LETTER I. Mr. ALWYN to Mr. HILKIRK.

I HAVE received a letter from our old ſchool-fellow Pendril, who ſaw you as he paſſed through Car⯑liſle. I need not tell you it gave me great pleaſure to hear that you ſtill exiſt in health and ſpirits, after the chaſm which your abſence has occaſioned in [2] our friendſhip; and though your ſitua⯑tion, as a travelling comedian, is ſuch as ſome of your old acquaintance would not be over ready to recognize you under, yet, were I weak enough to be thus in⯑fluenced, the affectation in me would not only be mean, but ridiculous. My hereditary hopes do not ſurpaſs your's; and, could certain conſiderations be re⯑moved, I don't know but it might be more agreeable to my ſentiments (call it pride if you pleaſe) to live by my own labour, than by that of the dead— I am not unacquainted with the natural hilarity and chearfulneſs of your temper, and I am of opinion that (no matter what the rank in life) while the mind is chearful, the man is happy.—Cincin⯑natus at the plough, it is moſt probable, was happier than Cincinnatus in the ſe⯑nate—I know you begin to ſuſpect this grave lecture: few, I believe, preach about [3] happineſs, till they themſelves either are, or have been unhappy—I own to you I am altered. The ſmiles and pleaſures are fled; a gloom overhangs my youth, and has ſhut out the ſun; my health declines, and my worthy Patron—(Patron?—Friend! —Father!—all theſe cannot expreſs the ſenſe I have of his goodneſs) wiſhes me to reſide in the country for ſome time.— I wiſh it myſelf—I cannot be eaſy where I am—my diſorder will increaſe—Not that I am anxious about life—it is a com⯑fort that, ſooner or later, all our cares ſhall end: and no ſentiment ever came with greater force to me than that which Mac⯑beth, where the poet repreſents him torn and diſtracted with a thouſand fears, thus utters:

Theſe reflections are the cordials of my life. Enough of this.

You will be ſurprized, perhaps, when I tell you that I have an inclination to become an actor. Hear my reaſons: I muſt either find a means of ſubſiſtence, or live upon the bounty of others. The firſt is agreeable to me; the latter I can never conſent to, though Mr. Stamford would ſupply me with the greateſt chear⯑fulneſs. As it is neceſſary I ſhould live ſome time in the country, I can think of no ſcheme ſo eligible as this; and ſhall be glad if you will enquire of your brother comedians, whether they are willing to admit me of the ſociety.

I DO not mean to inform my maſter of my intention; none but ſuch as I [5] approve need know of my ſituation; which, I confeſs, I ſhall be almoſt aſhamed of: I ſhould, however, be more aſhamed to be idle; and the coun⯑try affords no other ſource of employ⯑ment to me. Our mutual and early friendſhip is another inducement.

SHOULD you perceive any thing im⯑proper, either in the application to your brother comedians, or from any other circumſtance, let not this be any re⯑ſtraint, but act agreeably to reaſon and your own feelings, which will be both approved and applauded by one who is perfectly conſcious of the delicacy and propriety of them, and who is proud to have the honour of ſubſcribing himſelf

LETTER II. Mr. HILKIRK to Mr. ALWYN.

I Received your letter, and, I believe, I need not take much pains to deſcribe to you the pleaſure I enjoy from this inſtance of the continuance of your at⯑tachment. The bitter has ſo far pre⯑dominated over the ſweet, during my peregrination in this vile world, that I begin already to have a large proportion of cynical eſſence in my compoſition, though not enough to overpower the pleaſure I receive in Alwyn's friendſhip. You will readily believe this, when you recollect the avidity with which I always ſought your company, and the delight I took in it.

[7]I AM ſorry to obſerve the air of me⯑lancholy ſo prevalent in your epiſtle—it is not natural to you. The lines of de⯑ſpair are marked ſtrongly in your mind —it is beneath you—you that have taſted friendſhip from all, ſmiles from all, love from all. 'Tis enough for wretches like me, outcaſts from ſociety, to indulge the gloom: but I am above it. Is the weather cloudy? I tune my pipe; no matter where, the cottage or the palace: 'tis hard if I don't find ſome⯑body to dance.—Does the ſun ſhine? let me enjoy the ſmiles of the ſeaſon while I can. My muſic is flown to the fields, I follow it; it warbles from the thorn, it tinkles in the tears of the wandering brook, it mourns in the plain⯑tive ſong of the widowed linnet—Let it—'tis muſic ſtill, and muſic only will I bear. Does the ſleet of contempt bat⯑ter my face, or the biting froſt of diſap⯑pointment [8] aſſault my feelings?—I am prepared better than Moor, of Moor-hall, for the dragon—I have armour of iam⯑bics, a ſhield of raillery, and a ſword of ſatire, more powerful than the ſword of my old aſſociate harlequin. I ſend a herald in the form of a gooſe-quill, ‘to hurl defiance in their teeth.’ Tragic, comic, and farcical ſcenes are exhibited continually on the world's great theatre; their frequency has made them familiar, and I reſolve henceforth to be rather a ſpectator than an actor: I have played the fool in the farce too often.

I AM ſorry that I ſhall not have the pleaſure of ſeeing you, having agreed to take upon me the management of a com⯑pany that travels in the weſt, and being to ſet off, the day after to-morrow, to Taunton, in Somerſetſhire, whither my [9] baggage is already gone. I have ſpoken to our manager reſpecting your coming hither; and, from the deſcription I have given of your perſon and abilities, he is anxious to ſee you, and declares you are the very man he wants. The company go from hence to Kendal the next week, and he is deſirous of meeting you there, to open the houſe. Had I known your intention before I made this new engage⯑ment, I ſhould have been happy in an opportunity of renewing our friendſhip perſonally; as it is, I muſt content my⯑ſelf with the pleaſure of a frequent cor⯑reſpondence, which I hope you will have no objection to.

'TIS long ſince I have had the pleaſure of your converſation; accident has con⯑tinued to deprive me of it. To en⯑courage you to a correſpondence, to [10] which I have invited you, I will relate the hiſtory of my adventures, from a ſuppoſition that they will not prove en⯑tirely unintereſting.

JILTED by a girl, abandoned by my friend, my unprovided bark puſhed from the ſtrand by a violent paſſion for an unworthy object, whom yet I can ſcarce forbear to love, into dangerous and un⯑known ſeas, no wary pilot to direct my courſe, I ignorantly ran on lee ſhores, al⯑lured by promiſing appearances; and, to ſtretch my metaphor, preſently became a wreck among ſavages, in a ſtrange land.—‘By the waters of Babylon I ſat down and wept.’

IT is now near four years ſince I left London and my companions; at which period I was ſcarce twenty, and you not above eighteen; ſo that though we uſed [11] to amuſe ourſelves in our converſation, long before, upon rational ſubjects, yet having little care about the future for⯑tune of our lives, we did not enquire much into each others views. It is not the character of that age to be very ſo⯑licitous about to-morrow. I ſhall there⯑fore relate ſuch incidents as are neceſſary to form the connection of my little hiſ⯑tory, leſt it ſhould elſe be unintelligible.

THERE are ſeveral circumſtances in my life which, were they methodiſed, properly ſpun out, and interlarded with an epiſode or two between Mr. Some⯑body and Miſs Any-body, would fur⯑niſh the circulating libraries with two handſome pocket volumes. The firſt that I ſhall mention, and not the leaſt extraordinary, is, that I am utterly ig⯑norant of my parents, or even whether I ever had a father or no. Excuſe this [12] ſtale attempt at a joke, and ſuffer me to trifle with my miſeries. I remember little of my infantine ſtate, except be⯑ing bred among fields, farm-houſes, and country peaſants. I was removed from theſe, at an early age, to a cheap ſchool in Yorkſhire, where I continued till my fourteenth year; at which period the maſter informed me he could keep me no longer, for that the perſon who had placed me with him was dead, and my board and education already ten months in arrear; but that a London gentleman had enquired if he had any boy of good intellects among his ſcholars who wanted a proviſion; that he, the ſchoolmaſter, had recommended me, and, upon his recommendation, the gentleman had agreed to take me, provided I conſented to go, which he adviſed me by all means to do. The idea of being freed from the fear of birch, of which our good [13] governor, upon every trivial miſdemea⯑nor, was as liberal as he was penurious in the articles of food and cloathing, to⯑gether with the hope of ſeeing a city that I had heard ſo wonderfully de⯑ſcribed, operated ſufficiently on my fancy, to make me receive this propo⯑poſal with joy. I had not, however, lived ſo many years with my play-mates, without having formed a few friend⯑ſhips among them; but theſe, though they coſt me ſome tears at parting, were preſently forgot in the overflowings of a rapid imagination.

I ARRIVED with Mr. Seldon, my new patron and maſter, in London, the lat⯑ter end of October. You are not ig⯑norant of the character of this worthy man. He took me to his houſe in Chancery-lane, where I underwent a long examination reſpecting my educa⯑tion. [14] This was a ſource of flattery to me. I was univerſally allowed the beſt ſcholar in the ſeminary from whence I had been taken, and, for three years paſt, had been little obliged to my in⯑ſtructors. Excluſive of the claſſics, I had made a tolerable ſtride into mathe⯑matics, and had often ſurpriſed old De⯑clenſion himſelf with philoſophical ex⯑periments, which I had learnt from two or three books, that, till I condeſcended to look at them, had been neglected, and thrown about the ſchool, among other lumber. I was the more power⯑fully induced to theſe exerciſes by the wonder they excited, and the fame I ac⯑quired. Mr. Seldon expreſſed much ſatisfaction at my progreſs; and, after paying me ſome compliments, told me he would now recommend other ſubjects to my notice. The ſtudy of juriſpru⯑dence, the knowledge of the natural and [15] civil rights of mankind, and in what manner they are preſerved or injured by the laws exiſting in this country, he ſaid, would make me valuable to ſociety; and recommended me to the care of Mr. Turnbull, a man whom I am ſure you muſt have obſerved, during your intimacy at our houſe.

MR. SELDON was upwards of fifty, had no wife nor family, except Julia Gowland, an orphan niece, of about twelve years old, whom he had taken from a boarding-ſchool, where he had placed her, being not only diſſatisfied with the oeconomy of the houſe, but likewiſe deſirous of her company, and taking himſelf, in a great meaſure, the care of inuring her to proper habits. His turn of thinking reſpecting educa⯑tion and habit was ſingular, yet, in my opinion, juſt. Boys, he ſaid, ſhould [16] be ſteeped in adverſity, caſe-hardened in miſery, during their youth; it gives them fortitude to ſupport every change of fortune; it makes them ſenſible of the ſimplicity with which man ought to live; and ſhews them the folly and real inutility of numberleſs things, which, by ſome, are deemed abſolutely neceſ⯑ſary to exiſtence. It is the beſt ſchool of morality to a ſtrong mind. Girls ſhould be made ſenſible how much mild⯑neſs and reſignation contribute to their happineſs; ſhould be taught to ſupport contradiction with chearfulneſs and ſmiles. This is the duty as much of man as wo⯑man; but it is the great ſource of plea⯑ſure to the latter. Huſbands are en⯑chanted by mildneſs and acquieſcence from their wives; they feel their own ſuperiority in point of ſtrength; they fancy it in point of underſtanding; their free commerce with the world, which is [17] denied to the other ſex, together with the advantages of education, tend to confirm this opinion. Youths ſhould endure hardſhips, but not be ſuffered to ſink under them. Females ſhould be taught the virtue and neceſſity of a ſtill tongue, and a ſmiling countenance. Such were the ſentiments of a man, who proved his wiſdom by the conſiſtency of his con⯑duct, and the order of his affairs.

THERE is in the boy and girl age a ſuſceptibility of attachment, which we afterwards loſe, though with ſome re⯑gret. I had not been long in Mr. Sel⯑don's family, before Julia and I began reciprocally to feel a tender inclination; it did not immediately appear, though it inſenſibly increaſed. We delighted, as lovers do, in mutual offices of kind⯑neſs; we began to ſigh, to languiſh, as our years increaſed; and, before I was [18] eighteen, I was deeply in love. Mr. Seldon did not at firſt ſeem ſuſpicious of the conſequence, but was pleaſed with the ſimplicity of our affection. Young as I was, I had ſagacity enough to make this obſervation, and interpret⯑ed it to my own advantage. I am be⯑come a favourite, ſaid I, my maſter loves me, and intends to give me his niece. The ſequel will ſhew how wretchedly I deceived myſelf.

EXCLUSIVE of my paſſion for Julia, I was not exempted from other youthful foibles; I loved dreſs, but, what was worſe, I had addicted myſelf to a habit of frequenting a billiard-table. My de⯑light in the game ſoon taught me to play tolerably; and the warmth of my temper not only engaged me to ſport far beyond diſcretion, but made me an eaſy prey to much inferior gameſters with [19] cooler heads; to which add my fond⯑neſs for theatrical diverſions, and my conſtant attendance at a ſpouting-club, and you will eaſily perceive the ſeeds of misfortune, which have ſince ſprung up ſo thick, and the improbability of my continuing to enjoy the favour and pro⯑tection of Mr. Seldon.

MR. TURNBULL, the upper clerk, whom I mentioned, from my firſt en⯑trance into the family appeared to have a particular partiality for me, and had taken almoſt as much pains in giving me proper advice as Mr. Seldon himſelf, without ſeeming to regard my little de⯑viations from virtue with ſo ſevere an eye: but this man's conduct has been to me inexplicable. When any extra⯑vagancy had plunged me into a difficulty that affected my temper, and made it viſible, Turnbull would never let me [20] reſt till I had acquainted him with the cauſe of my trouble, nor ever failed to aſſiſt me, but then, I had great reaſon, from ſeveral hints, more particularly from my maſter's behaviour, to believe that he ſometimes acquainted Mr. Seldon with it.

I SHALL forbear to enumerate inci⯑dents, and only ſelect a few, that are neceſſary to explain, why I ſo abruptly left Mr. Seldon.

I HAVE ſaid that I frequented a ſpouting-club. This ſociety was held at a reputable public houſe, up one pair of ſtairs. After I had, in compliance with the uſual forms, paid for my ticket, and paſſed the bar, I ſaw one of my compa⯑nions below, that prevented me from immediately going up: While he held me in converſation, I heard a voice, fa⯑miliar [21] enough to me, enquire if Mr. Hilkirk was there; the landlady anſwer⯑ed in the affirmative; and, turning to look who the enquirer was, I ſaw the back of Mr. Turnbull, paſſing quick out of the door. I was rather alarmed. I dreaded leſt Mr. Seldon ſhould come to the knowledge of my tricks, and I ſuſpected Turnbull. This fear, however, preſent⯑ly evaporated, and I joined the roarers above, whoſe tragic ſtarts, ſounding thro' the ceiling, operated ſtrongly on my ima⯑gination. It came to my turn to exhi⯑bit, and I choſe that ſcene in Macbeth, where the bloody dagger appears in the air. I was dreſt in a habit, made in imitation of Garrick's, with ſhaloon and tinſel.

Banquo and Fleance had made their exit, and I was proceeding, with infinite applauſe, through the ſoliloquy: Juſt as I came to that place, where the hero ſays [22] to the ſuppoſed dagger, "I ſee thee ſtill," my aſtoniſhed eye caught the terrible form of Mr. Seldon; the effect this had upon me was evident from the audi⯑ence; my knees knocked, my eyes were wild and rivetted, my voice faultered— I repeated,

The picture of terror was ſo perfect, that the room echoed with plaudits; but the ſcene was quickly changed.—I endeavour⯑ed to proceed—"There's no ſuch thing," ſaid I, ſtaring at Mr. Seldon, ‘It is the bloody buſineſs which informs thus to mine eyes.’—‘You are miſtaken young man,’ anſwered he, with the graveſt face imaginable, "it is no viſion." This immediately turned the eyes of the whole aſſembly upon my maſter, in a moment their ſerious praiſe was converted into the [23] loudeſt laughs, while Mr. Seldon, with the ſame gravity, commanded me to pull off that merry Andrew's jacket, and quit enacting of the monarch, in order to retire to my truckle bed, under the deſk.— At this ſpeech, the rafters once more trembled with the roar of laughter, which from the complexion of the gentry there gathered together, would doubtleſs have been augmented with catcalls, ſhouts, and hiſſes, had not the deportment of Mr. Seldon, which in ſpite of impu⯑dence, commanded reſpect, in ſome de⯑gree over-awed their mirth.

MY ſituation was truly pitiable, I un⯑caſed, and my maſter, with a ſlow voice and bow, accompanied by the moſt ſeri⯑ous look of ridicule and ſatire, wiſhed all the good company a very good night, while I ſkulked after him, more abaſhed than Therſites by the ſtern eye of Ulyſſes. [24] The next morning Mr. Seldon ſpoke to me to the following effect:—‘By my behaviour to you laſt night, young man, you may be convinced I have ſome regard for you, I engaged in a very aukward affair, inconſiſtent to my character, and diſagreeable to my inclination, purpoſely to expoſe your abſurdity in ſo ſtrong a light, that you could not help feeling it. Theſe ſo⯑cieties, among which I underſtand you are become a leading man, have an idle, ridiculous, and vicious tendency, therefore, if you deſire to gain my eſteem, let me hear no more of your kingly antics.’

