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 a I B RARY' 
 OF THE , 
 U N I V E R S I T.Y 
 or ILLINO-V5 
 
 s/.l
 
 THE 
 
 ITINERANT; 
 
 OR 
 
 ) 
 
 lEMOIRS OF AN ACTOR. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 BY S. W. RYLEY. 
 
 *' The world's a stage, 
 
 " And all the men and women merely players: 
 " Ti ey have their exits and their entrances; 
 " And one man, in his time, plays many parts." 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 llontiDn: 
 
 V PRINTED FOR SHERWOOD, NEELY, Sf JONES, 
 
 Paternoster Row. 
 
 % 1817.
 
 J. Compton, Printer, Middle Street, 
 Cloth Fair, London.
 
 
 TO 
 
 William Roscoe, Esq. 
 
 Sib, 
 
 0^ IT is difficult to form a mode 
 
 % of address that may convey sentiments of 
 ?\ high respect, and not involve the ap- 
 ^ pearance of flattery, 
 
 K Without the honor of being kjioivn 
 
 J^to you, ivith no other excuse for my teme- 
 
 ^Srity than the admiration your literary, 
 
 'political, moral, and domestic character 
 
 *^^^^aturally excites, I have presumed, ivith^ 
 
 out permission, to dedicate the following 
 
 sheets to you, 
 
 \ 
 
 ^^^ V ^^^^y s^ioidd prove an amusement 
 <«t your moments of relaxatiouj I shall
 
 DEDICATION, 
 
 be amply gratified in having added my 
 mite towards the entertainment of one, 
 whose study, through life, has been to 
 promote the knowledge, the improvement, 
 and the happiness, of others. 
 
 I have the honor to he, with senti- 
 ments of profound respect. 
 
 Sir, 
 Your most obedient 
 
 And very faithful Servant, 
 
 S. W. KYLEY.
 
 3^teface. 
 
 When the journal from which I have 
 drawn up the following Memoir was 
 first penn'd, the writer had not the most 
 distant idea that it would ever be made 
 public ; but all-powerful time, that 
 brings about wonderful revolutions, has 
 render'd that an object of gain, which 
 commenced as an amusement in hours 
 of ease and affluence. 
 
 Those who have known the hero, 
 will easily discern that the name is a 
 fictitious one, and that, though the inci- 
 dents are founded on facts, fancy has
 
 PREFACE.- 
 
 been exercised in > the embellishments. 
 Should it afford amusement, without 
 injuring" the morals — should it be the 
 means of awakening* a sentiment of 
 pity for suffering" humanity — it will 
 answer the intention of 
 
 THE AUTHOR,
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 Chap. I. 
 "Much Ado about Nothing." 
 
 Chap. II. 
 " The Chapter of Accidents." 
 
 Chap. III. 
 "Wild Oats." 
 
 Chap. IV. 
 "As You Like It." 
 
 Chap. V. 
 "A Bold Stroke for a Wife." 
 
 Chap. VI. 
 " The Honeymoon."
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Chap. VII. 
 "The Road to Ruin/' 
 
 Chap. VHI. 
 ••The Poor Gentleman." 
 
 Chap. IX. 
 *'More Ways than One." 
 
 Chap. X. 
 •*Such Things Are." 
 
 Chap. XL 
 "The Rehearsal." 
 
 Chap. XII. 
 "Every Man in his Humour.'' 
 
 Chap. XIII. 
 ** Management." 
 
 Chap. XIV. 
 "All in the Wrong." 
 
 Chap. XV. 
 " 'Tis Well it's no Worse." 
 
 Chap. XVI. 
 "The Runaway.'* 
 
 Chap. XVll. 
 "The Double Disguise."
 
 THE 
 
 ITINERANT. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 " MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.' 
 
 " If a man. do not erect in this age his own Tomb, ere he 
 dies, he shall live no longer in monuments, than the bells 
 ring, and the widow weeps."— Shakespeare. 
 
 J. HE memoirs of Heroes, whether ancient or 
 modern, seldom make their appearance during 
 the lives of the parties ; but, as such gentlemen 
 have generally performed very great and good,, 
 or little and bad actions, to render them worthy 
 record, there is a chance of their names outliving 
 their burial. A biographer, in that case, may 
 find it worth his while to paint their characters in 
 sombre or bright colors, as interest or partiality 
 lead. But as there is small probability of any one 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 14 THB ITINERANT. 
 
 turning historian for me, I am determined to 
 do it for myself; and why should I not? ^Tis 
 true, I am no hero now; but I have been, aye, 
 and made as much noise as the loudest of them. 
 Alexander acted in camps, and made a great 
 noise; I have acted in barns, and made a 
 great noise too. Alexander murder'd Clytus — 
 I have murder'd Shakespeare. Thus far we 
 are equally entitled to a distinguished place 
 in history. 
 
 Kcadei * think not 1 mean to take np thy 
 time with an useie&b' aVi-^rd'o*^ '^f my birth and 
 parentage. What my father and mother didj 
 previous to my eatraiwe into the world, you 
 have nothing to do 'withj^ suffice it Ihen. to say 
 — at the age of five years I found myself the 
 only child of Samuel Romney, a wholesaJf 
 grocer in St. James's Market. 
 
 My mother dreamt^— Dreamt I — don't be 
 alarmed; I won't sleep oVer the business; I 
 say— -or rather, my mother said, she dreamt, 
 the night I was born, that she was brought 
 to bed of a Sqiiibl Whether there is any 
 similitude betweeti this dream and the adven- 
 tures of my life, will be seen in the follownig 
 sheets.
 
 THE ITINERANT. 15 
 
 Another childish anecdote — In my nurse's 
 arms I was carried to dine with my mother 
 ait the parson's house. A tyfhe pig was pro- 
 vided, and nurse was determined to try, by ait 
 infallible rule, whether master was designed for 
 the Church, Accordingly, the pig's tail was 
 put into my mouth — of animal food the first 
 I had tasted; but, through the servant's neg- 
 lect— ?or, perhaps, my fondness for the meat 
 — the tail slipped down my throat, and would 
 undoubtedly have produced very serious con- 
 sequences, had not a surgeon been sent for 
 immediately. 
 
 The vicar, to make amends, as he said, 
 gave me, at parting, a parse containing a vari- 
 ety of small silver coins; but, as a disregard of 
 money has ever been a leading trait in my cha- 
 racterf I began to exercise this' talent early 
 in life; for, crossing the Thames, on our 
 return, nurse permitted me to lean over ' the 
 boat, when T very deliberately took my purse 
 by the wrong end, and emptied its contents 
 into the river, A good whipping followed; 
 and, had this been the consequence of all my 
 similar actions, I had long since been whip- 
 ped out of existence.
 
 16 THB ITINERANT. 
 
 An infirm state of health, under which my^ 
 father labored, rendered him unfit for business ; 
 which, as soon as matters could be adjusted, was 
 declined, leaving little — indeed nothing — for 
 our maintenance, save my mother's annuity, 
 which amounted to three hundred and fifty 
 pounds, and was bequeathed by her uncle Sir 
 
 William H , who, at the same time, left 
 
 four thousand pounds, to be divided among her 
 children. 
 
 Good or ill fortune, I know not which, so 
 ordered it, that I was the sole heir to this in- 
 exhaustible store; of which Mrs. Betty soon 
 informed me, though my mother, a woman 
 of much good sense, would have kept me in ig- 
 norance, to quicken my industry, and pre- 
 vent the indolence which youth is liable to, 
 when certain of what he thinks an indepen- 
 dency. 
 
