
 ver should infeCt her. In all this trou- 
 ble, the attention and tenderness of my 
 benefactors were unceasing;. 
 
 “ At length the danger of my ma- 
 lady was removed, and nothing remain- 
 ed but its consequent weakness, from 
 which I recovered by degrees. 
 
 “ My desire of beholding you grew 
 every day more strong, and I prayed 
 my generous friend to get me a passage 
 in any thing ; for I was willing to risk 
 any danger for your sake. But still 
 the time passed away, while my anxiety 
 increased with the interval, till one af- 
 ternoon Monsieur Montel came home, 
 
 and, 
 
( 2^7 ) 
 
 and, gazing on my features with much 
 earnestness, said he had procured a ves- 
 sel for me, a Swedish sloop, that had 
 landed two merchants there, and was 
 proceeding with a freight of iron to 
 Lynn, in Norfolk. 
 
 “ Good God! exclaimed I, then shall 
 I again see my husband !” Madame^ 
 Montel shed tears, and prayed Heaven 
 would conduct me in -safety tp' your 
 arms. . ■ 
 
 ** It was then four o’clock, and the 
 sloop was to weigh anchor at seven that 
 same evening;. , Monsieur Montel, there- 
 fore, and his lady began preparing every 
 thing for my suprlyuppn the voyage: 
 such as ham, coffee, wine,,and i;n short, 
 all that their kindness could suggest. 
 They; also furnished ‘me with bedding, 
 which, with the rest, was forwarded to 
 tiae. sloop, .j ' (j •? 
 
 The 
 
 • • * 
 
( i8S y 
 
 ' The momeht of parting af length 
 arrived. The heart of Madame Montel 
 was too full for utterance, nor was I 
 Jess a{Te6led. We embracbd with un- 
 ^eakable sensations, and continued tO’ 
 weep till we almost forgot that we were 
 to part. On my infant she repeated 
 tier blessings, giving mO for her- sake 
 two bracelets of great value. 
 
 Come, come,” said Monsieur lIvTdn'-' 
 tel, with a benevolent smile, and part- 
 ing us asunder, fearing our delay- — 
 Come, come^ you forget there is a 
 Heaven above, where all good souls' will 
 rrieet -again to part no more” ' Again- 
 he suffered us to embrace, and' then 
 eonduded me to the sloOp, Which- Was' 
 
 just ready to sail. - ‘ 
 
 • ' : i-:r ! - 
 
 “ He accompanied me on board,' and 
 Went into the cabi-n, which was vbry 
 small, but furnished by him in such 'a 
 
 manner 
 
( 2S9 ) 
 
 manner as to render it comfortable. 
 He shewed me all the conveniences. 
 
 “ These,” said he, “ will do for your 
 present necessities, but we must provide 
 for the future. This is no time. Ma- 
 dam, for the etiquette of empty cere- 
 mony ; accept this, and remember 
 that you are dear to us i” then em- 
 bracing the child and me, he said, 
 “ Farewell, farewell ! and God be with 
 you!” 
 
 “ He then went on deck, distributed 
 money to the sailors, who, as he had 
 previously informed me, knew him, 
 and recommending me to thei,r care, 
 went on shore. 
 
 “ The present he had presented me 
 with was a morocco case, containing 
 forty guineas. In silence I prayed for 
 YOL, III. o bless- 
 
 o 
 
( 2go ) 
 
 blessings on himself and his lady ; for 
 their benevolence surpassed all that I 
 had ever witnessed. Soon I felt the 
 vessel move, and in a short time we 
 were along the coast of Holland. 
 
 The wind seemed to lessen as we 
 proceeded, till, at last, we scarcely 
 stirred upon the waters, and on the fol- 
 lowing morning were still within sight 
 of the shore that we had left. ' 
 
 “ The sailors were extremely atten- 
 tive and obliging to me, which kind- 
 ness I returned. For as there were but 
 three in number, and my stock of pro- 
 vision was abundant, I freely shared it 
 with them, for which they seemed at ^ 
 loss to express their thanks. 
 
 , “ All that day we continued our 
 slow progress, and great part of the suc- 
 1 o ceeding 
 
( 291 ) 
 
 ceeding night, when the wind changed, 
 and began to increase in fierceness^ 
 till it at last amounted to a hurricane. 
 The clouds now gathered over our heads, 
 and presently poured forth their terrors 
 in floods of rain. The wind still aug- 
 mented, and the billows raged above 
 our vessel. I shrunk to a corner of the 
 cabin, in order to hide myself from 
 danger, till the sea poured in from the 
 deck, and flooded it some feet above 
 the floor. Conceiving we were sinking, 
 I rushed out, and stood exposed amongst 
 the sailors, who were busy at the rudder, 
 which had broken from its hinges, and 
 which they in vain endeavoured to re- 
 fix. Perceiving all efforts useless, they 
 resigned themselves to despair, and be- 
 gan to loosen some planks that were 
 piled upon the deck. In the height of 
 my terrors, I clung one arm round the 
 ropes, and with the other pressed my 
 o 2 infant 
 
( 292 ) 
 
 infant to my breast, imploring the pity 
 of the Almighty, 
 
 “ The sloop continued to be the 
 sport of the elements. At times the 
 waves beat against me with such fury 
 as almost forced me from my hold j 
 but I was strengthened with a mother’s 
 care, and only pressed my child the 
 more closely, and held the more firmly 
 by the ropes. 
 
 “ At last the day commenced, and 
 England appeared to my view. Alas ! 
 it served only to aggravate my distress. 
 
 “ O happy land !” cried I, “ thou 
 never more wilt bear this wretched 
 frame ; and my husband will forever 
 mourn the fate of his infant and his 
 wife !” 
 
 “ I had 
 
( 293 ) 
 
 “ I had scarcely uttered my lamenta- 
 tion, before a horrid wave rushed over 
 and buried us in the sea. O God ! 
 my child ! I feel, I feel my anguish 
 now. I grasped her in my agony, re- 
 solving not to part with her, even in 
 death. But Heaven in mercy pitied a 
 mother’s woe : I rose above the flood, 
 and perceiving a plank, grappled it in 
 all the energy of despair. It supported 
 me till you, my father, brought me to 
 the shore.” 
 
 She ceased, and smiled at her tri- . 
 umph over misfortune. 
 
 “ O, Caroline,” said I, clasping her 
 in my arms, “ how have my suspicions 
 wronged thy suffering virtue 1 But I 
 have atoned for them, and to-morrow 
 you shall know what I have endured. 
 This day, this happy day, we begin to 
 exist anew, and our past sorrows will; 
 
 serve 
 
( 294 ) 
 
 serve but to render our future joys more 
 sweet.” 
 
 Reader, fa rewell ! — The evening closed 
 in bliss, and all were happy. 
 
 FINIS, 
 
 c 
 
 i - ■ -- 
 
 Printed by B, McMillan, p. 
 Pow-S_treer, Covent-Garden. J 
 

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DATE Due 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 FORM 335 40M 9>42