AT the moment this counſel was giv⯑en, I thought I would obſerve it more religiouſly than if it had been a mandate delivered by an angel: I have only in excuſe, the plea of the converted infidel, [25] ‘the fleſh was willing, but the ſpirit was weak.’

MY love for Julia accelerated the ca⯑taſtrophe, and a match at billiards com⯑pleated it. I muſt ſpeak of them in order.

IT would be tedious, at leaſt, to any but lovers, to relate the progreſs of love. Let it be ſufficient to ſay, that our paſ⯑ſion was arrived to that ſtage which pro⯑duced mutual declarations, and vows of everlaſting fidelity. Convinced, as I thought, of her diſintereſtedneſs and ſin⯑cerity, enchanted by her beauty and the ſoftneſs and ſweetneſs of her manners, my affection became violent. After the above explanation, my purſuit of other pleaſures was, for ſome time, entirely abated: her ſociety was perfect happi⯑neſs, her company and converſation, I [26] believed to be abſolutely neceſſary to my exiſtence; but, alas, I have proved the poſſibility of exiſting without them. Repeated aſſeverations of conſtancy, con⯑tinual opportunities of indulging in all the languor of delicate and exceſſive love, which we did, as far as we could with innocence, and without diſ⯑covering our paſſion, I had no dread of meeting oppoſition from any but Mr. Seldon.

WE had been ſo cautious, for ſome months after the avowal of our affection, that I had no reaſon to believe we were ſuſpected: whether I was deceived in this, or whether we became leſs guarded, I know not; but by accident, I over-heard Mr. Seldon ſaying ſomething to Mr. Turnbull, to the following effect:—‘I'll ſuffer it no longer; I am reſolved he [27] ſhall quit this family. His temper ir⯑regular, his paſſions untamed, he is no way calculated to make either her, or himſelf happy; he would be fond for a week, captious and overbearing with⯑in a month, and become completely miſerable in a very ſhort time; to ſuffer him to marry with his preſent inexperience, raſhneſs, and want of proper habits, were more unmerci⯑ful, than to caſt him into the ſea.’— I hardly knew whether to apply the above diſcourſe to myſelf, or not; it de⯑ſcribed Mr. Seldon's friendſhip for me, in ſo lively a manner, that I had ſome reaſon to hope it true on the one hand, while on the other, it cut me off from every proſpect of felicity.

BUT what ſhall I ſay to the conduct of Julia, who, of a ſudden, and without aſſigning any reaſon, became diſtant and [28] ceremonious, even to diſdain, as I ima⯑gined. Inſtead of contrivances to throw herſelf in my way, which, I had before obſerved with pleaſure, ſhe took every method to avoid me. If, by chance, I caught her alone, ſhe would break from me, and threaten to inform Mr. Seldon, if I perſiſted in detaining her. This might be prudent, but I am certain it was perfidious. It agreed but ill with her former proteſtations.

WHY ſhould I torture myſelf to relate more of this tale than is neceſſary? It upbraids me, it reminds me of my weak⯑neſs. My preſent feelings convince me, I have not yet forgotten the traitreſs. I muſt quit the ſubject for this time. I have raiſed a train of images, that do not contribute to my tranquillity. Adieu,

LETTER III. Mr. ALWYN, to Mr. STAMFORD, Junior.

IN obedience to your commands, I take the advantage of the firſt poſt-day, to inform you of my ſafe arrival at Kendal. To a mind perfectly at eaſe, the contraſt between Weſtmoreland and London muſt be very forcible. Not⯑withſtanding the little leiſure I, who am under the influence of an unconquerable paſſion can find, I yet cannot entirely forbear, to obſerve the ſudden change of ſcene. It ſeems ſcarce an hour, ſince the noiſe of London, with her ten thou⯑ſand carriages, rattled in my ears. I liſ⯑ten, and find myſelf conveyed to the re⯑gion of ſilence. The face of the coun⯑try, likewiſe, is as different as the moſt romantic imagination can ſuppoſe. No beautiful green hedges interſecting the [30] plain; no regular rows of ſtately elms, or ſpreading oaks, meet the eye, but un⯑couth ſtone-walls, vaſt wilds, and prodi⯑gious mountains. Nature appears bleak and unadorned, but grand and capaci⯑ous. Here and there a ſtraggling pea⯑ſant is ſeen, with wooden ſhoes and lank hair, unconſcious of what we call grace and elegance, and cloathed only to de⯑fend him from the aſſaults of the ſeaſon. Here, ever object is bleached, as it were, by time and ſimplicity: in Lon⯑don, a ſatiriſt would add, every thing is ſullied by ſmoak, hypocriſy, and detrac⯑tion. Not that I ſhould admire either the wit, or ſentiment of the expreſſion.

MEN are naturally much the ſame, and, conſidering the vaſt number of them who inhabit that great city, I am often aſtoniſhed at the order and tranquillity which are generally preſerved. If the [31] people here are honeſter or happier, it is becauſe they have not ſo many temp⯑tations. The glittering of equipage, the blaze of tapers, the inchantments of muſic, routs, balls, operas, gaudy co⯑lours, lewd women, decorated in all the emblazonments of art, folly, and faſhi⯑on; ſuch allurements tempt not, inflame not the imagination of the inhabitants of the wilds in Weſtmoreland. A ſmall aſſembly among the gentry and opulent tradeſmen, and the players for about ſix or eight weeks, conſtitute their higheſt ideas of public luxury. Neither are thoſe wanting, who inveigh, with great warmth and acrimony, againſt theſe a⯑muſements, eſpecially the latter. This is not wonderful, when we recollect, that great part of the inhabitants of Kendal are Quakers. They have an excellent faculty of ſtaring at a ſtranger; and I was queſtioned to-day, by ſome of [32] the old dons, who are the only people here that think themſelves privileged to aſk impertinent queſtions, how ſuch a good looking young man as I, as they were pleaſed to call me, could think of becoming a player.

MY landlord tells me, he doubts I am a wild young dog. His wife ſays, ſhe is afraid my poor mother has many an aching heart upon my account; for ſhe is ſure I am ſome good body's ſon, who has had a world of trouble to bring me up. I told her that my mother is living; and ſhe became very impor⯑tunate for me to return home, and ſave her from breaking her heart. This con⯑verſation happened laſt night, and I aſ⯑ſure you, I went to bed quite low-ſpirit⯑ed, with her good old-faſhioned exhor⯑tations. Indeed, I am ſo well convinced of my dear mother's tenderneſs, that I [33] am afraid her conjectures are too true. I begin almoſt to repent of my journey. I know no right I have, to mingle worm⯑wood in the bitter cup of old age. How⯑ever, I wrote into Oxfordſhire by this poſt, and hope my fears are without foundation.

THERE are other reaſons, why I am not the moſt happy mortal in the world. Forgive me, dear Charles. You know my heart. I can conceal nothing from your friendſhip; I ſhould be unworthy of it if I could. Your ſiſter's image lives in my boſom. Oh Maria!—No change of time, of place, or object, can obliterate the memory of thy charms: on the barren mountain, in the fruitful valley, muſing on the gliding ſtream, or ſupine beneath the venerable oak, ſtill ſhall thy welcome recollection call forth the painful, pleaſing ſigh of melancholy; [34] and cauſe to ſteal, unbid, the tear of ſor⯑row down my cheek.

PITY, but do not blame me. I know I have no pretenſions to ſo amiable, ſo beautiful an object; but who could live in the ſame houſe, and behold her angelic form, hear her enchanting voice, obſerve her benevolent, her ſoul-winning acti⯑ons, and forbear to adore her? I am conſcious of my own unworthineſs. I know how much my kind patron has the happineſs of his cherubim, as he juſtly calls her, at his heart. I have heard of his intentions: it has been ſaid, there is one whom he wiſhes her to love. I am not to learn how dearly you, my friend, tender your father and ſiſter's tranquillity; and it were the utmoſt baſeneſs in me, to attempt to render thoſe miſerable, were it in my power, whom I have every [35] reaſon to love and revere above all the world.

NO perſon but you, knows my real motive for retiring from my friends. My paſſion was inſupportable, and the peace of your family was concerned. It was painful to fly, but gratitude, friendſhip, and love demanded it. My preſent employment is unknown, and I would have it ſo. My health began to decline, and that was a fair pretence for going into the country. My pre⯑dilection to the drama made this ſcheme preſent itſelf as the moſt pro⯑bable one of diverting my ideas from the channel in which they ſo conſtantly flow; but, I am fearful, this, and every thing elſe, on this ſide the grave, will be ineffectual.

I KNOW you will excuſe theſe effu⯑ſions [36] from a deſpairing lover, and reſt aſſured, whatever may be my fate, I will never give you cauſe to accuſe me of inſincerity.

I am, dear Sir, with the utmoſt re⯑ſpect, the moſt affectionate of thoſe who have the honour to call themſelves your friends.

LETTER IV. Mr. HILKIRK to Mr. ALWYN.

I AM arrived at Taunton, and expect this will reach you at Kendal. I ſhall continue the relation of my adven⯑tures without any apology. I mean to draw an abſtract of my misfortunes, that after having compared them with your own, you may try whether it is not poſſi⯑ble to ſtrike a balance in my favour. The world will ſay I have deſerved my fate. I grant it.

GOADED by deſpair, ſtung and diſ⯑tracted by the continual recollection of Julia's perfidy, I became regardleſs of future conſequences. Neglecting you and every rational friend, who, I ima⯑gined, had come to a knowledge of cir⯑cumſtances that hurt my vanity, I [38] ſought to drown my ſorrows in diſſipa⯑tion. Drinking was my averſion, and the gaming-table became my reſource. My ideas of juſtice and honour, tho' too firmly rooted to be eaſily eradicated, could not entirely preſerve me from the contagion that reigns in theſe horrid re⯑ceptacles of vice and infamy.—I found myſelf inſenſibly drawn into a familiarity with acknowledged raſcals. Launched into a ſea of guilt, I was borne away by the tide; and, though I beheld my dan⯑ger, had not ſtrength to regain the ſhore of virtue.

IT had been a cuſtom with Mr. Sel⯑don, from the time that I was ſixteen, to allow me a regular ſtipend, with which I defrayed my own expences of cloaths and other neceſſaries; the ſum was libe⯑ral, conſidering my ſituation, and had received an annual increaſe. He had juſt [39] paid me a quarter's allowance, out of which my extravagance had brought me under an obligation to diſcharge a num⯑ber of debts, beſides leaving ſeveral others unpaid. Conſcious of my weak⯑neſs, as ſoon as I received the money, I put ten guineas in my pocket, with a re⯑ſolution to diſperſe them immediately among my creditors, without giving myſelf time to hear a billiard-ball, or lay a bett. As I was proceeding upon this virtuous errand, my evil genius threw a noted gambler in my way, known by the name of Long Jack, with whom I was acquainted. He enquired where I was going. I, to prove the ſtrength of my virtue, very candidly told him, that I was running with my ten guineas to pay my debts; and, as he was well ap⯑prized of my paſſion for play, aſked him if he did not think me wiſe for ſo doing: to which he replied in the affirmative, [40] in ſo poſitive a manner, that his appro⯑bation appeared perfectly ſincere; aſking withal, how long it would be before he ſaw me at Jackſon's, meaning the gam⯑ing-houſe, to which I uſually reſort⯑ed. I told him, I ſhould hardly be there that evening, for that my preſent bu⯑ſineſs would find me employment. Zounds, ſaid he, that's unlucky, I have made a match for you with One-eyed Harry, the odd game in eleven for five pounds, to meet at eight. I have been to Connor's, and two or three tables to look for you; if you don't play, I forfeit a guinea to the blinking raſcal. Why it is half paſt ſeven now, anſwered I. Aye, ſaid he, I know it, I loſt nine pounds this morning with him; however, it is no matter, b—ſt his odd eye, I'll have it out of him, one way or another.

I HAD ſeen too many of the tricks of [41] theſe worthies, not to have my doubts con⯑cerning the reality of this pretended match; and putting on one of my pene⯑trating looks, I aſked him if he was not deceiving me; but he confirmed the truth of his tale with ſuch violent im⯑precations, curſing both ſoul and body ſo liberally, and conſigning them over to the devil ſo entirely, if his guinea was not loſt unleſs I played, that, aban⯑doned as I believed him, and all of them to be, I did not think it poſſible for any wretch to have ſo totally quitted all ſenſe of ſhame as to ſwear ſo horridly to a falſhood. He obſerved likewiſe, how much the match was in my favour; which, as he ſtated it, was actually the caſe; and that, though I might have a good opportunity of winning money upon my own play, yet, as it was entire⯑ly optional, I might ſport or let it alone.

[42]You will think me very weak and ir⯑reſolute when I inform you that I could not reſiſt the impatient longing this fel⯑low inſpired me with; but what will you ſay when I tell you that I had no ſooner began to play, than, contemning every recollection of future conſequence and ſhame, my money flew about the room, and I greedily ſnapt at every bait that was thrown out to me. Thoſe who have never fallen a ſacrifice to this infernal diſeaſe cannot have an adequate idea of its malignancy; of the pleaſure that it promiſes, or the torture it in⯑flicts: and thoſe only who are acquaint⯑ed with its tyranny, know how to pity their fellow-ſlaves.

I PLAYED with various fortune till ten o'clock, when I found myſelf pennyleſs. Stung with my egregious folly, driven to madneſs at the remembrance of thoſe [43] to whom I was indebted, I could not be contented, but would play on upon cre⯑dit. This, unfortunately for me, they willingly indulged me in, as I had ever paid debts of this kind with the utmoſt punctuality. Thus with my hand ſhaking, my mind diſtracted, my eyes dazzled and blinded by the diſorder of my brain, did I engage to play at a game that requires a cool head, a keen eye, and a ſteady hand, againſt men who knew how to take every advantage, and for ſums which I was conſcious of my inability to diſcharge.

WHILE I was in the heat of play, and, as if inſpired by the daemons of the place, abjuring every title to heaven and mercy, imprecating curſes on my ſoul, and miſery on my body, Mr. Turn⯑bull came in. I was now arrived to that height of deſpair, which puts us beyond [44] a certain degree of fear; and the ſight of him, which at another time, in ſuch a place, would have ſtruck a damp over me, was diſregarded. Some one who knew me, and had ſeen the manner of my proceeding, had kindly gone and informed Mr. Turnbull of it. He per⯑ceived my ſituation, and deſired me to put on my coat and come home; to which I anſwered in a reſolute tone, that I would not; while the raſcals that ſurrounded me, ſaid, with a deal of ſeeming pity, that they had adviſed the young gentleman to play no more, for they ſaw he could not win; and that they thought, he had better be per⯑ſuaded and leave off. This impudent lie heightened my madneſs to that de⯑gree, that I uttered a volley of curſes which aſtoniſhed Mr. Turnbull, and he immediately left the room; in which whiſpers, malicious grins of triumph, loll⯑ing [45] of tongues, and winking of eyes, were exhibited with peculiar archneſs. I continued playing, ſwearing, and lo⯑ſing for a few minutes, till I was inter⯑rupted by the return of Mr. Turnbull, accompanied by Mr. Seldon. Nothing could have added to the horrors I felt, but this. The mace dropt from my hand, the blood forſook my cheeks, and with my mouth open and eyes ſtaring, I ſtood for a moment ſtupid, when ſud⯑denly a fit of phrenzy ſeized me; I ſnatch⯑ed up the billiard-balls that lay before me, and, with one in one hand, and the other in the other, ſtruck myſelf violent⯑ly on each ſide of the head, and dropt motionleſs on the floor.

IN this manner did the ſcene ſhut on me for that night. With my ſenſes, I loſt the remembrance of my diſgrace, till the following morning; when I awoke, [46] though to leſs wild, yet not leſs poignant griefs; and it was the greateſt care only, that could and did preſerve me from a fever.

THE folly I had committed, the diſ⯑grace I had incurred, the impoſſibility of ever looking again on Mr. Seldon with confidence, added to the afflictions I endured from my unhappy love, made me reſolve to quit a family, where it was impoſſible I ſhould enjoy a mo⯑ment's peace. Had not my own deſire prompted me to this courſe, I ſhould ſtill have been obliged to have taken it. Mr. Seldon had avoided ſeeing or ſpeak⯑ing to me ſince the ſin of the billiards; it was with him a mortal one, and not to be forgiven. Accordingly, when I was out of danger from the little illneſs I had ſuffered, he ſent Mr. Turnbull to me, who ſpoke to the following purport: [47] —Mr. Seldon deſires me to acquaint you, that it is neceſſary you ſhould quit his houſe; it is a duty that he owes both to his peace and reputation, to harbour no one who diſturbs the one, or ſullies the other; he has ſent you twenty gui⯑neas, with which he adviſes you to ſeek your fortune, in ſome place where your character is not known; being certain, he ſays, that no man in his ſenſes will harbour a gambler, to the endangering, perhaps, of not only his property, but his life: he likewiſe adds, that you muſt expect no future favour from him of any kind whatever.