 Our family matters settled, my mother (who 
 after this period was the only active person) 
 took a house at Kensington, whither we im- 
 mediately removed. A day-school was soon 
 provided for me; but, as it happened, the 
 master was one of those good-natured souls, 
 who never chastize the scholar, for fear of
 
 THE ITINERANT. 17 
 
 offending the parent; in short, he spar'd the 
 birch, and spoil'd the child. At this school 
 I wasted two years, with little or no progress, 
 except in the art of mischief, for which I had a 
 natural propensity. 
 
 My mother, by this time, began to dis- 
 like her situation, and had thoughts of re- 
 moving farther into the country, that my 
 father might reap more benefit from the air ; 
 and an accident happened which confirmed her 
 resolution. 
 
 I could state a variety of mischievous, not 
 to say wicked, tricks, which my schoolfel- 
 lows and I played, both upon my master's 
 family, and the neighbors round about; but 
 as such adventures are common, in some de- 
 gree, to all boys, and as they would prove un- 
 interesting to the major part of my readers, 
 I shall omit them. At length, however, we 
 got to such a degree of assurance, that no 
 orchard could withstand us ; every pear and 
 apple tree in the vicinity bore testimony of 
 our prowess. In one of these expeditions, 
 after climbing to an amazing height, the 
 boughs gave way — down I tumbled — and a
 
 18 .UttB ITmJBRANT. 
 
 broken arm was the consequence. In this 
 jHiiserable condition I was found by the 
 .owner of the garden, and carried home to 
 my mother. Doatingly fond! her anxiety 
 was beyond expression. The gardener, in 
 vain, pleaded his loss; her whole attention 
 was taken up in the care of me. But, after 
 the surgeon had set my arm, and things bore 
 an hopeful appearance, she satisfied the man, 
 and — ^I shall never forget it — spoke to me a$ 
 follows : — 
 
 ^^Do you know, my son, what you have 
 jbeen. doing? — that you have, at this early period 
 df life, broken a commandment of God, * Tlicu 
 ^hccU mt steal f' It has pleased him to give 
 you this timely warning, which, I hope, will 
 •make a lasting impression on your mind. Had 
 you been permitted to go on, the gallows 
 .might have put a period to your wickedness, 
 and brought me with sorrow to the grave! I 
 bless God, that you are yet alive, and have 
 it in your power to reform; as a first step 
 towards which, I will take you from this school, 
 and from your idle companions ; for I find, 
 of a truth, that '^ evil communications corrupt 
 good manners.^'
 
 THE ITINERANT. .19 
 
 The pain of my arm, joined to my mo- 
 ther's serious admonition, had such an im- 
 mediate effect on my feelings, that I was nearly 
 convulsed. The idea of stealing sunk deep; 
 1 had. no notion that boxing (as we termed 
 it) a few apples, could deserve such an ap- 
 pellation. However, it had this good effect— 
 I was brought to my senses, and repentance 
 folio v/ed. 
 
 Might not most of our bad habits be ihm 
 nipped in the bud, Jf parents and tutors were 
 .attentively to watch every evil propensity as 
 it rises? Instead of which, these matters are 
 looked upon as boyish tricks— ^youthful over- 
 flowings of fancy, which it would be a pity 
 to correct. The culprit goes unpunished— his 
 ■crimes increase, and, in some instances, a 
 miserable and shameful death i« the conse- 
 quence. 
 
 In a few days after the above accident, 
 my mothe- took a house at Fulham, and 
 we left Kensington, my school, and all my 
 old companions. We were conveyed to our 
 new residence in a hackney coach, in which 
 were my father, mother, and self; Mrs. 
 Betty, an antiquated Virgin, who had long
 
 20 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 lived in the family ; and an old dog, called ProS' 
 per, Christopher, our honest Black, was seated 
 with the coachman. 
 
 The cavalcade had proceeded about a mile, 
 when an accident happened, which I shall re- 
 late, because it does honor to the feelings of our 
 Black Brethren, 
 
 A poor ass, heavily laden, to make way 
 for us, had crept close to the hedge ; which 
 a malicious carter observing, whipp'd his horses 
 so near it, that the unfortunate animal, weak 
 and overburdened, fell under the load, and 
 one of the wheels went over its head. My 
 father swore — mother scream'd — Betty said, 
 «* La ! ma'am, it's nothing but a jackass" 
 —and I caird the carter *^ a barbarous dog.'^ 
 But honest Christopher did not take it so 
 quietly; his blood boiled, and he uttered a 
 volley of incoherent language, that none of 
 us understood ; only, now and then, we 
 could hear—" Dam a dog !— kill ass ! poor 
 ass ! — Dam a rogue — a villain — a scoundrel !" 
 By this time the owner of the prostrate 
 beast had stopp'd the carter's horses, and 
 a mob was collected 5 but, unfortunately, the 
 gandman was old and feeble, consequently 
 unable to gain redress by force j and all
 
 THE ITINBRANt. 21 
 
 he could say was answered by a laugh from 
 the brute who had injured him, till Christ- 
 opher's rhapsody, as above, drew the atten- 
 tion of all present. " Give us none of you^ 
 jabber, you black devil,*' said the carter, ^^or 
 I'll pull you off your rostrum, Mr. Belzebubl** 
 Christopher now began to be more articu- 
 late : ^* You kill a poor ass, you dam rogue ! 
 — and, if my massa and missy vill let a me, 
 me vill teach a you to call a me BelzebuhJ' 
 
 " You be d d !*' said the brute ; and^ 
 
 taking a large quid of tobacco from his under- 
 lip, threw it in Christopher's face. This 
 was too much for Kit to bear ; down he 
 jump'd, and the mob made a ring for the 
 combatants. ^' Christopher shan't light," said 
 my mother. " He shall," exclaimed my 
 father — '^ and so would I too, if I could. If 
 Kit conquers, I'll give him a guinea ; I know 
 he is game, but he wants science — Hallo, 
 Kit ! — harkee ! — don't fight fast — follow your 
 blow, and keep under your wind V* Kit was 
 tall, well made, and muscular ; about twenty- 
 five years of age, with courage equal to any 
 thing, but little or no knowledge in the 
 Broughtonian science. This infernal carter 
 was young, broad set, strong built, and well 
 £ 2
 
 22 THE ITINBRANT. 
 
 Studied in the art of boxing ; in short, he 
 was above a match for Kit. However, to 
 it they went — now advancing — now retreat- 
 ing — much prudence on both sides 3 at length 
 Christopher's spirit broke through all bounds, 
 and he lent his adversary a blow under the 
 left ear, which laid him prostrate. A loud 
 huzza from the mob, with ^^ Well done, 
 Blackey r* gave us hopes that Kit was vic- 
 torious; but this was by no means the case: 
 the carter returned to the charge with re- 
 doubled fury, and for half an hour a more 
 equal and desperate contest was never seen. 
 At length, however, skill and cool deliber- 
 ation had well nigh overcome strength and 
 true courage; poor Kit, almost spent with 
 giving and receiving many weighty blows, 
 began to lose ground. The mob loudly pro- 
 claimed the carter's superiority. My mother 
 cried, so did I; my father swore; Prosper 
 bark'd ; Betty said, '' Don't cry, ma* am ; you 
 know he is but a Blacky'* — when, on a sud- 
 den, ** Well done, BlackeyT' again gave us 
 hopes. Kit was left-handed; his antagonist, 
 not being aware of this, kept not so good 
 a guaid on that side as he otherwise would 
 have done, Christopher observing this, and
 
 THE ITINERANT. 23 
 
 fully bent on. tj^tifteviiig his honor, threw all 
 his strength into his left arm, and aim'd a 
 savage blow between the carter's eyes, which 
 instantly took efFedt, by leaving him in total 
 darkness. He now struck at random, while 
 Kit, encouraged by thfe mob, rallied his al- 
 most exhausted slirength, and poured in such 
 a volley of Mow«, that our joy for his vic- 
 tory was turned into pity for the vanquished 
 carter, on whom no trace of a human face 
 could be seen. At our request the mob took 
 him into a public-house, very near the scene 
 of action. 
 
 Kit, remaining master of the field, was 
 idolized by the populace. *' Never saw a Black 
 fight so before," said one — ^^ He's a fine fel- 
 low," cried another — ^^What a pity he should 
 he Si slave r' exclaimed a third. "It's a lie!" 
 — said my father, leaning out of the coach 
 window — " he's no slave ; he's a christian, and 
 entitled to the liberty of an Englishman — No 
 slaves in this country, my lads — God bless the 
 King! I'll drink his health, and so shall Kit. 
 — Here, my honest friend, fetch a cro 
 of punch." Before the liquor arh 
 father had sung several verses of 
 never shall be slaves."
 
 24 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 By this time Kit had got his hruiscs 
 anointed, and himself dressed; but when he 
 appeared at the coach door, a figure pre- 
 sented itself, which I shall never forget. No 
 trace of feature was discernible ; something 
 like eyes were now and then observed to move 
 under two bags, which, I suppose,, would 
 have been black, had his skin been of any 
 other color; his nose, originally flat, was 
 now totally lost amidst his swelled face. In 
 this condition my father insisted that he should 
 get into the coach, and Mrs. Betty take his 
 seat on the box ; which arrangement sensi- 
 bly mortified the pride of this poor virgin. 
 Thus situated, we pursued our journey, after 
 my mother had given something to the poor 
 man, who, in losing his ass, had lost his 
 all. 
 
 Elated with his servant's victory, together 
 
 with several hearty draughts of punch, my 
 
 father was uncommonly loquacious. *^ Give 
 
 me thy hand. Kit ; black as it is, it is more 
 
 welcome than many a white one ; and thou 
 
 ^ver want B. B. W. L. whilst I live, 
 
 tt will have me one of these days ; 
 
 mind — I'll do my duty whilst I 
 
 1 I go, it's God's pleasure— is it
 
 THE ITINERANT. 25 
 
 not so In your country, Kit ? — Vm sure it is. 
 ^^Providence is over all. Black or White, though 
 some of my countrymen seem to think other- 
 wise.*' 
 
 Kit would have said something, but could 
 not, for he had cut his tongue in the bat- 
 tle. "Aye, aye, I know what thou wouldst 
 say — England is the best place — no flogging 
 here — no cursed, cruel drivers — a parcel of 
 
 ." He was going on, and probably 
 
 would have continued for half an hour with^ 
 out intermission, which was comaionly the 
 case, when, as the Sailors say, '' Grog's 
 aboard," if I had not interrupted him. 
 
 My father had a great many odd phrases, and 
 amongst the rest, B. B. VV. L. was a great 
 favorite. I remember seeing him knock a 
 saucy shoe-black into the mud, and say, — 
 « There's B. B. W. L. for you.''— Determined 
 now to know the meaning of this phrase, 
 I interrupted the discourse with " Pray, father, 
 what is the meaning of B. B, W. L. ?"— " Bed, 
 Board, Washing, and Lodging, my boy," re- 
 plied he, and resumed his discourse with Kit, 
 till we arrived atFulham.
 
 26 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 Our house was situated close to the church, 
 no bad omen, though some wits will say, 
 *^ the nearer the church, the further from hea- 
 ven" but this was by no means applicable 
 
 to us, for, though my father had it not in 
 his power to attend the public duties of re- 
 ligion, my mother never missed an oppor- 
 tunity of assembling to praise her Creator, 
 whose holy name she would not hear pro- 
 faned by any of die family ; and T attribute 
 it to her timely admonitions, that I have 
 been enabled to avoid that great and com- 
 mon vice, 
 
 A most excellent garden belonged to our 
 new dwelling, washed by the silver Thames, 
 and this being the first time I had seen 
 much of the country, the rural walks delighted 
 me ; and, together with the thrilling notes of 
 various birds, awakened in my breast sensations 
 altogether new and delightful. This charm- 
 ing retreat had a surprising effect upon us 
 
 all ; my father's health grew daily better 
 
 my mother, always placid and serene, was 
 
 uncommonly cheerful Kit's nose began to 
 
 make its appearance Mrs. Betty laid aside 
 
 much of the acidity natural to her disposi- 
 tion and, for my own part, I was so
 
 THE ITINERANT. 27 
 
 delighted, I thought nothing could possibly 
 
 increase my happiness a maid servant was 
 
 added to the family, to superintend the cu- 
 linary concerns ; Mrs. Betty filling the station 
 of housekeeper, and assisting occasionally at 
 her lady's toilette. 
 
 In the town of Fulham, an Academy was 
 
 kept by a Mr. Day, of flogging memory- 1 
 
 shall never forget him to this school I was 
 
 sent, and improved more in half a year un- 
 der this consumer of birch, than I had 
 done the two preceding years. During my 
 infancy, I had been terrified into compliance 
 by my nurse, with tales of ghosts and hob- 
 goblins ; these ideas still remained, though 
 my mother took every method to eradicate 
 
 them. Mr. Day's seminary and our house 
 
 were parted merely by the churchyard, and 
 as I wandered amongst the tombs, on my 
 return from school, though not possessed of 
 thoughts on night like the angelic Young, I 
 had young night thoughts enough to throw 
 me into* a perspiration whenever I came there. 
 It happened one evening that I could not 
 get through my task for attending to stories 
 other boys were relating near me; one in
 
 28 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 particular asserted, that if any person would 
 say the Lord's prayer backwards, as he went 
 through a churchyard, the devil would ap- 
 pear : this alarmed me much, and though I 
 should have had no objection to see any one 
 else make the experiment, I was determined 
 to avoid even thinking of it as I went home. 
 My task not perfect, it was eight o'clock ere 
 I was liberated : the night w^as of a pitchy 
 darkness, and stormy. I had advanced as far 
 as the churchyard, endeavouring to drive 
 the story of the prayer backwards out of my 
 head, but in vain : I could not help reflect- 
 ing how odd it must sound — how difficult to 
 repeat, and was trying a word or two, when 
 in the footpath, though at a considerable dis- 
 tance, I saw a glimmering light, not constant, 
 but at intervals. — T stopped irresolute — terror 
 worked so fast upon my imagination, that, ere 
 I had well perceived its object, my hair stood 
 an end — my knees trembled under me — I had 
 a fearful certainty it was the devil, and 
 that my attempt at the prayer had raised 
 him. What was to be done ? Turn back to 
 school ? No ! I would as soon face his dia- 
 bolic majesty as do that ; no getting home 
 without passing the light, or going round the 
 church, and then perhaps he might meet me
 
 THE ITINERANT. 29 
 
 on the other side. — Terrified beyond descrip- 
 tion, I saw no way but one ; as attempting 
 the prayer backwards had raised this fiend, 
 surely speaking it the right way would lay 
 him again 5 so down I droppM on my knees 
 in the dirt, and began ; but, to my astonish- 
 ment and dismay, it produced a contrary 
 effect ; the light approached in a direct line, 
 and, seemingly, very fast; I redoubled my 
 volubility, and repeated the words as quick 
 as I could articulate 5 when, lo ! the spectre 
 stood within a few paces of me, and I had a 
 view of his horrible front. In size, it bore 
 «ome resemblance to a human figure — the 
 countenance was perfectly black, with eyes 
 that looked like globes of fire, and a mouth 
 of horrible dimensions ; over the head, and 
 reaching to the ground, was thrown some- 
 thing that appeared like the pall used at bu- 
 rials — in his hand he bore a burning torch, 
 which, ever and anon, he held towards me in 
 a menacing posture; then said, with hollow 
 voice, and accents which froze my blood — 
 *^ What ! have I found you ?'' — Unable to 
 sustain myself under circumstances which ap- 
 peared so horrific, I fell on my face, and
 