WHEN Turnbull had finiſhed, he laid the guineas, which I did not offer to receive, upon a table, and, with tears in his eyes, quitted the room. I was ſome time before I could recover myſelf enough to move from the place where [48] I ſtood; for though I had every reaſon to expect ſomething of this kind, yet it did not deſtroy the effect. At laſt I re⯑collected myſelf a little, and, taking pen and ink, wrote a long letter, di⯑rected to Mr. Seldon, and put it by the ſide of the money he had ſent me. This epiſtle contained an acknowledg⯑ment of my guilt, and an admiration of his lenity and goodneſs; many thanks for the favours I had ſo often received, and ſo ill deſerved; a refuſal of his laſt bounty, from the following motives▪ firſt, from a conviction of my unwor⯑thineſs; ſecondly, from a reſolution that, ſince my own indiſcretion had plunged me into diſtreſs, I alone would be the ſufferer; a puniſhment that I would not forego; and, laſtly, that I could not prevail upon myſelf to incur any more obligations, becauſe it was ſcarcely poſſible I ſhould diſcharge them. [49] —I then collected ſuch of my cloaths as were paid for, and, with my bundle in my hand, ſhame on my countenance, and my heart ready to burſt, went, or rather ſlunk out of a houſe, in which I once thought myſelf univerſally be⯑loved.

WITHOUT money, without a friend, that ſhame or pride would ſuffer me to diſcloſe my diſtreſs to, or a habitation of any kind to hide my head in, I found myſelf in the midſt of London ſtreets, forſaken and forlorn, an outcaſt and alien among mankind. I had heard of people whoſe employment it was to kid⯑nap and decoy others on board of ſhips, that they might tranſport them to Ame⯑rica. Never did a wretched fearful cri⯑minal more earneſtly wiſh for a reprieve, than, at this moment, I longed to meet with one of thoſe friendly kidnappers. [50] My mind, incoherent, ſunk with grief and deſpondency, could think of no reſource from abſolute ſtarving. At laſt, as I was wandering at the diſcretion of my feet, my eye accidentally glanced upon a printed bill again the wall. This was an invitation to all thoſe ſpirited young fellows, who choſe to make their fortunes as common ſoldiers in the ſer⯑vice of the Eaſt-India company. I be⯑held it with more joy than the Jews did the grapes brought from the land of promiſe, and was poſting with all haſte to enroll my name among that honour⯑able corps, when I was prevented by one Evans, whom I had known at the ſpouting-clubs. He, ſeeing my bundle and my rueful face, aſked me where I was going; to which I replied, that had he aſked me five minutes ſooner, I could not have informed him; but that, at preſent, I was for the wars. When I [51] had explained myſelf he appeared greatly ſurprized, and told me he thought he could put me upon a better ſcheme than that, and one more ſuitable to my in⯑clination likewiſe. He ſaid, one Mac⯑loughlin, a famous London actor, was going over to play in Dublin; that he had been enquiring of him concerning a young fellow, ſuch as me, and that, if I choſe, he would introduce me to him; obſerving, that it would be time enough to carry the knapſack if the ſock did not ſucceed. This propoſal was too agreeable to be heard with inattention. Accordingly, having thanked my quon⯑dam acquaintance, and, after accept⯑ing his offer, related the deplorable ſtate of my finances, at which he did not ſeem at all ſhocked or ſurprized, I, at his entreaty, accompanied him to his lodging, which was at a piece-broker's, in White-horſe-yard, Drury-lane, up [52] three pair of ſtairs backwards, with a pleaſant proſpect of gardens in two-penny pots, ſmoked tiles, and right ancient chimnies.

HAVING come to a mutual explana⯑tion, I found my friend Evans but little better ſtocked with money than myſelf, the ſum total being two-pence halfpenny; ſo that, my watch and my ſmall ward⯑robe conſidered, I was much the richer man. He told me we need not be in want of caſh at preſent, for that lord North's office was always open to young gentlemen in diſtreſs, who carried a watch, or had a ſuperfluous ſhirt or ſuit of cloaths. Lord North's office was a cant phraſe for a neighbouring pawn⯑broker's of that name, whither, with my conſent, he conveyed ſuch of my apparel as I had leaſt need of, to be bruſhed and laid by, as his joke had it, [53] and in return brought me the ſum of one guinea, which might be ſomething leſs than a third of its worth, and which I divided with him. As for the watch it was a new one, that I had lately had upon credit, and which, as I knew it was now out of my power to pay for, I was determined to return. This taſk I per⯑formed that very afternoon, in utter contradiction to the advice of Evans, who remarked with what elocution a gold tatler would plead its maſter's cauſe to the ears of the before-mentioned lord, and how carefully he always preſerved ſuch tokens of friendſhip, even to the condeſcending, ſometimes, to wear them in his own fob. I wrote likewiſe, for I had not effrontery enough to face them, to all my creditors, and of the ſmall hopes there were of their being paid at preſent, but with a promiſe that no op⯑portunity ſhould ſlip, whenever I had it [54] in my power; and this promiſe I have kept ſo faithfully, that I am now out of the dread of duns.

THE next day, as was propoſed, I was introduced to Mr. Macloughlin, by whom I found Evans was employed, as a kind of ſcout, to pick up youngſters who had promiſing geniuſes, it being one of this actor's paſſions to make ac⯑tors of others; though perhaps, in ſome reſpects, the worſt qualified for it of any man in the world. He was ſeated upon his couch, which ſtood by the fire, and on which, when he found himſelf wea⯑ry or ſleepy, he went to reſt, either by day or night, as it happened, and ſometimes did not go to bed for a fort⯑night together, according to the infor⯑mation of my conductor. As we went in we were followed by his wife, who brought him a baſon of tea and ſome [55] toaſt, with each of which he found fifty faults, in the rudeſt manner. While I ſtaid he called to her ſeveral times, upon very frivolous occaſions, at each of which ſhe was dignified by the name and title of Beſs. His countenance was to me, of all I had ever beheld, the moſt for⯑bidding; and age, which had deprived him of his teeth, had not added to its ſoftneſs. After having deſired me to ſit down, he eyed me pretty narrowly, and then aſked me What had put it into my head to turn actor. The abruptneſs of the queſtion diſconcerted me; and it was ſome time before I could anſwer, which I did in rather a confuſed man⯑ner, at laſt, by ſaying I had taken it into my head to ſuppoſe it was genius, but that it was very poſſible I might be miſtaken. Yes, ſaid he, that's poſſible enough; and, by G—d, Sir, you are not the firſt that I have known ſo miſ⯑taken. [56] I ſmiled at his ſatire, and he grinn⯑ed ghaſtly with his leathern lips: a happy omen, for I perceived I had not added to the beauty of his viſage, when I re⯑peated his words. While he was drink⯑ing his tea, we diſcourſed upon indiffe⯑rent ſubjects, and as I did not happen to differ in opinion with him, but on the contrary, had opportunities of ſay⯑ing ſeveral things which corroborated his dogmas, he was pleaſed to allow I had the appearance of an ingenious young man. When his beverage was finiſhed, he deſired me to ſpeak a ſpeech out of ſome play, which having per⯑formed, he remarked that he had never in his life heard a young ſpouter ſpeak naturally, and therefore he was not ſurpriſed that I did not; however, as I ſeemed tractable and docile, if I would call on the morrow, he would hear and anſwer me further.

[57]WHEN we had deſcended into the ſtreet, Evans ſaid he was ſure it would do, for that I had met with a very kind reception; which indeed was the caſe, it not being one of this perſon's foi⯑bles to over-ſweeten his behaviour, or converſation, with the mild honey of the graces. As I look upon him to be a very extraordinary man, I ſhall en⯑deavour to give you the outlines of his picture, and though, upon the whole, he behaved exceedingly ill to me, I will be careful that the drawing ſhall not be out of nature.

THOUGH he was born in the laſt century, according to his own confeſ⯑ſion, yet the faculties of his mind did not ſeem in the leaſt impaired. He is ſaid to have been bred in the interior parts of Ireland, and in ſuch utter ig⯑norance that, we are told, from reſpect⯑able [58] authority, of his not being able to read at the age of forty; the pro⯑greſs, therefore, which he has made in language and literature, are aſtoniſh⯑ing teſtimonies of his genius and aſſi⯑duity. His body, like his mind, is caſt in a mould as rough as it is durable. His aſpect and addreſs confound and confuſe his inferiors, and the delight he takes in making others fear and ad⯑mire him, gives him an averſion to the company of thoſe whoſe know⯑ledge exceeds his own; nor did I ever hear him acknowledge ſuperiority in any man. He has no reſpect to the timidity or pudency of youth or ſex, but will ſay the moſt diſcouraging, as well as the rudeſt things, and receives pleaſure in proportion to the pain he communicates. It is common with him to aſk his pupils, why they did not rather think of becoming brick-layers [59] labourers than actors. He is impatient of contradiction to an ex⯑treme, and when he finds fault, if the culprit attempts to anſwer, he ſtops him without hearing him, with ‘Ha, you have always a reaſon for being in the wrong.’ This impatience goes ſtill further, it often renders him abu⯑ſive. He can pronounce ſcoundrel, b—h, and raſcal, with eaſe and famili⯑arity, and without the leaſt annoyance to his nervous ſyſtem. He pretends to the ſtricteſt degree of impartial juſtice, and while his paſſions are unconcerned, preſerves it; but theſe are ſo exceed⯑ingly irritable, that the leaſt contradic⯑tion is an inſufferable inſult, and the want of capacity, or immediate com⯑prehenſion in his pupils is, to him, ſuf⯑ficient occaſion to indulge his anger, which is often exceedingly rancorous, and has the direct tendency of inciting [60] deſpair inſtead of emulation, eſpecially if the ſcholar's feelings are quick and ſenſible. This is too ſevere a climate for the tender plant of genius ever to thrive in. Though his judgment is ſound, and his inſtructions, in general, thoſe of a maſter, yet, he may be, and is, ſome⯑times wrong; but, if the learner ſhould dare to think for himſelf, or offer the leaſt word in defence of a different opi⯑nion, it is high treaſon againſt this ſtage monarch; and he is more ſcurri⯑lous and unmerciful than judge Jef⯑feries. In ſhort, if I may eſtimate the ſenſations of others by my own, thoſe deſpots, who, we are told, ſhoot their attendants for their diverſion, are not glanced at with more awe, nor much more honour than Mr. Macloughlin by his pupils and domeſtics.

AFTER having finiſhed our viſit, we [61] adjourned to the Black Lion, in Ruſſel-Street, whither many of the theatrical people reſort. Here I learnt that Mr. Foote was going to take a company to Edinburgh, after the cloſe of his ſummer ſeaſon. Being anxious to ſecure myſelf an engagement, and the manner of Mr. Macloughlin having neither prejudiced me much in his favour, nor given me any certain token of ſucceſs, I reſolv⯑ed to make application to this other gentleman. Accordingly, after ſome ſlight excuſe to Evans, I poſted away into Suffolk-Street.

I HAD the good fortune to find the wit at breakfaſt with a young fellow, who he had employed partly on the ſtage, and partly as an amanuenſis. After being ſhewn into the room, and deſired to ſit down, "Well," ſaid he, ‘young gen⯑tleman, I gueſs your buſineſs by the [62] ſheepiſhneſs of your manner; you have got the theatrical cacoethes, you have rubbed your ſhoulder againſt the ſcene, hey? is it not ſo?’—I replied in the affirmative; ‘Well, and what great he⯑ro ſhould you wiſh to perſonate? Hamlet, or Richard, or Othello, or who?’ I anſwered I diſtruſted my capability of performing any that he had mentioned; "Indeed!" ſaid he, ‘that's a wonderful ſign of grace. I have been teazed for theſe many years by all the ſpouters in London, of which honourable fraternity I dare ſay you are a member; for, I can perceive no ſtage varniſh, none of the true ſtrolling braſs lacker on your face’—"No indeed, Sir"—‘I thought ſo. Well Sir, I never ſaw a ſpouter before that did not want to ſurprize the town in Pierre, or Lothario, or ſome character that requires every [63] requiſite and addreſs of a maſter in the art. But come, give us a touch of your quality; a ſpeech: here's a youngſter,’ pointing to his ſecretary, ‘will roar Jaffier againſt Pierre, the loudeſt take both.’ Accordingly he held the book, and at it we fell; the ſcene we choſe was the firſt of the be⯑fore-mentioned gentlemen in Venice Preſerved. For a little while at the beginning, I took the roaring hint he had thrown out, and reſtrained my wrath, but it appeared ſo inſipid, and the ideas of rant and excellence were ſo ſtrong⯑ly connected in my mind, that when Jaffier began to exalt his voice, I could no longer contain my indignation, but as Nic Bottom ſays, ^* we roared ſo, that it would have done your heart good to have heard us. Foote ſmiled, and af⯑ter enduring this vigorous attack upon [64] his tympanum as long as he was able, interrupted us.

FAR from diſcouraging me, he told me that, with reſpect to giving the mean⯑ing of the words, I ſpoke much more correct than he expected; but, ſaid he, like other novices, you ſeem to imagine all excellence lays in the lungs; whereas, ſuch violent exertions ſhould be uſed but very ſparingly, and upon extraordinary occaſions; for beſides that theſe two gen⯑tlemen, inſtead of ſtraining their throats, are ſuppoſed to be in common converſa⯑tion, if an actor makes no reſerve of his powers, how is he to riſe conſiſtent to the tone of the paſſion? He then read the ſcene we had rehearſed, and with ſo much propriety and eaſe, as well as force, that I was ſurprized, having al⯑ways ſuppoſed riſibility the only emo⯑tion he could inſpire.

[65]AFTER this, he demanded if I could ſing, to which I anſwered in the affirma⯑tive, and, that I had likewiſe ſome knowledge of muſic; for you know it is a ſcience that I, as well as you, al⯑ways took great delight in. When he had heard me chant, he praiſed my voice, but told me, that, as I was entirely inex⯑perienced with reſpect to the ſtage, if I was engaged with him, my ſalary at firſt would be very low. He ſaid it was im⯑poſſible to judge with certainty of ſtage requiſites, till they had been proved; and that, if after having conſidered of it, I judged it expedient to accept of one pound per week, I might come to him again a day or two before the theatre in the Hay-market ſhut up; but that, if I could meet with a more flattering offer in the mean time, he begged this might be no obſtacle; for that, as I might ſup⯑poſe, it would be of no conſequence [66] to him, and wiſhed me a good morn⯑ing.

I CAME away from this great wit, de⯑lighted with the eaſineſs and frankneſs of his behaviour, and elated with my ſuc⯑ceſs. However, as I had promiſed Mac⯑loughlin to call, I did not think proper to fail. Accordingly, at this my ſecond viſit, he gave me a part to read in a piece which he himſelf was the au⯑thor of, and which had met with much ſucceſs. When I had finiſhed this taſk, with which he appeared tolerably ſatis⯑fied, he paid my underſtanding a great compliment, by reading ſome ſcenes of a new comedy, which he was then writ⯑ing. Not that I can ſuppoſe he expect⯑ed me to make any remarks that could aſſiſt him, but from that kind of weak⯑neſs, to which the ſtrongeſt minds are in ſome degree ſubject, a deſire of applauſe, [67] and a hope that others will corroborate the vaſt opinion we, at certain moments, entertain of our own capacity. This is in ſome degree laudable, at leaſt excu⯑ſable; and, where genius is really con⯑cerned, muſt become extravagant to merit our cenſure. The ſcenes that I heard were characteriſtic and ſatirical, and met with my ſincere and hearty ap⯑probation, which I ſuppoſe did not a little contribute to prejudice Maclough⯑lin in my favour.

I THOUGHT myſelf bound in honour not to act with duplicity; I therefore told him of the offer I had had from Foote, giving at the ſame time my reaſon for ſuch conduct, namely, the neceſſity I was under of getting into ſome employment, or ſtarving. He allowed the cogency of it, but ſaid he thought I might do better in Ireland. He aſked if I had any ob⯑jection [68] to become a prompter, adding that it was profitable, and an office, from the good hand I wrote, and other cir⯑cumſtances, for which I might eaſily be qualified. I anſwered he was the beſt judge of that, and that I had no other diſlike to it, except that it would be more agreeable to my inclination to be an actor. This, he replied, might be indulged, and render me ſo much the more uſeful. Little parts would be frequently wanting; the going on for theſe would accuſtom me to face the audience and tread the ſtage, which would prepare me for better. I then demanded what ſalary I ſhould have an⯑nexed to this buſineſs; to which he an⯑ſwered, that as I had my trade to learn, I could not expect ſo much as a better workman; but that, ſince there was a deal of trouble in it, I could not have leſs than thirty ſhillings, eſpecially as [69] I undertook to do ſmall parts occaſion⯑ally. He informed me that he was not manager himſelf, he only went as a per⯑former; but that Mr. M—n, one of the managers was in town, with whom he would ſpeak concerning me, and in two or three days I might have a poſi⯑tive anſwer. In the mean time he de⯑ſired I would call on a morning, and he would give me inſtructions in the part I had read to him, for that he had ſome thoughts of letting me play it. I was ſenſible of his favours, and after making him every acknowledgment, departed much better pleaſed than at my firſt viſit.