 80 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 roared like a bull; in which situation I was 
 taken up by this tremendous apparition, and 
 wafted through the air, as I thought, to some 
 infernal region, where I was laid upon the 
 ground, keeping my eyes shut, fearful of en- 
 countering more dreadful objects: my hands 
 .were now seized, and bastinadoed with great 
 fury ; my nose was next assailed by fumes of 
 
 brimstone this done, I had a moment's rest, 
 
 and lay as still as death, that I might not, by im- 
 patience, incur the displeasure of my infernal 
 tormentors.— After a short silence, my hand 
 was again taken, though not so roughly as 
 before, and a well known voice in plaintive 
 
 accents sighed forth "my child I my child^ 
 
 art thou gone for ever?"- — -In a moment 
 I opened my eyes> and found myself at hom^ 
 niy mother bathing my hand with her tearsr, 
 and the family waiting in sad expectation of 
 my death. Staying longer than usual at school, 
 together with the darkness of the night, had 
 alarmed my mother, and Kit was dispatched 
 in search of me, with a flambeau and my 
 father's rocquelaure, the hood of which he 
 had pulled over his head : when l>e ap- 
 proaclied, and beheld me kneeling with up- 
 lifted hands and face seemingly convulsed.
 
 THE ITINERANT. 31 
 
 ihe poor fellow concluded I was in a fit, 
 fee therefore took me under his arm, and ran 
 like lightning home; Kit and Mrs. . Betty 
 gave me the bastinado upon my hands, whilst 
 my mother's smelling bottle appeared to my 
 terrified imagination like sulphureous fimies, 
 till her voice encouraged me to look around. 
 My parent's joy at my recovery was not to 
 be described, and only equalled by her anger 
 when she knew the cause of this alarm. The 
 church clock proclaimed the hour of ten, 
 and supperless I was going to bed, when my 
 mother threw on her cloak and bade me fol- 
 low ; like a criminal I obeyed : she advan- 
 ced through the burial ground, till we came 
 to the church porch, where T was command- 
 ed to remain till the clock struck eleven, or 
 never presume to appear before* her again. 
 Too well acquainted with her firmness to 
 hazard a word in opposition, I sat terrified, 
 trembling, and forming ten thousand horrible 
 ideas which the objects around me helped to 
 promote. I listened to my parent's receding 
 footsteps till they were no longer discernible; 
 all was dark and silent, except the whistling 
 of the wind through an old hollow yev/ tree 
 which hung over the porch—and by its me-
 
 32 THB ITINERANT. 
 
 lancholy motion increased that terror which 
 the time and place naturally conspired to 
 create. The coldness of a December night 
 was unfelt, perspiration issued at every pore ; 
 I was *' distilled almost to jelly with my 
 fears,'* when the voice of honest Christopher, 
 more welcome to my ears " than dew to the 
 parched earth," relieved me from this fearful 
 bondage. The clock struck eleven : Kit climb- 
 ed over the wall^ I knocked at the door, was 
 admitted into the parlour, and, after some 
 refreshment, my mother concluded the even- 
 ing in the following manner. ^' I hope. Sir, 
 you now see the folly of listening to idle 
 stories invented by servants to frighten chil- 
 dren ; and which, I am sorry to see, the pains 
 I have bestowed in forming your principles 
 have not been able to preserve you from. Call 
 sense and reflection to your aid, and you will 
 see the wickedness of supposing, even for a 
 moment, that the Great Author of Nature 
 should break his laws merely to alarm an 
 insignificant individual ; — preserve a good con- 
 science, and you have nothing to ffar; " to 
 be good is to be happy ; angels are hap- 
 pier than mankind, because they are better.'* 
 Go to bed, my son, and reflect on what I
 
 THE ITINERANT. 33 
 
 have said — Let your prayer be, as it shall be 
 mine, that it may please the Omnipotent to 
 give you such a confidence in his mercyf and 
 obedience to his commands^ as may lead you 
 to good here, and God hereafter. Good 
 night V
 
 34 
 
 CHAP. 11. 
 
 ^'THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS/' 
 
 MI5S LEE. 
 
 " He has a tear for pity, and a hand, open as day, for melting 
 charity." — Shakespeare. 
 
 I WAS now in my ninth year, and had at- 
 tained a pretty competent knowledge of read- 
 ing, writing, and arithmetic, when a change 
 took place in the politics of our family. Af- 
 ter declining business, my father found that 
 he had more debts than property to dis- 
 charge them ; and as they must instantly be 
 paid, my mother*s annuity was put under 
 stoppages, for money borrowed. Thus situ- 
 ated, it was found necessary, either to re- 
 trench our mode of living, or retire to some 
 cheaper part of the kingdom: the latter was 
 resolved upon, and Cheshire the spot recom- 
 mended for our abode. Letters of introduc- 
 tion were procured to several families in 
 Chester; a small, but convenient, house was 
 taken in that city, and an early day fixed for 
 our departure.
 
 THE ITINERANT, 35 
 
 My mother, from a motive of economy, 
 hired a chaise of a decayed gentleman's ser- 
 vant, Ibr five guineas, to carry us the jour- 
 ney, in which were to be conveyed my fa- 
 ther, mother, Mrs. Betty, and self; Christo- 
 pher to follow on horseback. Every thing 
 settled, the neighbors were invited to take a 
 cheerful glass with my father, the evening 
 previous to our departure. The conviviality 
 of the party brought a return of gout, on 
 which account my mother would have de- 
 ferred our journey, but could not prevail ; 
 every thing was fixed and settled, and go wei 
 must. At seven o'clock in the morning the 
 chaise was at the door; but so curious an 
 
 equipage was rarely seen it bore strong 
 
 marks of antiquity, with some appearance of 
 its former grandeur; but that was so nearly 
 lo^t in its present poverty, that very few traces 
 were discernible.. The lining had been, ori- 
 ginally, dark green silk, but had undergG»e 
 such frequent repairs with green stuff of va- 
 rious shades, that only a nice observer could 
 distinguish its former elegance. Two of the 
 windows were handsome plat« glass; the third 
 was divided into four small paties; and the 
 fourth, for the benefit of the air, had no glass 
 at all.
 
 36 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 The postilion next attracted our atten- 
 tion 5 he was between 45 and 50 years 
 of age ; had Uved a number of yearc with 
 a very morose old gentleman, of so unso- 
 ciable a temper, that he never saw compa- 
 ny, nor, indeed, exchanged a word with any 
 body except his man. Jacob had contracted 
 a good deal of his master's misanthropy ; 
 he seldom answered our questions with more 
 than monosyllables, and that in a surly 
 tone we do not expect from men of his de- 
 scription. His humour, however, so far gain- 
 ed upon his late master, that he left him 
 his old family chaise, and a small sum of 
 money, with which he bought the horses 
 that drew it. His person was short and cor- 
 pulent, with only one eye ; he wore the livery 
 of his late master, a brown wig, and a cocked 
 hat slouched before. His cattle were very 
 unequally matched, extremely poor, and seem- 
 ingly weak. 
 