ADIEU.—My next will finiſh this long enumeration of trifles.

LETTER V. Mr. STAMFORD, Jun. to Mr. ALWYN.

I WAS happy in receiving your favour, which, though not to be called a ſhort one, I found deficient in many particulars—perhaps the impatience of my regard for you made me think ſo. This is finding fault, you'll ſay, and in truth I find myſelf a little diſpoſed to blame you, for giving no account of the heroes and demi-gods into whoſe ſo⯑ciety you are, I preſume, by this time admitted. Your offer of correſpon⯑dence I accept with much pleaſure, but give you warning, that I ſhall expect a very minute account of all your tranſ⯑actions, which cannot fail of being im⯑portant; and, on the other hand, as I [71] am not ſo ſituated as to expect a ſeries of adventures, you muſt allow me to finiſh ſans ceremonie, when I have no⯑thing to communicate. I ſhould be very much inclined to laugh at your plan of operations, if the circumſtances that engage my notice were of leſs con⯑ſequence to your happineſs. We have all been very dull ſince your departure. My father is frequently obſerving, that he miſſes his favourite Harry, and never mentions your name without ſome epi⯑thet expreſſive of his love or good opi⯑nion. Maria, poor girl, feels, I fear, too powerfully the effects of love. You often ſaid, when I remarked the tender⯑neſs of my ſiſter's behaviour to you, that it proceeded only from the ſweet⯑neſs of her temper, and the benevolence of her diſpoſition, and not from my real partiality in your favour. That mo⯑deſty which makes you blind to your [72] own merit, occaſioned your ſaying ſo; but I always thought otherwiſe, and your abſence confirms me in that opi⯑nion. Her chearfulneſs is fled, ſhe often complains ſhe is not well, and takes every opportunity of ſtealing from company. Her harpſichord is her only amuſement, where ſhe is continually ſinging that plaintive little ſong you wrote, and which, with the aſſiſtance of her muſic-maſter, ſhe ſet. I have often obſerved the tear ſtarting from her eye at the laſt ſtanza, which ſhe ſings with the moſt pathetic expreſſion, ſeeming to breathe forth her ſoul in the melody. This ſhe often apologizes for, with a forced ſmile. ‘I know bro⯑ther,’ ſays ſhe, ‘you think me very fooliſh for being ſo affected with feigned ſorrows, but I cannot help it.’ I always tell her I love her for it, for tears of compaſſion are nature's [73] marks of diſtinction, and the heart that never melts is leſs than human. When⯑ever your name is mentioned, her bo⯑ſom heaves with a ſigh, that ſhe in vain endeavours to ſuppreſs; and when I told my father I had heard from you, ſhe could ſcarcely conceal her emotions.

SHE begged I would let you know, that ſhe miſſes your company and aſſiſtance at her ſtudies, and hoped you would recover your health, ſo as to en⯑able you to return to town next winter. Beſides, ſaid ſhe, you may tell him I am quite at a loſs for a beau. As for a beau, replied my father, I take it you will ſoon be provided with one with⯑out waiting for our Harry; for Mr. Maitland acquaints me, that his ſon Tom is coming up to town next week, and who knows what may happen be⯑tween this and Chriſtmas. The laſt [74] ſentence was ſpoke in a kind of arch manner, that ſhewed his viſit was in conſequence of a previous agreement between old Maitland and him. Maria underſtood it ſo, and, making a half bow of acknowledgment, ſat very grave and ſilent during the reſt of the converſation.

THIS paſſed at dinner, and in the even⯑ing, when the buſineſs in the counting-houſe was ſettled, my father ſent for me into his ſtudy, where I found him ſitting with a letter in his hand.

"CHARLES," ſaid he, ‘I have, for ſome time, been conſidering about ſettling you and your ſiſter in life, as it would be the higheſt ſatisfac⯑tion to me to ſee my children re⯑ſpectably ſituated before I die. An idle man of property is a more uſe⯑leſs being than the indolent in a [75] lower ſituation. The man of great fortune and influence owes to the ſtate his advice and protection; and he whoſe ſituation does not imme⯑diately call him into life is, neverthe⯑leſs, bound, in a great meaſure, to en⯑ter into ſociety; for indolence and inactivity are only for thoſe who have ſpent the former part of their lives in that reciprocation of [...] offices that the wants of manki [...] demand. Conſiderations of this na⯑ture induced me to bring you up in the mercantile line; and I know you regard my advice enough to continue in it after I am gone. I ſhall not, now, enlarge on the profeſ⯑ſion, nor remind you in how many ways it will be in your power to aſſiſt and ſupport individuals, as well as your country, without injuring your⯑ſelf; but am, at preſent, to acquaint you that I have determined to ad⯑mit [76] you into partnerſhip with me, and that the articles are now ready for executing.’ I was going to anſwer when he proceeded thus; ‘I ſhall continue in the houſe, if I live, four years; at the expiration of which term I ſhall quit the buſineſs in your favour, and retire to finiſh my days at my houſe in Kent. As for Maria,’ continued he, "this letter contains a propoſal which I think much to her advantage. It is from ‘my old friend Maitland, and I have anſwered it by to-night's poſt, in⯑forming him, that I intend to give her fifteen thouſand pounds; beſides which, ſhe is poſſeſſed of a little eſtate of about 200l. a year, left her by her aunt Conan; but that ſhe will have no more till after my deceaſe. I ſhall ſay nothing to Maria on the ſubject, till young Maitland arrives, but expect the marriage will be cele⯑brated [77] ſome time next winter, when his father [...]mes to town.’

I DARE ſay, my dear Harry, this will prove a heart-felt ſt [...]oke to you. I aſſure you that I fee [...] [...]o [...] you, as well as my ſiſter, who, I am convinced will be very unhappy, if the match takes place. My father is, I fear, too much a man of the world, ever to conſent to your wiſhes; which, for my part, I ſin⯑cerely deſire to ſee accompliſhed, though the preſent proſpect: affords no ground for hope; but whatever turn affairs may take, you may depend on having fre⯑quent accounts from me. I am,

P. S. I have encloſed a copy of the letter from Mr. Maitland to my father, and need make no comment on the pe⯑culiarity of the ſtyle, &c.

LETTER VI. Mr. MAITLAND, to [...] STAMFORD, S [...]nior.

IT is a theorem, that admits of ma⯑thematical demonſtration, that the propagation of the human ſpecies is ac⯑celerated in the direct ratio of the mu⯑tual attraction that ſubſiſts between the two ſexes.

IT is likewiſe evident, that the perpe⯑tuity of every ſyſtem is conſequent to the preſervation of order: whence it follows,

THAT it becomes us, quoad poteſia⯑tem, in the orbits of our reſpective in⯑fluences, to bring the attractive bodies within the ſphere of attraction.

[79]I WAS prevented from coming to town laſt winter by an attempt to diſ⯑cover the cauſe of bubbles in ice by re⯑ducing it to an impalp [...] [...]owder; but ſhall certainly ſee you [...] winter, ſi⯑vis inertiae non [...]

IN the mean time, by the help of the foregoing lemmata, you will eaſily con⯑ceive the following inveſtigation.

LET the attractive powers of your daughter be ſeparated by the letter c, and call her portion m.

AGAIN. Let the centripetal force of my ſon Tom be denoted by the letter p, and his eccentricity (of which I am informed he has an unknown quantity) by x.

[80]THEN Maria's whole attractive power will be equal to c + m.

And, [...] of [...] being unde⯑termined [...] round Ma⯑ria will be [...] elliptical or⯑bit, his diſtances varying at different times.

MARIA will be the focus.

NOW, if the quantity m is ſufficiently powerful, Tom will approximate in a ſpiral curve, and will at length fall into the focus.

BUT [...] ſhould be deficient in pon⯑deroſity, Tom will fly off in a tan⯑gent

I HAVE ſent for him from college, to try the experiment, and he will be with [81] you next week. In the interim, you will pleaſe to calculate the value of the un⯑known quantity m, and ſend me the re⯑ſult, that I may complete the ſolution. I remain, my good friend,

LETTER VII. Mr. HILKIRK to Mr. ALWYN.

I RECEIVED your's from Kendal, by which I am informed of your ſafe arrival. I am glad that the relation of my adventures has afforded you plea⯑ſure and, in compliance with your re⯑queſt, ſhall here ſend you the remain⯑der. It is a happineſs to me to be able to gratify or oblige my friend at ſo cheap a rate.

IT was not long before every thing was ſettled in the manner propoſed by Mr. Macloughlin, and I was inform⯑ed it was neceſſary for me to ſet off for Dublin, it being the intention of the proprietors to open the theatre about the beginning of October. In conſe⯑quence [83] of my deſire to appear in ſome [...]cter he had promiſed, not only to procure me ſuch an opportunity, but, likewiſe, to inſtruct and become my pa⯑tron; and, upon my repreſenting to him my want of caſh for the journey, he lent me ſix guineas on the part of the managers, and gave me a letter to Mr. O'Neal, who would, out of reſpect to him, provide me with a lodging and do me other ſervices of the like nature which could not but be agreeable to a youngſter like me.

I REWARDED my friend Evans with a guinea, redeemed my cloaths with an⯑other, and left London, elated with the moſt flattering proſpects. Could I have forgot the name of Julia and the family of Seldon I ſhould, at this moment, have been a ſtranger to ſorrow: but that was impoſſible.

[84]ABOUT the latter end of September I arrived in Dublin. The [...] ſcene, and the vaſt [...] the oeconomy and manners of the people, made a ſtrong impreſſion upon my ima⯑gination. The bar at the mouth of the Liffy renders the entrance up that river paſſable but to ſhips of ſmall burthen, and to them only when the tide ſerves. It was low water when we came to the mouth of it, and a boat came along ſide of our veſſel, into which moſt of the cab⯑bin and ſteerage paſſengers went, rather than wait another tide, and I among the reſt. The river divides the city, and there were about a dozen who were ſet on ſhore on the quay; but I, as per let⯑ter, enquired for Capel-ſtreet, which was on the contrary ſide. Thither, accord⯑ingly, I was carried, and my trunk and myſelf landed in a beer-houſe. I was aſtoniſhed when the water-ruffians, with [85] their red beards, black hair, and wild eyes, dem [...]d five and five-pence, to⯑gether with a qua [...]t of three-penny, for my carriage from the packet; the more ſo, as I had ſeen the other paſſengers give but a ſhilling each, and one or two of the meaner among them only ſix-pence. I remonſtrated at the impo⯑ſition, and quoted the precedent of the ſhilling; to which one of theſe modeſt gentry replied, in the true Connaught ac⯑cent, ‘F'why, now blood and ouns, ſure we can ſee now that you are a ſweet honey of an Engliſh young Jontle⯑man; and ſure, agrah, I always de⯑light to ſee an Engliſh Jontleman ſit his foot on board my boat. Long life to 'em; they don't come like Spalpeens, wid a ſix-pence halfpenny in their hand, ſure f'why, to a poor man. And ſo as you are a ſtranger, f'why, we brought you to this beer-houſe, [86] becaſe as f'why, the divel ſo honeſt a fillow is there in all [...] whole city of Dublin as my landlord [...]ere.’—— To this harangue the landlord, who pre⯑tended to be in my intereſt, replied, that ‘to be ſure, there was not two honeſter fillows brathing than Pat M'Cullogh and Brian O'Flanaghan; but howiver, the divel burn you Bri⯑an,’ added he, ‘you ſee the Jontle⯑man is a ſtranger, and ſo you muſt take no more than four and four-pence; which, Sir, is juſt four Eng⯑liſh ſhillings, and the pot of three-penny.’

THE wildneſs of their looks, the ſmoothneſs of their tongues, and the poſſeſſion they had taken of my trunk, upon which one of them ſeated himſelf, while the other argued the caſe, occa⯑ſioned me to comply with their de⯑mands; [87] but that which was the greateſt cauſe of admiration to me in the whole ſcene was, that the landlord, who ſwore by the holy Father to their honeſty, while I was paying them, no ſooner ſaw their backs turned, than, according to his own phraſeology, ‘he pitched them to the divel, for a couple of cut-throat, chating raſcals, that deſarved hanging worſe than a murderer.’

I AM ſorry to ſay that, during my ſhort ſtay in Ireland, I had but too many occaſions to obſerve a ſhocking depravity of morals, which I attribute, either to the laws, or the want of a due en⯑forcement of them. The Iriſh are habi⯑tually, not naturally, licentious. They have all that warmth and generoſity which are the characteriſtics of the beſt diſpoſitions; and, when properly edu⯑cated, are an honour to mankind. Hi⯑bernia [88] has produced many firſt-rate ge⯑niuſes, and, in my opinion, nothing but the foregoing circumſtance has pre⯑vented her from producing many more. It is the legiſlature that forms the man⯑ners of a nation.

WHEN I ſet out from London, I was aſſured that the houſe would open at the beginning of October, but it was November before the ſeaſon commen⯑ced; ſo that my finances were once again exhauſted, and I was obliged to apply, on the credit of Macloughlin, to Mr. O'Neal, for a farther ſupply. Our acting manager was one O'Dogherty, alias Dawſon, a buſy, buſtling fellow, that pretended to carry the world be⯑fore him. Void of principle, an ene⯑my to truth, except when it ſerved his purpoſe better than falſhood; inured to flattery from the poor wretches whom [89] he employed as ſervants about the houſe, and whom it was his cuſtom to kick with the utmoſt familiarity, whenever he found himſelf ſo diſpoſed, I pre⯑ſently diſcovered there was an inſur⯑mountable antipathy between his diſ⯑poſition and mine. But the means of my exiſtence were at ſtake; I endea⯑voured, therefore, to accommodate my⯑ſelf as much to his temper as poſſible, and waited for the arrival of Maclough⯑lin with the utmoſt impatience. I un⯑derſtood my engagement to have been permanently fixed at thirty ſhillings a week; but, when I went to the treaſury, I found it reduced to a guinea; and whenever I pleaded my agreement, re⯑ceived the moſt mortifying and inſult⯑ing anſwers. I perceived the utter im⯑probability of my becoming a favourite. None were ſo but ſuch as could ad⯑miniſter the moſt groſs flattery, and who [90] liſtened to whatever was ſaid in the theatre concerning this demagogue and his management, and repeated the gleanings of their induſtry in his pri⯑vate ear.—I vainly ſuppoſed the preſence of Macloughlin would put an end to all my grievances; I looked up to him as my patron, as one who had been the occaſion of my leaving England, who had pledged himſelf to be my friend, and was bound to protect me. Whe⯑ther O'Dogherty had prejudiced him againſt me, or whether he obſerved my deficiency at adulation, I cannot deter⯑mine, but I found him very cold in my intereſt, and far more diſpoſed to brow-beat than countenance me. He had promiſed to teach me a part, and bring me out in it; and when I ventured to remind him of it, I received only ſarcaſtic remarks on my inability. I perſiſted in aſſerting the poſitiveneſs of [91] my agreement reſpecting my ſalary, con⯑cerning which Macloughlin had the meanneſs to equivocate; but I could only obtain an addition of four ſhillings per week. Inſtead of directing, or aſ⯑ſiſting me in my buſineſs as a promp⯑ter, which he had engaged to do before I conſented to undertake it, he took every opportunity of venting his ten⯑fold portion of ſpleen upon me.

INCAPABLE of extricating myſelf, I endured the mean inſults of ignorance and malice for five months, till the money which I had borrowed had been deducted from my ſtipend, and then O'Dogherty immediately diſcharged me. It would be no eaſy matter to deſcribe what I felt at this moment. I had not five ſhillings in the world, was in a ſtrange kingdom, and had no means, now that I was ſhut out from the thea⯑tre, [92] of obtaining a ſubſiſtence. I be⯑held nothing but miſery and famine, and imprecated curſes on Macloughlin, for the perfidiouſneſs of his conduct to⯑ward [...] me. Of this I was ſo ſenſible, that, though the ſeverity of his manner had gained an entire aſcendency over me, I went to his houſe, and with the utmoſt firmneſs, after premiſing that I would rather ſtarve than incur a freſh obligation from him, diſplayed the im⯑propriety and injuſtice with which he had treated, and the ſhocking neceſſity to which he had reduced me in ſuch animated terms, that all his accuſtom⯑ed ſternneſs fled, and the Cynic ſtood abaſhed before the boy.

THE money which had been deduct⯑ed from my ſalary to diſcharge my debt was ſo conſiderable that I had not been able to pay my lodging. I had [93] a bill againſt me there, of between three and four pounds. It is true, there was another theatre open in Smock-al⯑ley, under the direction of Moſſop; but he was inſolvent, and none of his people were paid. Here, however, as to a dernier reſort did I apply, and was engaged at the ſame nominal ſalary that I had had at Capel-ſtreet.

A FEW days after this event I was told, by an acquaintance, that a ſtranger had been making enquiries after me in a very circumſtantial and particular manner; and that he appeared much affected when he heard how I had been treated by O'Dog⯑herty and Macloughlin. The deſcrip⯑tion of this ſtranger's perſon anſwered ex⯑actly to that of Mr. Turnbull. I re⯑ceived this intelligence at the theatre; and, when I returned home, I found a letter directed to me, and a ten pound [94] bank bill encloſed. The contents inform⯑ed me that the donor was an old friend who had a ſincere regard for me; and who, if I perſevered in my diſtreſs to preſerve my principles, did not doubt of ſeeing me, on ſome future day, as much fa⯑voured of fortune as I was, at preſent, perſecuted by her. The character of this epiſtle, though purpoſely diſguiſ⯑ed, confirmed me in the opinion that Turnbull was the old friend alluded to.

THIS event called up a train of ideas of the moſt impaſſioned kind. My former companions, my patron's care, conſpicuous in its ſeverity, the friend⯑ship of Turnbull, which now appeared even romantic, for I could not place his journey to the account of buſineſs, Mr. Seldon having no connexions in Dublin, added to the fond remembrance of Julia, and contraſted with the for⯑lorn [95] condition in which I then beheld myſelf, gave me the moſt poignant ſenſe of the alteration. At one mo⯑ment, all poſſibility of future happineſs vaniſhed; and at the next, a gleam of hope beamed in the prophecy which the letter contained. This, while it left a kind of riddle in my imagina⯑tion, which I yet cannot tell how to ſolve, fortified me in my former reſo⯑lutions of preſerving my integrity.

IT ſoon appeared that there was no probability of being paid for my per⯑formance at Moſſop's theatre; I therefore very willingly quitted Dublin in March, and went on board the packet for Park-gate, reſolving that, if I muſt be mi⯑ſerable, England ſhould be the ſcene of my ſufferings. The wind was fair till we had loſt ſight of the hill of Hoath; but preſently, after ſun-ſet, a [96] hurricane came on, which, in this narrow and rocky ſea put our lives in imminent danger. Of this, however, the violence of the ſea-ſickneſs made me inſenſible. We were drove, during the ſtorm, con⯑ſiderably to the north, and ſuch was the ignorance of the maſter and his two or three ſuperannuated mariners, that he continued ſailing northward, having no knowledge of navigation, but what he had gained by coaſting between the two kingdoms. This, in the preſent conjuncture, was of no uſe to him; ſo that, in all likelihood, we ſhould have made the tour of Greenland, had not an in⯑telligent Scotchman, among the paſſen⯑gers, known ſome of the headlands in his own country. The blockhead of a maſter would have conteſted the point, and proceeded to the land of bears, had not the company perceived his ſtupi⯑dity and joined the North Briton, who, [97] with a degree of warmth expreſſive of his attachment to his bleak hills, called out, ‘What the de'el mon, d'ye think I dinna ken the craig of Elſey.’

THIS extraordinary voyage kept us eight days without putting into any port, except ſending the boat on ſhore on the evening of the ſeventh, at the Iſle of Man, to procure ſome proviſions for the paſſengers, who were almoſt ſtarved, having devoured the ſtock which is uſually provided for theſe kind of voyages in a day or two after the ſtorm had abated. The reaſon why we were ſo very long in making our port was, the extraordinary calm that had ſucceed⯑ed; which the mariners, who are the moſt ſuperſtitious of all human beings, attributed to there being ſome Jonas on board. This opinion they had in⯑culcated among the poor devils who [98] pay half a crown for their paſſage in the hold; who were as ignorant as them⯑ſelves, and far more miſchievous. Un⯑happily for me, I was the perſon on whom their ſuſpicions alighted the ſtrongeſt. They had diſcovered me to be a player, a profeſſion conſigned over, by the almoſt univerſal conſent of man⯑kind, to the devil. For what reaſon I could never yet diſcover. This ridicu⯑lous belief, however, had nearly coſt me my life. The wild Iriſh in the hold were chiefly catholics, and the ſixth day from our departure happened to be Eaſter Sunday. I had ſauntered off the quarter-deck, with a volume of Hudibras in my hand, and walked to the other end of the veſſel, when I found myſelf encircled by two or three fel⯑lows with moſt ferocious countenances, who were ſtaring at me with looks ex⯑preſſive of loathing and revenge. Moſt [99] of the paſſengers were at breakfaſt, and nobody upon deck but theſe ragamuf⯑fins, and a couple of the mariners, who joined them. The particularity of their manner attracted my notice, and one of them aſked me, with his lips qui⯑vering with paſſion, ‘If I had not bet⯑ter be getting a prayer-book, than be radeing plays upon that bliſſed day.’—I perceived the fellows were inebriated, and, like a raſh fool, in⯑ſtead of ſoothing, aſked them if they imagined there was as much harm in radeing a play as in getting drunk, and ſo early in the morning too. ‘By the holy fadther,’ replied the ſpokeſman, ‘I know you. You are the Jonas, and by Jaſus the ſhip will niver ſee land till you are toſſed over-board, you and your plays along wid you; and ſure it will be a grate dale better that ſuch a wicked wretch as you [100] ſhould go to the bottom, than that all the poor innocent ſowls in the ſhip ſhould be loſt.’ This ſpeech entire⯑ly diſconcerted me. The reſolute tone of the raſcal, and the approbation which his companions diſcovered were alarm⯑ing. I preſerved fortitude ſufficient to aſſure them, it was not a play-book that I was reading, and opened it to convince them, while I edged away to⯑wards the quarter-deck, which I gained almoſt in the ſame manner that a cat keeps curs at bay till ſhe ſteals into her hole.

I FEAR I tire you with theſe tedious accounts of myſelf: you ſay not; be it as it will, I have taken the liberty of a friend; and as you appear depreſſed with the peculiarity of your ſituation, my intention is only that you may compare notes, and ſee whether you [101] have hitherto been equally unfortunate. I have little more to relate that is worth your hearing. I arrived at Cheſter, and reſolved to write to ſuch travelling com⯑panies as I could procure any intelli⯑gence of. My knowledge of muſic, my talents as a ſinger, and my recent arrival from Dublin, were recommen⯑dations that enſured me ſeveral engage⯑ments. I choſe one in a company that was then at Leeds in Yorkſhire. In this my ill ſtars were again predo⯑minant. I found them in a ſtate of anarchy, deſpiſed by the town, and quarrelling with one another, their ma⯑nager calling them all raſcals, and they returning the compliment. Here I diſ⯑covered, too, how neceſſary practice is to the player; and that, though ſome of them could ſcarce read, they could all ſpeak on the ſtage better than I could.

[102]IN leſs than three weeks the greater part of the people ſeparated, and, no others coming to ſupply their places, the company no longer exiſted. A let⯑ter had followed me from Cheſter, in⯑viting me to join another ſett, then at Hereford; but it had been wrote near a month, it was a hundred and ſixty miles acroſs the country, and I did not know, if I ſet out, whether I ſhould find them there; or if I did, whether they might then ſtand in need of my aſſiſtance. But my ten pound bill was, by this time, notwithſtanding all my oeconomy, reduced to eleven ſhillings and ſix-pence. With a heavy heart then, and a light purſe, did I begin another journey; and on the fifth day of my peregrination, entered an inn by the road-ſide, which was eight and twen⯑ty miles from Hereford, with the ſum of nine-pence in my pocket, and made [103] my exit in the morning pennyleſs. The fatigue of my journey, and the penurious manner in which I had lived, had ſo re⯑duced my ſpirits, that I found great diffi⯑culty in performing this laſt day's taſk upon an empty ſtomach; but there was no remedy. About four o'clock I aſcended the hill that looks down upon this an⯑cient city, at ſight of which, a thouſand anxieties took poſſeſſion of my boſom. The players might be gone, and I, un⯑known to every living creature, had a ſpirit incapable of confeſſing the ſtarv⯑ing condition to which I was reduced. I enquired of the firſt man I met, with an emotion that it is impoſſible to de⯑ſcribe, if the comedians had left Here⯑ford; and leave you to imagine what I felt, when he anſwered in the nega⯑tive. Faint, weary, and ready to drop with hunger, I traverſed the town to enquire for the manager; but it was one [104] of the nights on which they did not perform, and he was not to be found. I was directed to his brother, who was a barber in the city; and upon their ob⯑ſerving my weakneſs, and deſiring to know if I was not well, I collected courage enough to tell them that I was greatly fatigued, having come a long journey, and for the laſt day not hav⯑ing broke my faſt, except at the brook. I know not what kind of ſtuff ſome peoples hearts are made of, but I know that, notwithſtanding this confeſſion, in the making of which I had done great violence to my feelings, they heard it without offering me any aſſiſtance, or even ſo much as teſtifying either ſur⯑prize or pity, and I quitted the houſe with the tears in my eyes.

WHEN the players underſtood a freſh member was come to join them, [105] they, from ſympathy, ſoon diſcovered my diſeaſe; and when I gave them the anecdote of the barber, conſigned him over to the devil, in a moſt emphatical manner. Little, except common occur⯑rences, has happened to me ſince that time.

I STAID with this company ſome time, till a difference with the manager occaſioned me to leave it. I have ſince been only with Santlo, and the one to which I have lately removed. The ſmalleſt trifles that any way affect the fortunes of a friend, I believe, are heard with pleaſure, or anxiety; and though I do not, by any means, think myſelf either the only, or the moſt unfortunate perſon in the world, I have offered theſe anecdotes of my life, both to amuſe and convince you, that in appearance, at leaſt, you have been far more happy [106] than I. There is another motive, you know how delighted I am with your correſpondence. Though you are not in arrear with reſpect to tale, you are certainly deficient in weight; I therefore hope you will communicate with the utmoſt freedom, whatever futurity ſhall produce, and if you are not already wearied, I ſhall continue to trifle as oc⯑caſion may offer. Adieu.

LETTER VIII. Miſs STAMFORD, to Miſs GOWLAND.

HOW long ſhall I wiſh, in vain, for the pleaſure of your company? Your laſt letter gave me reaſon to hope for it a fortnight ago. I have ever ſince been in expectation of ſeeing you, and long to communicate the ſecrets of my boſom. Oh, my Julia, I am very wretched. I have loſt my former chear⯑fulneſs, and can think of nothing but my misfortunes.

I KNOW your tender and compaſ⯑ſionate diſpoſition will ſympathize with me in deploring the effects of a paſſion that has taken poſſeſſion of my un⯑guarded heart. Alas, I knew not it [108] was love! Under the ſpecious diſguiſe of friendſhip I have deceived myſelf, and ſimply thought it in my power to limit my inclinations to eſteem and re⯑gard. Fatal experience has ſhewn the contrary. I ſigh for a happineſs that every hour removes farther from me.

I WILL now tell you all, and, if I am tedious, you will excuſe it. It is ſome relief to communicate my ſorrows by letter, ſince your company is denied me.

WHEN my father was young, he was frequently employed on the Continent, in tranſacting buſineſs on account of my grandfather. On one of theſe oc⯑caſions he went on board a ſhip, up the Straits, in which one captain Alwyn was a paſſenger for Gibraltar, where his company then was. They became [109] very intimate, and their friendſhip was confirmed by an accident, that happen⯑ed during the voyage.

IT was at that time war with France, and the ſailors ſpied a ſhip, which they ſuppoſed to be a French man of war. My father went up the rope-ladders to look at it, and unfortunately ſlipped into the ſea, where he muſt have pe⯑riſhed, if Alwyn had not inſtantly jump⯑ed after, and ſuſtained him by ſwimming, till a boat could be ſent to their aſſiſt⯑ance. I have often heard my father mention, with regret, that he never ſaw him ſince they parted at Gibraltar, he being ſlain in battle, a few years af⯑terwards.

LONG after this, calling on Meſſrs. Brown and Co. army-agents, he there ſaw a lady of the name of Alwyn; and [110] curioſity prompting him to make ſome enquiries, he found ſhe was the widow of his friend. She had with her an only ſon, whom ſhe had brought to town from ſchool, to place in ſome buſineſs; and my father, happy in an opportunity of ſhewing his attachment, as well as gratifying his own benevolent diſpoſition, begged ſhe would leave to him the care of providing for her Harry, for ſo he was called. He was in conſe⯑quence received into the counting-houſe, where, till lately, he has ever ſince re⯑mained.

I WAS then at ſchool, where I have paſſed ſo many happy hours with my dear Miſs Gowland. Hours of peace⯑ful enjoyment that never will return! I had few opportunities of cultivating Mr. Alwyn's acquaintance till I entirely quitted Mrs. Carrington's, when I found [111] him ſurpriſingly grown, and adorned with every quality that diſtinguiſhes the man of merit.

HIS education had been of the firſt ſtamp, to which he had added that po⯑liſh which the finer accompliſhments are ſure to beſtow, where the underſtanding is good. His temper and addreſs were the moſt pleaſing in the world; and a conſciouſneſs of the obligations he owed my father, ſeemed to ſhew itſelf in all his actions. I do not know whether that conſciouſneſs made him diffident, but I thought ſo; and, as well to ſe⯑cond my father's good intentions as to ſhew my own ſenſe of his merit, I gave him every mark of eſteem and friend⯑ſhip in my power.

HE was made principal clerk about that time, for which reaſon his atten⯑dance [112] was not ſo immediately required in the counting-houſe. My brother and he were therefore always together, and very often would accompany me on the harpſichord. Mr. Alwyn had a turn for poetry, which now and then appeared in a ſong; theſe were always ſet by my muſic-maſter, and formed a principal part of our entertainment. I have ſeve⯑ral by me, which I will ſhew you when we meet.

BY theſe means we ſoon became on the moſt intimate terms of friendſhip; and it was with great concern I obſerved his health decline for theſe ſix months paſt. I did not ſuſpect his love till he preſented me with the following ſong, which was ſo applicable to himſelf, that it could not eſcape my obſervation.

I MUST confeſs the diſcovery gave me pleaſure; but I thought it beſt to make no alteration in my conduct to⯑wards him. Little did I then think my regard for him was capable of occaſion⯑ing [114] ſo much uneaſineſs in my boſom. But his farewel, when he went into the country for the recovery of his health, was attended with a look, in which de⯑ſpair and reſignation were ſo blended, that I was quite melted, and was obliged to retire to conceal my tears.

ALAS! exclaimed I, it is true that I love him, and that he is unhappy! Per⯑haps his fatal paſſion may prove the bane of all his hopes. Perhaps the ſtruggle between love and gratitude, in a mind ſo truly ſuſceptible of every noble feel⯑ing, may overcome him, and he may pine under the hated load of life. But why perhaps? the work is already be⯑gun. Already his health and ſpirits are fled; and he wanders in vain, in ſearch of peace.

[115]OPPRESSED with thoughts like theſe, and convinced by abſence how much I love him, I find it impoſſible to conceal the alteration in my diſpoſition. I con⯑tinue whole days in my chamber, and avoid company, under pretence of ill⯑neſs. My brother, I believe, ſuſpects the real cauſe; for he found me the other morning in tears at my harpſichord, ſinging the little ſong I have ſent you. I made ſome ſilly excuſe, which, out of good-nature, he accepted of without further enquiry.

BUT the moſt afflicting circumſtance is, that my father is in treaty with a gentleman in the country, to conclude a marriage between me and his ſon, who is now in town expreſsly on that buſineſs. If I did not feel myſelf too much prejudiced in favour of Mr. Al⯑wyn ever to love another, I am ſure he [116] is very far from being the perſon I would paſs my life with. I do not believe it poſſible for him to be ſerious. He is for ever on ſome whim or project, as if he valued himſelf only in proportion to his capacity for promoting miſchief; and his want of delicacy is inſufferable, when I call to mind the tender and reſpectful attentions of poor Mr. Alwyn.

THINK, my dear Julia, on my ſitua⯑ation. I am ſure you'll pity me; but it does not admit of advice. If my fa⯑ther inſiſts I muſt ſubmit, for I can ne⯑ver think of diſobeying his commands; yet I tremble at the thoughts of becom⯑ing Maitland's wife.—Oh, my dear, I am diſtracted with a croud of thoughts. I beg you'll come to me, and am,

LETTER IX. Mr. STAMFORD, Jun. to Mr. ALWYN.

I WROTE to you laſt week, in anſwer to your's; but have not ſince had the pleaſure of a line from you. Old Maitland's ſending my father a propo⯑ſal of marriage, in the form of a ma⯑thematical problem, is truly whimſical. What is ſtill more, my father aſſures me that there is no joke at all meant by it; but, that he ſeriouſly intends to make himſelf underſtood. If he intend⯑ed quite the contrary, I think he could not have adopted a better method.

YOUNG Maitland is arrived, to try the experiment, as his father expreſſes it; but Maria does not ſeem diſpoſed to [118] exert her attractive influence. She is conſtantly wrapt in thought, and takes very little notice of him, and he does not appear to care much about it. He is one of thoſe wild youths, who, though poſſeſſed of ſenſe and underſtanding, have too much vivacity to uſe them. I am afraid Maria, who is all meekneſs and delicacy, will be very unhappy with him if the match ſucceeds, and I ſee nothing at preſent, to hinder it, for ſhe will never diſpute her father's will; and young Maitland ſeems as if he thought it no affair of his, but leaves it to the management and direction of the old folks.