 The Idea of commencing so long a jour- 
 ney, in such a crazy conveyance, exceedingly 
 chagrined my mother, who told the man her 
 apprehensions ; but he assured her, " the 
 chaise was in excellent repair, and the horses 
 strong enough to draw her and her family
 
 THE ITINERANT. 3? 
 
 all over England.*' On this assurance, Chris- 
 topher was ordered to stow the baggage, 
 which, owing to the quantity, required some 
 contrivance. To give my father's gout as 
 much room as possible, my mother and her 
 maid were obliged to sit in a very small com- 
 pass, with each a bundle on their knees ; I 
 occupied a stool at their feet. The pockets 
 were filled with cakes, apples, books, and my 
 father's brandy bottle; so that when the door 
 was shut, we were wedged together like a 
 box of corks. Christopher followed on a horse, 
 so small, that his legs nearly touched the 
 ground; and after him waddled old Prosper, 
 whose swiftest pace could not accomplish 
 more than three miles an hour. Mrs. Betty's 
 green bag, tied on the top of the chaise, 
 with the general bulk of our luggage, was a 
 
 great trouble to my father ^' What the 
 
 deuce, Betty, have you got in that bag ? 
 foul linen, and your shaving apparatus, I 
 suppose." My mother, not yet reconciled 
 to the carriage and horses, paid very little 
 attention to the questions I, from time to 
 time, asked, relative to the gentlemen's seats, 
 and other novelties, that attracted my at- 
 tention. 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 38 THE ITINERANT, 
 
 In this dissatified manner passed the time, 
 till we reached the town appointed for break- 
 fast ; at the entrance of which^ our postilion, 
 by virtue of his whip, infused s\ich spirit 
 into his horses, that we drove up to tfce 
 inn with more than usual alacrity. Break- 
 fiast made its appearance, and the waiter was 
 desired to send our servant in witii, the 
 dog; but neither dog nor servant was yet 
 arrived. Much anxiety was evinced by all, 
 except the virgin Betty, lest some accident 
 had happened. The first plate o£ muffins 
 was quickly demolished, and we had just 
 
 begun the attack on a second wh^n who 
 
 should pass the window, but Christopher, 
 leading his little horse, and carrying Prosper 
 on his shoulders, 
 
 " Well, Kit 1 what's the matter ? we were 
 
 afraid of some accident What's amiss with 
 
 Prosper?" 
 
 *< Vy, sir, about two mile off, I found de 
 poor old dog had gone long as he could ; fo^he 
 lie down, vag his tail, and look at me. I dert 
 
 get off de horse '-for he not carry us both 5 
 
 —took him on my back, and he has lick a 
 my face all de vay, to tank me.*'
 
 THJB ITINERANT. S^ 
 
 ^^ So you staicf behind, to help poor Prosper' 
 in his distress ! Here — here's half-a-crOWn foir 
 thee, and mayst thou never want a friend in the 
 same situation !-^Go, gel thy breakfast.'* 
 
 The atiimal had bread and milk set be- 
 fore him, but could not eat; whilst Mrs, 
 Betty observed— ^^ Don't you think, sir, that 
 good rrieat would be better bestowed on some 
 poor Christian ?*' 
 
 *^ Shew me a Christian or a Jew — no 
 matter what he is called — that requires help, 
 and I'll thank heaven for the opportunity of 
 relieving him; but because there are chris- 
 tians, as you say, in want, though not within 
 our knowledge, shall I neglect the distress 
 of a faithful dog, equally the work of the 
 Almighty as myself? — Ah ! you are a right old 
 
 maid — a parcel of hard-hearted" -He was 
 
 here interrupted by Kit, who came to know 
 what corn the little horse must have ?— 
 *^ A peck, to be sure, or he'll never be able 
 to perform his journey, and you'll be left 
 behind at the next stage to carry him," Break- 
 fast ended, a consultation was held relative 
 to Prosper; my mother was for takijig him
 
 40 THB ITINERANT. 
 
 into the chaise, but Mrs. Betty found her- 
 self much hurt at the idea;-' 
 
 ■'^La! ma'am, a dog in a chaise! when 
 we are already so crammed ! I can't imagine 
 what people see in such creatures to be fond 
 of! besides he is so old, he can't live long, 
 therefore I think the most reasonable thing 
 
 will be to hang him out of the way l" 
 
 '^ Hang him I" said my father, with a look 
 which indicated something too contemptible 
 to describe, and muttered to himself, ^^hard- 
 hearted B — — c/u" 
 
 Every thing settled, and the chaise order- 
 ed to the door, the mountain of boxes tied 
 on before and behind attracted the attention 
 of the natives, and various conjectures were 
 formed 5 some said we were stage players— 
 but when Kit put the dog into the chaise, 
 they were confirmed in the opinion that it 
 was a shoWy with a black drummer, and a 
 dog of knowledge, and the green bag held 
 the conjuring apparatus.- — -Nay, Kit was 
 ask'd, why he could not stay a night or two ; 
 *^ for," said one, *' there have been none in 
 your way here for two years." Christopher
 
 THE ITINERAKT. 41 
 
 not understanding what they meant, took 
 little notice; but when he came supporting 
 my father, with swelled legs, large cock'd 
 hat, long ruffles, and, in all respects, a 
 man of singular appearance, they could con- 
 tain themselves no longer, but set up a 
 shout, and cried, "punch and the devil — 
 punch and the devil V* Mother, Mrs. Betty, 
 and self, were next squeezed in, and having 
 received our complement of boxes, bags, and 
 hats, we were again saluted with a loud 
 laugh, occasioned by Christopher's mount- 
 ing his poney, which the peck of corn had 
 set a capering, to the great diversion of the 
 mob. Through the town our meagre horses 
 were push'd on by the queer looking posti- 
 lion, at a pace they could not maintain; 
 however, a slow trot was accomplish*d, and 
 continued for eight miles, during which time 
 my father amused himself with a small 
 pocket Horace, which he generally carried 
 about him. Two miles further brought us 
 to dinner, and it was agreed that six more 
 should conclude the day's journey. A most 
 excellent meal made amends for the incon- 
 veniences of the road, and, after resting two 
 hours, we proceeded without attracting much 
 notice. But this peaceful state was not to be
 
 ^^ THE ITINBRAMT. 
 
 of long coutlnuance. We bad with difficulty 
 proceeded half way, when it was thought 
 necessary to send Kit forward to prepare 
 J)eds, &c. &c. whilst we came slowly after — 
 and slow indeed it was — Our poor horses had 
 work'd miracles, considering their appear- 
 ance, and our weight ; but novjr quite fa- 
 tigued, they could not raise a trot, and would 
 doubtless have made a total stop, had not an 
 accident, unlucky enough for us, given them 
 
 half an hour's respite. -The antiquity of 
 
 the chaise, with the heavy load it carried, 
 caused a crash from one of the hind wheds, 
 ^ot sufficient to overturn it, but to render 
 our proceeding further without repairs im- 
 possible. Much apprehension was apparent 
 
 in every countenance what was to be done, 
 
 required some consideration The next town 
 
 was two miles distant there were two re^ 
 
 $pectable inns, but no chaise kept at either. 
 At length we got my father mounted on one 
 of the horses, the rest of the party following 
 on foot; but still there was a matter to settle : 
 Mrs. Betty would not stir a foot without her 
 green bag, which being at last untied, we 
 proceeded first my father on the high- 
 boned hack, with his crutches— next, mother 
 and I, with Prosper Mrs. Betty, carrying the
 
 THE ITINERANT. 4S 
 
 green bag, closed the rear. If in the morn- 
 ing we were taken for show folks, what could 
 we hope for now ? We were, however, pleas- 
 ingly deceived : 'tis true, on entering the 
 town, we had plenty of gazers, for it hap- 
 pened to be the annual fair; but they were 
 in general peaceable country folks, not degrad- 
 ed by that decided impudence so common in 
 large populous towns; yet they were not 
 without observation, though it proved of an 
 harmless sort " That thick legg*d gentle- 
 man,'' said one, ^^ who rides the horse, with 
 two sticks before him, is a famous cudgel 
 pkyer: I know him well enough, he always 
 comes to our fair; 'tis Squire C— — — , the 
 best player at single stick in the country, and 
 ril lay a quart he's come to challenge some- 
 body: — let's follow up, we shall have rare 
 sport if he throws down his sticks."* Mrs, 
 Betty's green bag was supposed to contain 
 the fighting cloths, and her ill-natured re- 
 
 * It is necessary to inform the reader, that the 
 country we were then in is famous for cudgel play- 
 ing: it was no uncommon thiug for the champion to 
 ride through the town, a,nd when he came to the 
 Market Cross, to throw down his stfcks. The man who 
 was bold enough to take tliem up, must fight him then 
 and there.
 