I HAVE agreed to accompany him to Maitland-hall, in a fortnight, where I promiſe myſelf a vaſt fund of enter⯑tainment from the oddities of his father. We ſhould have ſet out ſooner, but [119] that it would be impolite to leave Miſs Gowland, who is now on a viſit to my ſiſter. You have often heard Maria mention her. They were at Mrs. Car⯑rington's boarding-ſchool together, and contracted a friendſhip, which is found⯑ed in the moſt perfect union of diſpo⯑ſition and ſentiment.

MISS Gowland is rather above the middle ſtature, but perfectly well-ſhaped and genteel. She cannot be called hand⯑ſome; but the tout enſemble of her countenance, is ſo expreſſive of every amiable trait of diſpoſition, that it is impoſſible to behold her without eſteem. I think ſhe differs from Maria, in a kind of volatility that I cannot deſcribe bet⯑ter, than by comparing her to the Al⯑legro, and Maria to the Penſeroſo of Milton. Each for the time claims the preference.

BUT Maria's hopeleſs love may tend, at preſent, to heighten the oppoſition.

FOR me, I ſtill continue heart-whole. The deſtinies have not yet made a lover of me. The only concern that en⯑groſſes my attention, is the fate of my dear friend, and poor Maria. I know ſhe will never love Maitland, and in any caſe but the preſent, I am ſure my father would not oppoſe her inclination. I never ſaw him ſo bent on any affair, as on this; and though old Maitland's letter had a great deal of frigidity in it, it is only owing to his ridiculous at⯑tempt to bring every thing to the teſt of mathematical demonſtration; for, they have both intended the match for ſome years. The nature of their at⯑tachment you will judge from the fol⯑lowing narration. I had it from my [121] father, one evening, as we were con⯑verſing on this ſubject.

BEING both in the ſame claſs at ſchool, the mutual aſſiſtance which they afforded each other in their ſtu⯑dies was the firſt ground of particular intimacy. Poſſeſſed of nearly the ſame diſpoſitions, and equally unacquainted with the world, they ſpent their early youth among the heroes of anti⯑quity, and incited each other to emu⯑late their virtues. But they were chief⯑ly enamoured with thoſe pleaſing de⯑ſcriptions of retirement and ſolitude with which the poets abound, and from them formed the idea of a kind of life that ſeldom exiſts but in the imagination. Inſtead of wiſhing to cut a figure in the world, their deſires were fixed on ſome peaceful retreat, where their em⯑ployment might be to tend their flocks, [122] and repoſe on the verdant banks of a rivulet, ‘Far from the buſy world, and all its cares.’

THESE ideas were ſtill more enforced by the rural ſituation of the ſchool, which gave them an opportunity of forming grottoes, and other poetical edifices; and there was ſcarce a grove or ſtream in the neighbourhood that did not, at one time or other, afford them a ſubject for an ode.

AFTER paſſing two years in this ſweet deluſion, my father began to awake, and conſider himſelf as an inhabitant of this world; but it was not ſo with Maitland. He had, indeed, diſcovered, that the Heathen mythology was a fic⯑tion; for his maſter had not ſenſe to put him into the rational way of ſtudy⯑ing it. It was therefore no longer the [123] object of his attention; yet, with the poets, afforded him a temporary amuſe⯑ment. But his inquiſitive diſpoſition was now fully employed in the mathe⯑matics and natural philoſophy; in which, at the time of his leaving the place, he was ſo totally immerſed, that he came into the world with leſs real knowledge of it, than a boy of ten years old, brought up in the capital, uſually has.

HIS father, poſſeſſed of a conſider⯑able fortune, acquired by his own in⯑duſtry, was very deſirous of putting his ſon in a line of employment that might tend to improve, rather than di⯑miniſh it: and in conſequence, he was admitted on the firm of a very conſider⯑able houſe at Amſterdam; where he remained, till his father's death put [124] him in poſſeſſion of the eſtate he now enjoys.

MY father, who came to town from ſchool nearly at the ſame time as Mait⯑land, was immediately placed at the deſk in my grandfather's counting-houſe; and, by attention and aſſiduity, rendered himſelf ſo uſeful, that, ſome years before his death, he gave him a half ſhare of the buſineſs.

YOU do not know, perhaps, that at my grandfather's death an execution was laid in the houſe; for, as the af⯑fair was well ſettled, it was always kept a profound ſecret: however, ſo it was. Two ſhips from the Mediterranean, that he had underwrote for a vaſt amount, were taken; and he, not being able immediately to anſwer the demand, was under the neceſſity of taking up a con⯑ſiderable [125] ſum, on bond and judgment. In fact, this loſs had almoſt ruined him; which the lender ſuſpecting, laid an execution, as ſoon as he heard he was dead.

THINK what a ſituation my father was then in. Mourning for the death of a dearly loved parent, yet obliged to apply all his attention to prevent the overthrow of a buſineſs, which, though lucrative, he knew to be then inſolvent. What could he do? He applied to Mait⯑land; for their friendſhip, which as it had not remained uncultivated during this long interval, did not require ceremony. Maitland came immediately to town, elated with the opportunity of ſerving him, though he ſympathized in his loſſes; and not only advanced the ſum, but aſſiſted him in other reſpects ſo con⯑ſiderably, that it may almoſt be ſaid [126] that my father is indebted to him for the large property he is now maſter of.

SOON after this tranſaction my father married, and received ten thouſand pounds in caſh with my mother, be⯑ſides the manor in Kent, to which ſhe was heireſs.

I OBSERVE, and poſſibly you may too by this time, that old Maitland, from a very abſtracted mode of thinking, forms concluſions and adopts maxims which he never takes the trouble to compare with perſons and things about him. Whence it is, that they are fre⯑quently inadequate, and always ſin⯑gular.

HE has read Locke with great atten⯑tion, and being convinced that demon⯑ſtration is not confined to mathematical [127] ſubjects alone, attempts to uſe it on all occaſions: witneſs the letter he ſent my father, which I ſcarce yet believe to be ſeriouſly written.

BUT I wander from the point. He has but one child, this youth is juſt come from college; and, by what I can collect, Maria was intended for him from her birth. Unpleaſing intelli⯑gence, indeed, for you; yet from what has been related, I cannot avoid being apprehenſive of the conſequences to one, whom I ſhould be as happy to ſerve, as I am proud to call by the ſacred name of friend.

LETTER X. Mr. ALWYN, to Mr. STAMFORD, Junior.

I WISH I could make you ſenſible how forcibly I feel your generous and diſintereſted friendſhip. Your let⯑ter expreſſes an opinion of me which I fear I am not worthy of; yet, ſuch is the human heart, it attaches me ſo pow⯑erfully to you, that I believe, there is nothing ſo romantic, which I would not undertake to prove my gratitude.

YOUR account of Maria made my heart overflow. I hope you are miſtaken in the cauſe of—What do I ſay?—Is that my wiſh? Is there any thing on earth could give me ſo much delight as to be beloved by her?—Would it [129] not rather give me torture?—It would make her as miſerable as myſelf!—For⯑bid it heaven!—Let me try to divert theſe reflections. They oppreſs me—I am convinced they do not give you plea⯑ſure.

THE friendſhip of your father and Mr. Maitland, does them mutual ho⯑nour.—It would ill become me to diſ⯑turb the happineſs of a family, to which I owe ſo many obligations.—It requires only a ſmall degree of virtue to be aſhamed of ingratitude.

WE have not yet began to play, our theatre will not be ready before Friday. We are to open with Romeo and Juliet; and I, for my firſt appearance, am to be the hero of the night. A good men⯑tal phyſician would not, I believe, have preſcribed ſo ſweet a doſe; the ſtudying [130] this character has not contributed to my recovery. But I have undertaken it, and muſt proceed. My feelings are ſo ſimilar to thoſe put into the mouth of the young Montague that it muſt be ſtrange if I miſtake my part. The com⯑pany have formed great expectations of me, I am told, from hearing me re⯑hearſe; and the manager, who is a buſy talkative perſon, is puffing his perform⯑ers among the town's-people, and me among the reſt. As I ſhall, perhaps, endeavour to amuſe you now and then with the adventures of the theatre, it may not be unneceſſary to inform you of the police and oeconomy of the ſociety of which I am a temporary member: that is, as far as I myſelf have learned.

A COMPANY of travelling comedians is a ſmall kingdom, of which the ma⯑nager [131] is the monarch. Their code of laws, from the little reading I have had upon the ſubject, ſeems to have exiſted, with few material variations, at, or per⯑haps, before the days of Shakeſpeare, who is, with great reaſon ‘the god of their idolatry.’ The perſon who is rich enough to furniſh a wardrobe and ſcenes, commences manager, and has his privileges and reſtrictions. The royal revenues are extenſive, being in the ratio of five to one.—As thus—If there are twenty perſons in the compa⯑ny, the manager included, the receipt of the houſe, after all incidental ex⯑pences are deducted, is divided into four and twenty ſhares, four of which are called dead ſhares, and taken by the manager as a payment for the uſe of his cloaths and ſcenes; to theſe is added the ſhare which he is entitled to as a per⯑former.

[132]OUR monarch, to reſume my meta⯑phor, through the fecundity of the queen conſort, ſweeps eleven ſhares into the royal pouch every night, having five ſons and daughters, who are ranked as performers. This is a continual ſub⯑ject of diſcontent to the reſt of the co⯑medians, who are all, to a man, diſaf⯑fected to the government. For my part, I do not think it worth while to be diſ⯑ſatisfied, having it in my own option to ſubmit to theſe laws, or leave them for more equitable ones. That is not the caſe with them, they being all in debt to the manager, and, of courſe, chained to his galley; which he does not fail to inform them of, when they are refractory. They appear to be a ſett of thoughtleſs, merry beings, who laugh in the midſt of poverty, and who never want a quotation, or a ſtory to recruit their ſpirits. When they get any mo⯑ney, [133] they ſeem, like Ruſſian boors, in haſte to ſpend it, leſt ſome tyrant, in the ſhape of a dun, ſhould ſnatch it from them.—They have a circuit, or ſett of towns, to which they reſort, when the time comes round; ſo that there are but three or four in the company, who are not well known in Kendal. The town's-people, I obſerve, are con⯑tinually railing at them; yet are very unhappy, I am told, if they fail to re⯑turn at the appointed ſeaſon. It is a ſaying with the comedians that, a play⯑er's ſix-pence does not equal a town's-man's groat, and I find a great deal of truth in the apothegm; therefore, though theſe latter are continually abuſing the poor players for running in debt, they take good care to indemnify them⯑ſelves, and are no great loſers if they get ten ſhillings in the pound.

[134]I SHALL continue my obſervations from time to time, according to your deſire, and ſhall be much miſtaken if they do not afford amuſement to a mind like your's. Permit me a concluding ſigh for friends, and a tear for—I am aſhamed of my weakneſs, yet cannot overcome it, at leaſt, not at the pre⯑ſent.

LETTER XI. T. STENTOR, to JEMMY DRUM⯑SHANDRUGH.

THERE is nothing but croſſes and vexations, and one damned thing or another, to be met with in this world.—Our landlady, like a good-for-nothing brim as ſhe is, ſtopt my box for thirteen and ſeven-pence at the laſt town; ſo that I and my wife, are arriv⯑ed in Kendal without a property^* to play in. My grey hairs, and my wife's tie wig; the coronet I wear in Lear, with the George and garter for Richard, Ban⯑quo's bloody throat, that you painted on fleſh-coloured callimanco; my ſhirt-ſhams, and new Baſil buſkins, never worn but one night in Mark Anthony; [136] Mrs. Stentor's tate, her witch's high-crowned hat, and Hecate's ſpectacles; the boots and belt in which ſhe plays John Moody, together with the mana⯑ger's Thunderbolt in Midas, and my laſt new ſett of teeth, for which I paid half a guinea to our French dancing dentiſt; the black ſtockings with ſpan⯑gled clocks, that I wear in all my kings; the remainder of my two dozen gui⯑neas, that coſt me ten-pence to put in my ſtage purſe, and a thouſand other things that I ſhall want every night, all ſtopt.—I'm in a pretty pickle. What the devil I ſhall do without my teeth I don't know; for to mend the matter I loſt my old ones, that I made ſhift with in common, on the road, and I can't ſpeak a word with⯑out liſping, worſe than if I had belonged to the tribe of Ephraim; and was ordered to ſay ſhibboleth at the paſs of Jordan, by the cruel baſtard of Gilead.

[137]MISFORTUNES never come alone. I have ſeen the day, when our manager durſt not have refuſed to lend me thirteen and ſeven-pence if I wanted it; but he ſays I am no longer fit to play the love-ſick heroes, ſo has engaged one Alwyn, that nobody, except Hilkirk, knows any thing of.—It's d—d ſtrange if I can't play them better than that youngſter. I that have been the repreſentative of all the he⯑roes ancient and modern, for almoſt theſe fifty years, and this is his firſt appearance, he ſays, though I'll ſwear he's a ſtager of five years ſtanding, at leaſt, by the manner of his rehearſing. Nay, and becauſe he is in poſſeſſion of a ſmooth face and a ſoft voice, its a guinea to a ſhilling, that all the young flirts fall in love with him.—He has made choice of Romeo (my favourite character above all others) to appear in.— I wiſh he may break his neck.—However, if he ſtays I'll go if I can.—I wiſh you [138] would try to get an engagement for me and my wife with your manager.—I have encloſed our caſts^*. My wife plays the queen's, is an excellent termagant, and goes into breeches. We neither of us claſh with you, except that my wife plays John Moody, and ſhe is allowed to be ſo excellent in that part, that if the great London SHUTER, or PARSONS that we hear ſo much of, were to come down, ſhe would not give it up.

I HAVE been interrupted in my letter by that Alwyn.—I don't know what ſcheme he is at, but he has been here with an oiled tongue, and ‘a hope that he did not offend me; but, hearing I was a little diſtreſſed for a trifle, he came to offer me his aſſiſtance.’ When he had finiſhed his preface, he put a [139] guinea into my hand.—As he made his exit, he ‘begged a thouſand pardons, and hoped I would excuſe the abrupt⯑neſs, that his want of being bet⯑ter acquainted with me had forced him upon; but that he could not bear to hear of age being wedded to neceſſity.’

NOTWITHSTANDING this fine rhetori⯑cal flouriſh, I am deviliſhly deceived if I don't ſee through this generoſity. Men don't give their money away ſo freely without ſome view. Perhaps he meant it as a bribe, that I may patiently ſub⯑mit to ſee him rob me of all my cha⯑racters. Had he lent it me, I ſhould have ſuſpected Santlo the manager to have been at the bottom of all this; but he would not give a guinea to ſave his mother's ſoul from purgatory; ſo it can't be him.—My young politician [140] ſhall find, however, I am not to be ſo eaſily bribed. If he mines, I'll coun⯑termine; and its a queſtion if the young cub digs ſo deep as the old fox. He ſhall be well earthed if I don't unken⯑nel him.—I have provided a party that ſhall hiſs worſe than the head of Gor⯑gon. Staunch friends, that won't eaſily ſee the veteran vanquiſhed.

GIVE our reſpects to your manager, and if he will agree to our playing thoſe parts, which are here ſubjoined, and will ſend three guineas and a half, two of which I owe to Santlo, and the reſt we ſhall want for our journey, we will join him immediately. Let him know how uſeful my wife is.—She is excel⯑lent in the old ſtateſmen, and looks them admirably.—Not that we are ex⯑ceedingly anxious about the matter. We make no doubt of being able, by [141] one means or other, to rout this whip⯑ſter, this Alwyn.

OUR compliments to all old friends, and let me know how you ſhare^*, and whether your manager ever ſhews his book.—Our precious raſcal immures his more carefully than the Romans did the Sybil's prophecy. Your's,

LETTER XII. JEMMY DRUMSHANDRUGH, to T. STENTOR.