 44 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 plies to their simple questions, were great 
 cause of mirth, and sometimes drew a smile 
 even from my mother — so certain were the 
 people of the Squire's skill in the art of 
 breaking heads, that his attendants were nu- 
 merous; at length he stoppM his horse, and 
 ask'd a lusty country fellow, '' which was the 
 St. George r' 
 
 ^^ Oh ! he*s going to tip us St. George," said 
 the clown to one of his companions. 
 
 *^ I say, young man, do you know the St. 
 George ?" 
 
 *^ No, sir ; but we'll thank you to shew 
 it us/' 
 
 ** Why, you rascal ! if I knew, I should not 
 have ask'd you," 
 
 ** Oh, your honor may call me what names 
 you please, but you shan't make me fight." 
 
 My father, much surprised, was turning his 
 iiorse, when down dropped his crutches, and, 
 we being considerably in the rear, he ask'd the 
 «ame fellow to take them up.
 
 THE ITINERANT. 45 
 
 ^^ No, no. Master C , I know 
 
 better than that — I don't want a broken head, 
 and if you stay here till somebody picks *em 
 up, you may tarry all night — we are none of 
 us a match for your worship/* Astonished 
 to see my father surrounded in this manner, 
 I ran to him, took up his sticks, and en- 
 quired the way to the George and Dragon : 
 this question was readily understood, and we 
 were shewn into the yard. Christopher ran 
 out, and assisted his master to descend from 
 the bony ridge of the tall chaise horse, say- 
 ing, with sincere concern in his countenance, 
 " Dear sir, vat de matter ? vere be de chay ? 
 broke ! ah ! me tough t de old ting never 
 carry us — Are you hurt, sir ?'' '^ No, Kit, not 
 hurt, but cursedly mortified — we have had 
 our old friends with us again — But come — 
 shew me into the house — get me a glass of 
 brandy, and some soft pomatum, for I declare 
 that horse's back is as sharp as a scythe/' — A 
 comfortable room put us all into good hu- 
 mour, and heartily we laughM at my father's 
 comments on this day's journey, in which 
 Mrs. Betty's green bag was not forgotten, — 
 Our thoughts naturally reverted to the group 
 we had left two miles off — proper people 
 were dispatched, and before supper we bad 
 c2
 
 i^ THE ITINERANT. 
 
 the pleasure of seeing all that belonged to us 
 safely housed — A pipe of tobacco and some 
 good punch gave relief to my father's spi- 
 rits, ^nd indeed to all, except Mrs. Betty, 
 who, according to custom, threw cold water 
 upon every enjoyment. — In looking over the 
 contents of her bag, she found her best head- 
 dress so maul'd, and distorted from its 
 wonted appearance, that, in a fit of passion, 
 she threw it on the floor; a shower of tears 
 bedew*d her maiden cheeks, and, with sobs 
 and sighs, she thus addressed my astonished 
 parents : — 
 
 <^ Spoird — spoil'd — for ever spoiled ! — not 
 a thing in the bag fit to be seen ! — Fool that 
 I was, to come out in such a manner ! — If Sir 
 William knew that I was reduced to this ! 
 why did I ever leave his service ? he that sent 
 his own carriage with me to London, jather 
 than I should be incommoded in the public 
 stage — and now to be cram'd up with four, 
 in a thing not fit to be calTd a carriage !'* — 
 Here she was interrupted by my mother — 
 *' Betty, recollect, when you came to live 
 with me in London, you were to fill the place 
 of housekeeper for twenty pounds a year :— - 
 when we removed from town, I still kept
 
 THE ITINERANT. 4? 
 
 you, though against your master's inclina- 
 tion, and my interest ; but the great opinion 
 I entertain'd of your honesty, together with 
 my regard for your relations, made me re- 
 concile this act of imprudence. — Previous to 
 our undertaking this journey I gave you your 
 choice, either to quit my service, or go with 
 us into the country, on the footing of a com- 
 mon servant. I have only this to say — if 
 you will endeavor to correct your temper, 
 which is a very bad one, your place shall be 
 made easy and comfortable — if not, I will 
 pay your fare back, ftom the first post town 
 we come to.'*— *^ Aye — aye," said my father, 
 ^' pack her off.'* Mrs. Betty now changed 
 her tune. ^' Ah, madam ! do you think I am 
 so mercenary as to leave you at such a time 
 as this ? No ! if you give me no wages, Til 
 stay with you till times are better.'* This in- 
 stantly did the business, and my father said, 
 ** Well, well, stay then, and be quiet : get mar- 
 ried, and yoia'll be better tempered." 
 
 During this discourse the unfortunate 
 wig, which lay in disgrace on the floor, was 
 never thought of; but now Mrs. Betty began 
 to return the contents into her bag, when, lo ! 
 the wig was missing : as Kit had been in to
 
 48 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 replenish the bowl, it was supposed he had 
 taken i:. out with him ; he was again sum- 
 moned, and ask'd whether he had seen Mrs. 
 Betty's wig ? " Vig ! no, sir, me see no 
 vig." *^ Then it must be in the room : look 
 about.** Tables and chairs were removed, 
 when at last Kit cried out, *' Here its — here 
 its !*' and there, sure enough, it was, but spread 
 about in parts innumerable : a small black ter- 
 rier, which lay in the room when we entered, 
 had drawn the wig behind a large box, where 
 he lay with his fore paws upon it, tearing to 
 pieces this noble ornament of maiden charips. 
 Here was fresh cause for laughter on one side, 
 and tears on the other. Mrs. Betty catched up 
 the poker, and would doubtless have dispatched 
 the little animal, had not her fellow servant 
 interposedv. 
 
 My father, as soon as he could speak for 
 laughter, promised to buy her a new wig, at the 
 .first town where a person could be found of 
 ability sufficient to make one. Thus consoled, 
 Mrs. Betty and all parties went in tolerably good 
 humor to bed. 
 
 W© were, according to direction, called 
 the next morning at six o'clock, and found
 
 THE ITINERANT. 49 
 
 our carriage at the door, repaired, arid much 
 improved, according to the opinion of Jacob. 
 The dinner hour saw us comfortably seated 
 in the front room of an inn. It is a general 
 observation, that the comforts of life are ren- 
 dered more valuable by being frequently 
 contrasted with their opposites ; this was ex- 
 actly our case : so little of the former had we 
 on the road, that, seated in a snug room, 
 we were in no hurry to remove. My father 
 had filled his second pipe, when a confused 
 noise of several voices assailed our ears ; I was 
 sent out to learn the occasion of this disturb- 
 ance, when, on entering the kitchen, I beheld 
 Jacob without his wig, the cook standing 
 over him with the ladle, exclaiming — ^^ Til 
 teach you to strike me, you one-ey'd dog.*' 
 The cause of this affray was discovered to be 
 a starling, whose name was Jacob, in a cage 
 at the top of the room. Our postilion, stand- 
 ing by the fire, at which the cook was em- 
 ployed, heard a voice cry, " Jacob, blow 
 your nose, you dirty dog.'' He swore if she 
 said so again he'd make her repent : after 
 some time was repeated, ^^ Jacob, blow your 
 nose, you dirty dog." His discontented 
 spirit could brook no more; smack went his 
 hand against the cheek of his greasy adver-
 
 50 THE ITIKBRANT. 
 
 sary, who, being of masculine make, seized by 
 the throat the affronted driver, and was pro- 
 ceeding to treat him very roughly, when 
 the landlord's interposition set him at liberty, 
 restored his wig, which, in the scuffle, had 
 fallen into the dripping pan, and convinced 
 him that his namesake, in the cage, was the 
 sole cause of the imaginary insult. — A tire- 
 some fatiguing stage closed the week, and the 
 horses, had they power of reflection, could not 
 have been better pleased in the Sabbath day's 
 rest than we were. 
 