I AM ſorry to hear of your miſfor⯑fortunes, becaſe as why, d'ye ſee, I have it not in my power to relave 'em at all at all; but howiver, I will give you ſome conſolation in this affair, which is this, d'ye ſee, now.—By Jaſus I have as miny misfortunes as yourſilf, or any other man alive; and ſo let that be your comfort. You know I had 500l. left me by my old aunt Phabe Tullaghan of Ballimagowran in the county of Cavan, and the province of Ulſter, about two years before her death. Pooh! I mane two years after her—Ahoo!—To the divel I pitch my maning, but I know [144] it was whin I was one and forty years of age d'ye ſee, and now I am three and forty, as old Darby Coghran tells me; for as for myſilf, I niver mind of a handful of years d'ye ſee.—Well—An ſo—What now was I telling you about, agrah? —Oh! It was conſarning my miſ⯑fortunes, and my aunt Phabe. Well thin, it was about three twelve-months ſince ſhe died and left me the 500l.—To be ſure, ſhe always ſaid ſhe loved me, though, for my part, the divel the word did I believe of the matter, till ſhe was dead; for though ſhe knew viry will that I was as poor, and as miſerable as a Spalpeen^*, and wanted her money for myſilf, ſorra the morſel of the mind ſhe had to die at all, nor the divel a bit could I perſuade her to it (though I wrote to her ſeveral times about the af⯑fair) till ſhe had not a drop of breath left [145] in her body, and thin, you know, the divel may htank her for her kindneſs. To be ſure I was not much the richer for it, having ſpent it all ſeven years be⯑fore I got it, and the reſt ſoon after I reſaved it, in paying my debts, and trating my frinds, for thin I had frinds enough, and ivery body was glad to ſhake hands with Jemmy Drumſhan⯑drugh, and now there's Mr. Pot the tay⯑lor, to the divel I pitch Mr. Pot the taylor, for the ſon of a Spalſpeen whore's baſtard; this Mr. Pot the taylor, who has tipled out of my pot many a froſty morning, threatens to arriſt me if I don't pay him for the ſuit of cloaths that I had of him about five years agoe, and for all I tould him I could not pay ivery body, and keep a little for my own uſe, and thin, you know, as he al⯑ways ſaid he was my frind, why I niver thought any thing about paying him at [146] all at all.—Sorra the frindſhip that I can find out in linding a man a guinea, and deſiring one and twenty ſhillings in change. Howiver, my landlady, long life to the dare crater, whoſe huſband has had a ſtroke of the palſy, about five weeks agoe, that has taken away the uſe of his limbs, promiſes to lind me the money. —She is a good, hearty woman, about my own age, with a dale of rich thick blood in her vanes, and has had a child, ſhe tells me, every year ſince ſhe has been married. She is very induſtrious, and has gone through a dale of trouble, ſhe ſays. She took hould of my hand, and preſt it ſo tinderly, and let the ſalt tares fall on it, while ſhe tould me of her poor huſband's misfortune, who, ſhe ſays, before that accident, was an honeſt pains⯑taking man; and ſo I am become a mighty favourite with her, and ſhe ne⯑ver lets the maid come up now, to make [147] my bed, but makes it always with her own hands, and ginerally comes before breakfaſt, as ſhe ſays it gets her a ſto⯑mach, and likewiſe brings the warming-pan of a night, to warm it, becaſe, ſhe ſays, it makes one ſleep will, thin ſhe trates me with oyſters, whin ſhe can get 'em, to my ſupper, and an egg to my tay of a morning, after the good ould Iriſh faſhion, and ſo, as I tould you, I am become a mighty favourite with her.

As for your coming to this company, d'ye ſee, why our manager ſays it won't do, for why, we play all the hairos, be⯑tween us, ourſilves, and now that I ſpake good Engliſh, and have got rid of my brogue, I do Lord Townly in⯑ſtead of John Moody, and make nothing of it. But if I ſhould lave the company, why then there will be an opening for you, which I ſhall certainly do whin my [148] landlady's huſband dies, becaſe why, there will be an opening, then, for me. She has a pretty income enough, and the poor woman is mightily grieved to ſee her huſband in his miſery, and ſo, as ſhe tells me, ſhe prays viry devoutly for the poor craters dith, to be ſure ſhe makes me love her the better, becaſe ſhe is ſo tinder hearted.

As for our ſharing, why I don't hear of any body among us that intinds to build churches, and riſpicting the ſtock book, and your manager's being a raſcal, why I don't wonder much at that, becaſe why, I niver knew one of them that was not a raſcal, and I niver heard but of one, neither did I believe that, not but we have pritty full houſes, and that the people may have enough for their money, d'ye ſee, why there is [149] plenty of ſinging and dancing ivery night after the performance is over. Mrs. Stentor is a viry uſeful woman to be ſure, and juſt ſuch a one as we want, ſo if you think it worth while to live faſhionably, and niver ſee one another, why our manager ſays he will engage her with all his heart, d'ye ſee, now: and thin this is likely to be a good town, for why, the parſon praches againſt the players ivery Sunday, and, as he is not mightily beloved, why they are reſolved not to mind what he ſays; and ſo if you like of it, why let her ſet off before you re⯑ſave this, becaſe as why, the ſooner ſhe comes, the longer it will be before we ſee her.—And ſo give me lave to con⯑clude yourſelf my friend to command,

LETTER XIII. Mr. MAITLAND, Jun. to STAFFORD OSBORNE, Eſq.

THIS day week I left the ſober family of the Stamfords, and am now ſafely landed at Maitland-hall. I was like a fiſh out of water during my ſtay in London. Settled in as pretty a demure church-going family as you'd wiſh to ſee, and what's more, on the footing of a ſuitor to the young lady. Now there are two things you expect, one, that I ſhall reform in a hurry, and the other that I ſhall give you a ſketch of the queer creatures I have been ſhut up with for this fortnight, but you are confoundedly miſtaken, if you think I'll take the pains to do either the one or [151] the other. I have not been out later than ten ſince my arrival in town, and was ſo loſt for want of a frolick, that I was reduced to the neceſſity of having one on the road. I wiſh you had been there, for I had it all to myſelf,—but you ſhall hear.

YOUNG Stamford and I left London on Tueſday morning, attended by our ſervants on horſeback. My man Sam, of whoſe dexterity and addreſs you have ſeen proofs before now, was with me, and we arrived at M— in the evening, juſt as the paſſengers were alighting from the ſtage-coach. I ſtood at the inn-door while they were unpacking their carcaſes from the cloſe ſtowage of the vehicle, and fancied, from their ap⯑pearance, that they were a ſett of charac⯑ters that might afford ſome diverſion. In conſequence of this ſuppoſition, I [152] propoſed to Stamford to ſup with the paſſengers, which was agreed to. Sam went to reconnoitre the inn, and I ap⯑plied myſelf to learn the diſpoſitions of our fellow-travellers.

THE company was compounded of a ſhort fat man about forty, with a cut of countenance not very inviting, for, ar⯑rogance and ſelf-conceit were painted in every line of it. His wig was of the conſtruction that cuſtom, or ſome other cauſe, has rendered one of the attributes of holineſs, and a blue grey ſuit of cloaths, of a moſt ſtiff and formal outline, put it out of doubt, that he was a ſon of mo⯑ther church. I afterwards found he was a country ſchool-maſter, who had been to London to procure ſcholars, whom he found in all requiſites for ten pounds a year. Oppoſite him ſat a figure, whoſe calling and occupation were not ſo much [153] within the reach of conjecture. Deceit ſeemed to be the very eſſence of his com⯑poſition. I never ſaw a man that ſo immediately inſpired me with averſion. His aſpect was like that of a miſchievous animal that ſurveys you with fear, but with a fear mixed with an intention of hurting you, as ſoon as off your guard. His hair was lank and grey, his perſon tall and aukward, and his viſage pale, hollow, and illuminated with a pair of ſmall, ſunken eyes that might have given riſe to the fictions of witchery and incanta⯑tions performed by an evil ſight. A ſett of habiliments, put together in a very pe⯑culiar ſtyle, would have tempted me to pronounce him an apothecary of the laſt century, if a pair of dirty bands had not indicated that his province was that of a ſpiritual man-midwife. He profeſſed to believe the new birth, and was himſelf a living proof of his doctrine; [154] for, without a metaphor, it was neceſſary for a man to be born again to become like him.

NEAR him ſat a couple of females, who ſeemed to be mother and daughter. The mother, I ſoon diſcovered to be a diſciple of the reſpectable paſtor I have juſt deſcribed, but the daughter, a freſh girl about ſixteen, did not ſeem to have much of the devotee about her.

THE remaining paſſenger was a young fellow in regimentals, who was ſtanding by a window, with his back to the com⯑pany, when I entered. He came up to me, and, after common compliments, we entered into converſation without regarding the others, of whoſe ſocial powers I had already entertained a very contemptible opinion. He acquainted me that he was an enſign in the 40th [155] regiment, was going to head a re⯑cruiting party at Briſtol, and at the ſame time gave me a ſketch of the cha⯑racters of his companions, as I have juſt now hinted.

WHEN ſupper was brought in the Methodiſt roſe up, and, inclining himſelf forward, not in the graceful attitude of an orator, but, rather, in that of a perſon labouring under the operation of an emetic, treated us with a grace of a quarter of an hour's duration. The ſchool-maſter appeared ſomewhat cha⯑grined, whether on account of the uſurpation of his office as chaplain, or the venter famelicus qui aures non habet, or both, I ſhall not pretend to ſay; but I obſerved, during the courſe of the even⯑ing, that he and the Methodiſt were ir⯑reconcileable enemies to each other.

[156]AFTER ſupper, and the circulation of a glaſs or two, he aroſe to put in prac⯑tice the ſame manoeuvre, but was op⯑poſed by the ſchool-maſter, who objected to it as, not only unneceſſary, but, phari⯑ſaical. This produced a warm alter⯑cation, in which the Methodiſt had ma⯑nifeſtly the advantage; for, being well read in ſcripture, he undertook, with great calmneſs, to prove, that the ſchool-maſter was a limb of the whore of Ba⯑bylon: whereat the other was ſo enraged that he loſt all power of utterance, and ſtood gaſping like a cat in an air-pump.

WE joined the Methodiſt, (who pro⯑ceeded in his quotations without re⯑garding the mighty rage of his antago⯑niſt,) and by that means put him into ſo good a humour, that at the requeſt of the old lady, he conſented to give us [157] an exhortation. For which, and its con⯑ſequences, you muſt wait till next poſt, for at preſent I'm quite tired.

LETTER XIV. Mr. MAITLAND, Jun. to STAFFORD OSBORNE.

I WROTE to you, laſt poſt, an account of my arrival here, and promiſed to let you know the ſequel of my road adventures, which, without further pre⯑amble, I here continue:

THE Methodiſt had planted himſelf on his knees, in a great arm chair, and was raving on in his exhortation, while I was curſing my ſtupid brains that had not yet hinted any propable ſcheme of diverſion, though with ſuch admi⯑rable ſubjects to practiſe on. "Who," ſaid he, ‘was St. Paul? Did he ride in a coach? No. Was he a biſhop? No. Did he preach in a great church? No, No, No. It was in the fields, [159] my brethren. He caſt out devils, and healed the ſick. I once knew a poor woman, at Briſtol—a very poor woman,—but rich in faith,—and ſhe had experiences,—and was in a good way,—and ſhe ſought after us that teach the true way,—and the devil came,—and ſhe ſaw him,—and he ap⯑peared unto her,——even the roaring lion, and he roared,—and ſhe ran out of the houſe, and came to me,—and ſhe wept bitterly,—and I ſaid unto the devil’—

AT this inſtant, Sam and Stam⯑ford's ſervant, each with an extinguiſher put out the candles, and the devil ſtood confeſſed to the view of the affrighted preacher. He did not ſtop to recognize his Briſtol acquaintance, but, over⯑ſetting the chair, made his eſcape up the chimney. The ladies ſcreamed horribly, and the officer drew his ſword, [160] and made a paſs at Monſ. le Diable, but, finding it had no effect, exclaimed, "Lord have mercy on my poor ſoul!" threw down his ſword, and, in endea⯑vouring to remove himſelf farther from the object of terror, overſet the table, with the bottles and glaſſes that were on it. Stamford and I were not a little ſtart⯑led at the preſence of ſo unexpected a viſitant; though we ſoon diſcovered it to be the effect of a magic lanthorn, which, it afterwards appeared, Sam had borrowed of a Jew, who was then in the tap-room of the inn.

DIRECTED by the rays of light, I perceived the inſtrument ſtanding on the chimney-piece, which was the oc⯑caſion of this phaenomenon, and re⯑moved it time enough to prevent a diſ⯑covery. The ſervants immediately came in with lights, and, with ſome difficulty, got the Methodiſt down the chimney. [161] Our ſchool-maſter, having left the room previous to the exhortation, eſcaped his part of the fright, but the ſhare he had in an adventure which followed left him no great cauſe for boaſting.

WORDS cannot deſcribe the figure the poor devil of a Methodiſt cut, when extracted from his ſooty hiding-place. The natural hollowneſs of his viſage was augmented by certain lights and ſhades, acquired during his reſidence in the chimney, and a ghaſtly and idiot ſtare the remaining fright had left on his countenance. He looked round the room with a ſort of timid caution, that demonſtrated how unwelcome a return of the apparition would be, and it was long before he could recollect any of his fellow-travellers. The ladies bore it very well, all things conſidered, and the officer was particularly ſerious on the [162] occaſion; while Stamford looked at me with enquiring eyes, and I gave Sam credit for the whole contrivance.

'TWAS in vain to think of ſitting down again, as a company, and, there⯑fore, I called Sam to ſhew me the bed⯑rooms, which were on the ſame floor, opening every one into a long gallery that faced the court-yard.

THE ſuite of rooms conſiſted of four, in each of which were two beds. The old lady and her daughter took poſſeſ⯑ſion of one, Stamford and I another, and the ſchool-maſter, entering a third, was followed by the Methodiſt, whoſe fears of another viſit from the prince of darkneſs had impelled him to make ſure of a companion. The officer, of courſe, had the remaining chamber to himſelf.

[163]WHEN Stamford and I were alone we interrogated Sam about the trick he had played on the apoſtle, and received intelligence that another plot was in agitation, to prevent their over-ſleeping themſelves. Stamford objected to it, as cruel, and thought it might poſſibly hurt their underſtandings; but I over⯑ruled it, and, about midnight, he began his operations.

THEN it was that the clattering noiſe of ſome quadrupede animal was heard in the gallery, which ſeemed to ſhake with the burthen. Our preacher diſ⯑covered, by an ejaculation or two, that his afflictions had kept him waking; but his companion manifeſted no other ſigns of life than a profound naſal trumpeting, which, at a diſtance, might have been miſtaken for a couple of ſaw⯑yers at work.

[164]THE Methodiſt was not long in ſuſ⯑pence, for the ſound of hoofs approach⯑ed his chamber, the door of which flew open and admitted the cauſe of his apprehenſions, who addreſſed him in theſe words, ‘O thou ſinful wretch, deceiver of the ſimple, calumniator of the good, and liar to the community, thy time is accompliſhed, and I, thy evil genius, am come to convey thee to the gloomy manſions of deſpair. I appear unto thee in the ſhape of an aſs, becauſe thou art an aſs, and com⯑mand thee to ariſe, and mount on my back, which if thou delayeſt to perform, I will tear thee inſtantly to pieces.’ At this threat I heard the frighted wretch get out of bed, ſighing and groaning, and, the inſtant after, roaring with all his might. The apparition, on whoſe back he had mount⯑ed, began to bray, and iſſued out of the [165] room with great impetuoſity, nor ſtop⯑ped till they arrived at the ſtairs-head, whence down they both tumbled together.

ALARMED at this circumſtance, Stam⯑ford and I hurried after them, and found the preacher lying on the ground, alone, in his ſhirt. Lifting him up, we perceived he had ſuſtained no other in⯑jury than a few bruiſes, and the fright, which had made him almoſt ſtupid. We conveyed him to bed, in the room where the officer had been, and ordered a ſervant to ſtay with him, while we went to enquire into the particulars of the adventure, from the ſchool-maſter.

THE knight of the ferula was covered over head and ears in bed, where he had lain during the whole confuſion, not having had courage to riſe. A violent per⯑ſpiration had wetted the bed-cloaths almoſt through, and, on his peeping [166] forth, our noſes were informed that ſolids, as well as fluids, had eſcaped him, in his fright. He was ſo much cheared, at our appearance, that he found utterance for his ſurpriſe, which thus broke forth, and mingled with the potent effluvia:

‘OH, gentlemen! little did I think, when I left my native country and ventured up to London, that I ſhould have joined in the ſociety of the children of darkneſs. That fanatical wretch, who with theſe eyes, I ſaw riding to hell on the back of a fiery jack-aſs, has given me ſuch a ſhock, as, I fear, I ſhall never recover. Alas! even now I perceive my inteſtines are relaxed, and the contents of the viſcera are here and there diſperſed in the bed. I am become as lank and flaccid as a half blown bladder. My nervous ſyſtem is deſtroyed, and I queſtion if my members will ever [167] regain their proper tone. Lend your kind aſſiſtance, that I may riſe and get ſome refreſhment. Nature abhors a vacuum, and my poor bowels ap⯑proach but too near to that ſtate.’

WE could not refuſe our help; but, on raiſing him up, the fumes of the egeſta, here and there diſperſed, as he expreſſed it, became ſo powerful, that we let him down again, and covered him up, adviſing him to wait till we ſent a ſervant, with linen and other re⯑quiſites, to enable him to appear as be⯑came a man of his conſequence.

GOING down into the hall, we found every body in the inn dreſſed, and in full converſation on the event that had diſturbed their repoſe. Various were the conjectures formed on the occaſion, for, the parties concerned being abſent, no authentic intelligence could be gained. [168] This continued till the arrival of the ſchool-maſter, who entered, tolerably cleanſed, and immediately fortified him⯑ſelf with a bumper of brandy. After which he proceeded to tell us that, being in his firſt ſleep, he was ſuddenly rouſed by a dreadful voice that exclaimed, ‘I am thy evil genius!’ on which he im⯑mediately ſtarted up, and, drawing his curtain, perceived the room was filled with a blue, ſulphureous flame, in the midſt of which appeared a ſpectre, larger than an elephant, with fiery horns, but in the ſhape of a jack-aſs. That the Methodiſt got out of bed, howling and weeping, and mounted on the back of the hobgoblin, which after diverſe friſks and nefarious gambols, roaring in the mean time moſt dreadfully, on a ſudden vaniſhed in a flaſh of lightning. In conſequence of which, and the intoler⯑able ſtench of brimſtone, he, the narra⯑tor, [169] was compelled to evacuate the whole quantity of aliment then in his body; which ſhot forth, neither more nor leſs, than as if exploded from a wind-gun. That moreover, he lay in a trance, f [...]om that inſtant, till the coming of the two gentlemen into the room, and concluded with aſſuring the company, that he had no doubt but that horrid wretch, the Me⯑thodiſt, was now receiving the reward of his miſdeeds.

IN the morning I viſited our Anti-Mahomet, who had almoſt rode to hell, inſtead of heaven, on an aſs; and, to my great ſurprize, found him ſitting by a table, with a leathern ink-horn in his hand and writing. After enquiring about his health, and expreſſing my ad⯑miration at the extraordinary occur⯑rences of the laſt twelve hours, I beg⯑ged he would, if poſſible, explain the cauſe of thoſe appearances.

[170]"Last night," ſaid he, ‘after the viſitation of the Evil One, I ſat on my bed, ruminating, with inward an⯑guiſh and manifold groanings of the ſpirit, on my backſlidings. It is written, 'Reſiſt the devil, and he will flee from you.' Inſtead whereof, I retired with ſome haſte, and gave place to the adverſary. Oh, wretch⯑ed man, for this cauſe it was permit⯑ted unto him to ſcourge thee, even with whips of ſcorpions. While I thus wreſtled with the corruptions of my heart, lo, it thundered, the bed trembled beneath me, and one of the angels of perdition ſtood in my ſight. He had one eye that glittered like the moon, his noſtrils reſembled a glowing oven, and from his poſteriors came forth flaſhes of lightening. At firſt I was frighten⯑ed, which the devil perceiving, ſnatch⯑ed [171] me up in his claws, and carried me through the air with amazing ſwiftneſs: but I ſoon recollected myſelf, and compelled him, by the force of my adjurations, not only to ſet me down, but alſo to diſcloſe ma⯑ny ſecrets of the inviſible world, which I intend to publiſh under the title of 'News from Tophet;' being a relation of the extraordinary deal⯑ings of the ſpirit with John Wiſely, and alſo of ſundry buffetings of Satan, ſuſtained by him in his miniſtry. Ne⯑ceſſary to be read as a warning in theſe later days of iniquity. Recom⯑mended by the Reverend Mr. Filcher. Sir Rueland Howl will give it a good word in one of his ſermons, and, without doubt, it will be purchaſed in great numbers by the children of grace at the door of the tabernacle. Whence it ſhall come to paſs, that [172] the truth will prevail mightily, and great gain ſhall ariſe therefrom. More⯑over, it would cauſe me to rejoice in ſpirit, to behold your name in the liſt of my ſubſcribers.’

THOUGH this narration was a maſter⯑piece of lies and hypocriſy, and though I knew his publication would be a ſhame⯑ful impoſition on the credulous multi⯑tude, yet I could not forbear noticing his laſt requeſt, by ſlipping a couple of guineas into his hand. This unexpect⯑ed benevolence ſurprized him ſo much, that he was at a loſs to expreſs his ac⯑knowledgments. He aſſured me, that his heart leaped within him at the pro⯑ſpect of my approaching converſion; and that I might depend upon it, that this money was the beſt I had ever laid out in my life, as it had purchaſed me the reverſion of a ſeat among the celeſ⯑tials. [173] I thanked him for the cheap bargain he had let me have, and left him to the compilation of his pamphlet.

SOON after which we mounted our horſes, and arrived at Maitland-hall by the evening.

THE whole of the aforeſaid dreadful adventure conſiſted of nothing more than Sam's driving an aſs into the preacher's room, behind which he ſtood, and, in a feigned voice, uttered the threats that obliged him to mount the crea⯑ture, which carried him down ſtairs out of its own mere motion and private judgment. The thunder was the nine⯑pin bowl trundled acroſs the room, and the lightening was manufactured from a pennyworth of roſin, and the end of a candle, ſtuck in a tobacco-pipe, and blown into the room at proper inter⯑vals, [174] by Stamford's man, Sam's aſſiſt⯑ant. The other embelliſhments pro⯑ceeded entirely from the active imagi⯑nations of the relators.

I DARE ſay you think it ſtrange that I have wrote two letters without men⯑tioning my marriage that is to be. Miſs Stamford is a remarkably beau⯑tiful girl; but, was either indiſpoſed, during my ſtay, or, wants that vivacity that is ſo particularly engaging in her ſex. But ſhe has ſenſe and judgment, and will do well enough for a wife.

MY father ſtill continues his re⯑ſearches. We are as mathematical as ever.

LETTER XV. Mr. ALWYN, to Mr. STAMFORD, Jun.

MY little anxieties, which roſe in ſpite of me every time I recol⯑lected the facing of an audience, are, in a great meaſure, removed. I have played, and met with more applauſe than it was poſſible I could deſerve. Appearances at firſt, indeed, were not ſo favourable; the moment I went upon the ſtage I was ſaluted from a corner of the gal⯑lery with a piercing hiſs. It is impoſſi⯑ble to deſcribe my feelings when I heard it, and, had not the greater and the more indulgent part of the ſpectators imme⯑diately overpowered this mark of diſ⯑approbation, I ſhould certainly have been obliged to retire, or have ſunk to the floor, my trepedation was ſo great. I [176] felt ten thouſand aukwardneſſes, the moiſture departed from my mouth, my knees knocked together, my lips quiver⯑ed, my throat became parched, my heart fluttered, and a qualmiſh ſickneſs ſeized me. What gave me courage, ſufficient to proceed, was the behaviour of a young gentleman, of rank and fortune in this place, whoſe name was Weſtwood. Im⯑mediately, when the hiſs began, he jumped up from his ſeat, in the pit, for we have no boxes here, and, as ſoon as he could be heard, reproached the diſſatiſfied aloud, in a very ſpirited and pointed manner; and offered ten pounds to any man who would ſecure the next perſon that interrupted me; then addreſſing himſelf to me, ſaid ‘Bravo, Mr. Alwyn, take a little time, recol⯑lect yourſelf, Sir, and let me hear who dares inſult you again, damn me if I [177] don't go up and twiſt the firſt fellow's neck round that attempts it.’

THIS apoſtrophe was the beſt cordial that could be adminiſtered. My powers returned enough to enable me to make a very reſpectful bow to the audience, and to young 'Squire Weſtwood in par⯑ticular; which was anſwered by the ſpec⯑tators, with the loudeſt marks of appro⯑bation, three times repeated; and I heard ſeveral commendations on my perſon and deportment, before the houſe was quiet ſufficiently for me to proceed, which gave me great encouragement.

I SHOULD, perhaps, be vain upon the fame I acquired, and the plaudits I after⯑wards received, were it poſſible for me to enjoy pleaſure, and were I not con⯑ſcious that a vaſt deal, if not all, of theſe favours, may be placed to the account of [178] good-nature, and the patronage of Mr. Weſtwood, who is univerſally beloved. After I had finiſhed my part, moſt of the people in the pit left the houſe, and did not ſtay to ſee the farce, which was played to the gallery. Several of the principal gentlemen came behind the ſcenes, and inſiſted upon my going to ſupper with them; but as they were in different parties, that they might not embarraſs me, and out of reſpect and gratitude to the behaviour of my young ſpirited patron, they permitted me to go with him, each laying me under the injunction of a viſit in turn. I received likewiſe an invitation to their aſſembly on Thurſday next, at which I perceived my brother comedians were a good deal chagrined; for, as I have ſince learnt, one of them, no longer ago than the laſt time that they were here, was inſulted for attempting to join with the gentry in [179] this amuſement, and the comedian being a man of ſpirit, had his opponents been as valiant ſingly as they were conjointly, the affair might have been an unhappy one. I am not therefore determined, at preſent, what meaſures I ſhall purſue in this buſineſs.

I AM informed, that the hiſſing that was heard on my appearance, was the effect of a party raiſed againſt me by the chicanery and malice of a Mr. Trun⯑cheon Stentor, the perſon who uſed to play the character of Romeo, previous to my arrival in the company, and who, they ſay, notwithſtanding that he is be⯑come old and decrepit, is moſt tenaci⯑ouſly fond of appearing in youthful characters. I, however, do not believe this report, but attribute it to the de⯑traction of the actors, who, I perceive, circulate a thouſand little, mean anec⯑dotes, [180] which place their brethren in ri⯑diculous or unfavourable attitudes. Stentor, inſtead of ſeeming envious, at⯑tended me during every rehearſal, told me the entrances and exits; inſtructed me in ſeveral ſtage manoeuvres, that were, not only very ſerviceable, but, ab⯑ſolutely eſſential to me; ſtood behind the ſcenes, gave me the greateſt encou⯑ragement at firſt, and encomiums after⯑wards; in ſhort, inſtead of manifeſting the leaſt rancour, or ill-nature, afforded me every aſſiſtance in his power, and was exceedingly pleaſed with my ſucceſs. I, therefore, ſuppoſe my own embarraſſ⯑ment and aukwardneſs, which, perhaps, I was too ſenſible of, ſhewed me to a diſadvantage; and ſome, who wiſhed to paſs for critics, hiſſed more to prove their judgment than out of any ma⯑levolence to me, to whom it was im⯑poſſible they ſhould have conceived any [181] perſonal diſguſt, and who, it is not pro⯑bable, were to be influenced to any ſuch meanneſs as the ſuppoſition contains.

I WAS received by the parents of Mr. Weſtwood, who were not at the play, with an affability that has given me a high idea of their ſuperiority and goodneſs; for indeed I know no title to ſuperi⯑ority but what is derived from good⯑neſs. He is their only child, and the reciprocal delight which they afford to each other is very apparent and pleaſing; they live upon the moſt friend⯑ly terms among the gentry of Kendal; ſeveral, therefore, who heard that I ſup⯑ped here, came in with the utmoſt fa⯑miliarity, and behaved to me in ſuch a manner as could not fail to give me pleaſure. Mr. Weſtwood, and ſome of his friends, are great admirers of muſic. After ſupper we had a little concert, in [182] which I aſſiſted alternately on the violin, the flute, and as a vocal performer. They have no elevated ideas of taſte, and appeared aſtoniſhed at the ſpecimens I afforded them. Muſic, indeed, is ſo much my delight, that if it were poſſible I ſhould excel in any thing, I believe it would be in that: but, however great the natural abilities of the people who were preſent might be, yet, as they have no opportunities of hearing good per⯑formers, I do not ſo much wonder at their ſurprize. It is in vain, dear Charles, that I endeavour to be chearful. I cannot remember the name of happi⯑neſs without recollecting your ſiſter. Maria and Maitland haunt my imagi⯑nation. Tell me, Charles, will not his wild and excentric temper be very oppoſite to the mildneſs of my poor Maria. Tell me if you think ſhe can be happy with him. I am afraid not. [183] I fear thoſe extravagant ſallies, into which his ungovernable fancy hurries him, will alarm her delicate mind with continual inquietudes. Yet why ſhould I fear? He muſt be inſenſibility itſelf, if he could bear to give ſuch an angel pain. Oh my friend! how bleſt, beyond all poſſibility of increaſe, muſt the man be who calls Maria his! But who is he that can ſay, with juſtice, he deſerves ſuch a bleſſing? What are riches, ho⯑nours, titles or power? Can they afford the happineſs that may be found in the converſation, the ſmiles, the tender at⯑tentions of the lovely Maria? My only conſolation is, that I can never merit her. I ſhall never behold him who can. Where is there, in all the works of nature, an object ſo perfect as a beauteous fe⯑male, when her paſſions are in uniſon with her features? Such is Maria.

LETTER XVI. Mr. STAMFORD, Jun. to Mr. ALWYN.

MAITLAND and I arrived here on Tueſday night, and though I cannot ſay without any adventures on the road, yet without any worth relat⯑ing in a letter. Old Mr. Maitland re⯑ceived us with a chearful welcome, that prepoſſeſſed me in his favour, and has walked with me this morning over his farm. He is very different from the ſort of character I had previouſly form⯑ed in my mind. Not at all moroſe, or dogmatical; but, on the contrary, chear⯑ful and entertaining; his fancy, ſtored with the beauties of the claſſic writers, has ſhewn itſelf in the environs of his houſe. It is ſituated in a vale, that [186] might vie with the celebrated Tempé. At ſome little diſtance runs a river, whoſe craggy and romantic banks engage the attention, while the foſſils in its bed afford an endleſs fund of amuſement for the naturaliſt. To the north, on a riſing hill, ſtands an elegant temple, on eight Corinthian columns of variegated marble. This is his obſervatory, and is well furniſhed with inſtruments, by the moſt capital makers. The view, from hence, is pleaſing beyond deſcrip⯑tion. Several natural openings, in the groves which ſurround the houſe, diſ⯑cover a variety of proſpects, each of which has its peculiar beauties; and grottoes, alcoves, with other little edi⯑fices diſperſed here and there, conſpire to lull the imagination into a delightful tranquillity.

As we walked together, through theſe pleaſant ſcenes, our converſation turned on a variety of ſubjects, but all of the literate kind. He was pleaſed to ob⯑ſerve, I had a taſte for the ſciences; and I, on the other hand, was ſurprized at the refined judgment he diſplayed in matters of imagination, having expect⯑ed to find him immerſed in mathemati⯑cal ſpeculations. He certainly abſtracts too much, and expects to attain a ſtate of knowledge beyond what our faculties are capable of. The objects of taſte, ſays he, it muſt be allowed, conſtitute in themſelves the nobler exerciſes of the ſoul: the philoſophy of the paſſions is worthy the attention of mankind: the ſource, the ultimate baſis of morality [188] is of the laſt conſequence to ſociety, and well deſerves to be enquired into.—But we loſe ourſelves in conjecture, inſtead of ſeeking for demonſtration. Would not you ſmile, Mr. Stamford, at the ſage, who, to explain the motion of a planet, ſhould ſay it proceeded from a motive faculty, inſtead of inveſtigating the reſpective momenta and directions of the projectile and centripetal forces? Is not certainty in the lower ſteps of ſcience an acquiſition more to be prized than the declamations of prejudice, or the endleſs maze of proofs founded on hypotheſis? Nay, rather, ought we not firſt to make ourſelves perfect in the rudiments of knowledge, before we pry into the arcana of the more ſubtle mo⯑tions of intellectual ſubſtances? De⯑monſtration is not confined to quantity alone. Ideas of the great and beautiful in nature, in ſentiment, in ethics, and [189] in all the branches of the ſentient fa⯑culty, are as perfect as thoſe of quan⯑tity, and their congruity with each other as perceptible. By the immediate application of two ideas an axiom may be formed. Definitions of terms ſhould be premiſed; and, by the intervention of a chain of immediately concordant ideas, we might connect the propoſition and conſequence. Whence demonſtra⯑tion would be accompliſhed, and a man would no more doubt the beauty, order, or moral fitneſs of a well-grounded aſ⯑ſertion, than the truth of a theorem in Euclid.

YOU will perceive the turn of his mind by this ſpecimen. The ſame mode of thinking accompanies him in his other purſuits. He is constantly employed in ſome reſearch, either in the intellectual or material world; and, [190] his faculty of drawing concluſions from experiments, is admirable; though it ſometimes ſubjects him to errors, of which his ſon ſeldom fails to take ad⯑vantage, he being poſſeſſed of capital talents for placing every object in the moſt ludicrous attitude. The country people are of opinion, that the old gentleman can conjure, and ſay that the little temple, on the hill, was built nobody knows how; but the pariſh clerk, who pretends to be very wiſe, ſays it was done by geometry, all in one night. Mr. Maitland is too rich to be a wizard; but I am informed, that an old woman, who lives in a hut, on the verge of his farm, has the repu⯑tation of doing all the miſchiefs that they are pleaſed to aſcribe to ſupernatu⯑ral agents. This report is the more confirmed by ſeveral viſits he has lately [191] made her, doubtleſs, with a view of re⯑lieving her neceſſities.

HIS houſe is of a moderate ſize, and elegantly finiſhed in the modern ſtile. The ſimplex munditiis is ſeen in every part of it, unleſs I may except certain apartments, which are conſecrated to philoſophical uſes. He has a variety of the beſt apparatus, which, according to the tenor of his prevailing ſtudy, is diſperſed on ſtands and tables appro⯑priated for its reception. I promiſe myſelf much amuſement from hence, when the weather confines me at home; but am too great an admirer of the more obvious phaenomena of nature to ſtay within, when I can enjoy my⯑ſelf in the open air.

YOUNG Maitland makes the moſt of his time in hunting or ſhooting. We ſee [192] very little of him, except when he has the complaiſance to aſſiſt at ſome phi⯑loſophical reſearch, in doing which he is ſo ingenious at finding means to exer⯑ciſe his riſible faculty that I wonder at his father's patience.—A propos of this youth, he is no favourite with my father, and ſtill leſs with Maria. I am convinced, if the intended match takes place, it will be more out of regard to his promiſe, and the ſteps he has taken in the affair, than to any wiſh he has to proceed.