 Monday morning found us all refreshed, and 
 ready to encounter the difficulties we had no 
 doubt of meeting, and our surprise to find the 
 rest of our journey smooth and tranquil was, in 
 consequence, the greater. 
 
 For two days we continued our route, 
 unmarked by any occurrence worth relating; 
 the thirds as we were sociably chatting after 
 dinner, a shrill voice arrested the attention 
 of us all. " Turn out, I say, you poor piti- 
 ful ragamuffin — week after week, and no 
 money — Plenty of promises, but they won't 
 do any longer, so either pay your way or 
 turn out — You can't work for your living,
 
 THE ITINERANT. 51 
 
 forsooth, because you are a gentleman • 
 
 deliver me from such gentry, I say — There's 
 your doll of a wife, too, might pick up a 
 penny in an honest way if she would, but 
 ma'am's too fine a lady for that, afraid of 
 spoiling her white hands, I suppose." ' This 
 delicate harangue brought us all, except 
 my father, to the place of action, when a 
 scene presented itself, not so laughable, but 
 much more piteous than that wherein Jacob 
 was the hero. Upon a kind of wooden couch, 
 near the fire, sat a pale-looking man in an 
 oddish kind of motley dress, that seem'd, 
 as well as its master, to have seen better 
 days ; anxiety was visible in his counte- 
 nance, though he bore, with wonderful forti- 
 tude, the abuse of his terrible-tongued land- 
 lady ; who, notwithstanding our presence, 
 was beginning the second part of this ora- 
 tion, when a venerable gentleman, dress'd 
 in black, whose silver locks commanded re- 
 spect from all beholders, that instant pass'd 
 the door :—he stopp'd — " Dear sir, is that 
 you ?" said the mild creature, " I am glad 
 you are corne ; — this man, sir, is a very bad 
 man, sir. You know I am a poor woman 
 who work hard for my living, and, as you said 
 in your sermon yesterday, he that oppresseth 
 the poor is a bad man."
 
 58 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 ^^ How has he offended you ?" 
 
 " Why, sir, he has a wife and three brata, 
 and I have kept them this fortnight and never 
 seen the color of their money : to be sure 
 they 'spent freely enough when first they came, 
 but it was soon done, and now he never 
 
 calls for even a pint of beer Three crowns 
 
 is my due, and TU have it, if there is law 
 in the country." 
 
 *^ Pray, my good woman, who is this 
 gentleman against whom you seem so vio- 
 lent?" 
 
 ^* Who is he ?" why he's one of those you 
 preach so much against, one of your player 
 men ; I wish you could preach 'em out of 
 the town : why, sir, they are all starving. 
 I don't think this man has had a good meal 
 this fortnight, except what I have given 
 him, and now you see his gratitude." The 
 old gentleman approached this son of po- 
 verty — " You serve the stage, young man ; 
 would I could teach you to serve your God, 
 you would find him a better master — You see 
 the wages of sin, even in this world, are not 
 worth engaging for — Pardon me, I mean not
 
 THB ITINERANT. 53 
 
 to upbraid or hurt your feelings, already much 
 oppressed by brutal usage — My master sends you 
 this*' — putting a guinea into his hand — " retire, 
 and thank him/' 
 
 *^ Who is your master ? and where and how 
 ^hall I thank him?** enquired the Thespian, 
 with eyes brim full of gratitude. 
 
 ^' God is my master — return him thanks — 
 How ? on your knees — ^Where ? in private, in 
 public, at all times, in your principles and in 
 your practice ; farewell — go — comfort your wife 
 and children,'* 
 
 The poor astonished player, though a dealer 
 in words, was totally at a loss— he chuckled-^ 
 he sobb'd-T-and left the room, 
 
 ^ ^ ** Three crowns is your demand upon our 
 .afflicted brother," said this uncommon man, 
 ^^ Yes, sir, fifteen shillings, and Til afflict him 
 worse, if he does not pay me :^ — he has two or 
 three rags up stairs, which Til seize and pay 
 myself, since nobody else will." 
 
 *' Yes, I will, and I bless God I have it in 
 my power to put a stop to your inhumanity.
 
 54 THE ITINERA^JT. 
 
 and ease the sufferings of that uiiserabk 
 man — Good heaven ! what can you think of 
 yourself? how terrible will be your situation^ 
 when on a death bed calling for that mercy 
 you refuse a fellow creature ! I shudder 
 whilst under your roof, and leave it as I 
 would a pestilence ; but it is my duty to ad- 
 monish you : repent ere it is too late ; and 
 may the Lord pardon your sins." — With this 
 he laid fifteen shillings on the table, and left 
 the company in amazement. — Our landlady 
 first found the use of her tongue — " Pardon 
 my sins indeed \ and why not his own ? I 
 warrant he has as much to answer for as I 
 have, getting a parcel of people together, 
 that ought to be minding their work and 
 providing f6r their families — Why it was bat 
 yesterday he was preaching every body to 
 the devil that encouraged these players, and 
 to day he's the first to do it himself." " This 
 gentleman is a clergyman, L suppose,'* said 
 fny mother. — " A clergyman ! not he indeed — 
 it's old John Wesley^ the methodist, that goes 
 preaching up and down, and draws all the idle 
 vagabonds in the country after him." 
 
 We now jom'd my father, who could only 
 be a distant auditor of what pass'd, but
 
 «*HE ITINERANT. - ^'S 
 
 the Uttle he had gathered was sufficient to 
 raise the waters ; which, in generous indigna- 
 tion, trickled down his cheeks. — " Here, Kit, 
 take this guinea up to the poor man, and let us 
 ileave this infernal woman's house, before it 
 tumbles on our heads." 
 
 Within ten miles of our destined port we 
 stoppM at a pleasant village, and whilst din- 
 ner was preparing. Kit and the waiter carried 
 my father to a afield, about an hundred yards 
 from the house, which commanded a most 
 beautiful prospect, and where the breeze 
 tempered the uncommon heat of the day — 
 there, with his faithful Prosper, sat the vic- 
 tim of a most acute disorder, and who had 
 ransack'd the whole materia medica for a cure, 
 in vain. — Short sighted mortal I how little 
 did he expect to find rtlief in so remote a 
 place — yet so it was— What the sons of Galen 
 had in vain attempted, was accomplished 
 
 by a savage bull ! which long had kept 
 
 the villagers at bay. — In an adjoining copse 
 the lordly beast was feeding — Prosper gave a 
 wanton bark, as he play*d around his master. 
 — The bull roar'd — lea/*d the hedge ~ gave 
 battle to the playful cur — and laid him 
 sprawling on his back, — In vain my father
 
 56 . THE ITINERANT. 
 
 caird on Kit and Jacob — the bull towards 
 him turn'd his head — and roarM, and tore the 
 earth 5 there was no alternative — Forgetful of 
 his gout, he runs— the hmbs that had so long 
 been useless, are restored — they bear him 
 strongly to the house. — Kit was sent to the 
 assistance of poor Prosper — alas ! too late — the 
 faithful dog had breathed his last ! — Reader 1 we 
 were all sorry — we were all surprised — the latter 
 was predominant — Prosper was out of pain — 
 my father was able to walk — We shed a tear 
 over the former as we put him in the ground — 
 we laugh'd with, and congratulated the latter, 
 on his escape and recovery. 
 
 f At six o'clock we stopp'd at the Feathers, 
 in Chester, after a tiresome journey of ten 
 days.
 
 57 
 CHAP. III. 
 « WILD OATS. 
 
 O^KEEFE. 
 
 " Tho' I kill him not, I am the cause 
 " His death was so effected." 
 
 all's well that ends well. 
 
 ** The case of that huge Spirit now is cold." 
 
 ANTONV AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Without loss of time, I was placed at the 
 Grammar School under the care of the Rev. 
 Mr, Vanburgh, whose memory is held in 
 veneration by all wha had the advantage of 
 his instruction or the pleasure of his ac- 
 quaintance;— he was a steady friend, a ten- 
 der father, an indulgent master. — Peace to 
 his memory ! " he has not left a better man 
 to lament his loss/' Under so kind a tutor, 
 I found myself particularly happy, and the 
 regret of leaving my parents, for the first 
 time, was soon dissipated. Mr. Crane, the 
 under master, was a man of great erudition j 
 by natural genius, and indefatigable industry, 
 be had made himself master of the Greek,
 
 I 
 58 THB ITINERANT. 
 
 Latin, and Hebrew languages at the early age 
 of sixteen ; in short, he was one of the first 
 classic scholars in the kingdom. The Bishop 
 soon distinguished and rewarded his talents 
 with the title of Reverend ; to this, powerful 
 friends added a living, which he still enjoys 
 in the city of Chester. — I have been thus par- 
 ticular, because this gentleman proved himself 
 a sincere and steady friend in hours of affliction 
 and distress. 
 
 I was three years happily situated in this 
 worthy family, when my father's gout returned 
 with double force— Dr. Bull was not at hand, 
 but an Irish physician made one, by sending 
 him to bathe in salt water, which threw the 
 disorder into his head, and was very near 
 depriving him of existence — of his reason, 
 he was bereaved for some time. This was cause 
 of great affliction to my mother ; contracted in 
 circumstances, rejected by all her relatives in 
 consequence of her marriage, nearly a stranger 
 in the town, and now deprived of the comfort 
 and advice of him, for whom she had given up 
 the hope of family and fortune — my company 
 was absolutely necessary; accordingly I was 
 taken home^ though still continued a day
 
 THE' ITINERANT. 39 
 
 fichplar. My father's situation requiring air, 
 a small house \yas taken in the suburbs, to 
 which we removed ; the breeze was salubri- 
 ous, the prospect delightful, and great hopes 
 were entertained of their efficacy. But, alas ! 
 how little dependance can be placed on the 
 best and strongest constitutions? or who can 
 say to his neighbour, though ever so weak, 
 '^ my life is better than thine?*' My father, 
 the only invalid in the family, has lived to 
 lartient the loss of every individual, except my- 
 
 At Boughton, six months passed without 
 any remarkable occurrence, when a melancho- 
 ly event happened, which threw a gloom over 
 us all. — At the Whitsuntide vacation, I was 
 permitted to invite two of my schoolfellows, 
 to pass a week with me 5 our pleasant gar- 
 den sloped down to the river Dee, by the 
 side of which a neighbour's boat was fast-^ 
 ened 5 this had oft attracted our attention. 
 One fine evening, it was determined to cut 
 the moorings and take an excursion ; foi*. 
 some time, we paddled along very success- 
 fully, still keeping sight of the house; at 
 length, grown wanton, we relinquished the
 
 60 THB ITINEHANT. 
 
 oars, and began to play tricks, sitting on the 
 gunnel of the boat, and swinging backwards 
 and forwards, till an unusual effort upset her. 
 — Kit, who was at work in the garden, heard 
 a dreadful cry, and, running to the side of 
 the river, beheld the boat with her bottom 
 upwards; without undressing, he jumped in,' 
 and swam to it. At the instant one of my 
 companions came to the top of the water; 
 laying the youth on the bank, again he 
 plunged, crying ^^ God help poor Massa V*^ 
 — For some time he was. unsuccessful, till 
 seeing something at a distance, he made a 
 violent effort, and caught hold of my coat, 
 a's I was sinking, probably never to rise 
 ao-ain. In triumph he bore me to the water's 
 edge, and was using every effort for my re-; 
 covery, when a by-stander enquired, ^rif 
 there were not three in the boat ?" Kit turn'd 
 up his eyes with a countenance of horror, 
 but, as if my safety was his only concern, 
 continued his attention. The man who asked 
 the question, observed that one end of the 
 boat was considerably lower in the. water than 
 the other, as if pulled down by a weight :, 
 conceiving it might be our poor ' companion;; 
 he asked Kit, for pity's sake^ to rescue the
 
 THE ITINERANT. 61 
 
 boy if possible, and he would take care of 
 me, who now began to shew signs of life. 
 Once more he darted through the stream, which 
 had taken the boat to a considerable distance ; 
 he swam round her, but could discover no- 
 thing, though it was evident something pulled 
 down one end ; at length he dived under her, 
 and found the body of this poor lad, who had, 
 in the agonies of death, laid hold of the boat, 
 and grasp'd it with such force, that Kit was 
 long ere he could extricate him. — Nearly ex- 
 hausted, this faithful creature, one corner of 
 the boy's coat in his mouth, with difficulty 
 reached the shore, where, faint and sick, he 
 sunk beside the corpse he had rescued. 
 
 A short time restored me, and my friend 
 Lewis, but Thompson was gone for ever !— 
 would I could say, he was the only victim >!— 
 alas ! honest Christopher, the best of creat- 
 ed beings, the most humane of men, was 
 seized with a spitting of blood, which ter- 
 minated his life in three months. — Deeply 
 penetrated with gratitude for the life he had 
 saved, poor Kit was dearer to me than ever : 
 full of wishes and prayers for his recovery, I 
 spent all my leisure hours in his company, 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 62 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 talking with, and reading to him, till the 
 fatal day his soul took wing to everlasting hap- 
 piness. 
 
 This dreadful calamity made a deep im- 
 pression on my mind, and, though thirty 
 years have elapsed, still the remembrance 
 calls forth the tear of affection which now 
 bedews the paper on which I write. Poor' 
 Kit ! that trusty servant, that faithful friend ! 
 nobly endeavouring to save the lives of his 
 fellow creatures, lost his own ; but the Great 
 Disposer of all things, who bears no respect 
 to pei'sonSy colory or country, will give him a 
 bright reward in those realms, where slavery 
 is not known, and where the tyrants of the 
 earth can never enter. 
 
 Arrived at my fifteenth year, I was de- 
 sired to make choice of a profession. The, 
 army, law, physic, and divinity, were laid 
 before me, in all of which my mother's rela- 
 tions had it amply in their power to assist, 
 and promote my success ; but, by a strange 
 fatality, I chose to be a manufacturer of 
 woollen cloth. My mother made many objec- 
 tions, but, perceiving me bent upon it, begg'd
 
 TUB ItlNfiRANT. GS 
 
 Mr, B— — y the woollen draper, to enquire 
 for a suitable situation : — in the mean time I 
 continued at school, but contracted a fresh set 
 of acquaintance, rather oWer than myself, 
 with whom I often frequented the theatre : 
 here I found a satisfaction that nothing else 
 could give, and became so enraptured with 
 plays, and players, that I neglected school, 
 for several days together, in order to attend 
 rehearsals and study speeches ; telling lies both 
 at school, and at home, in order to conceaP 
 my new attachment, and extort money to sup- 
 port it. 
 
 Amongst my acquaintance, there was one 
 whom I unfortunately selected as my bosom' 
 friend, merely because his inclination for the 
 stage was equally strong as my own ; though 
 at the same time he had other predominant 
 evil propensities, which I was fortunate 
 enough to discover, ere I had fallen a sacri- 
 fice to them. One night we were both pen- 
 nyless, yet see the play we must; what was 
 to be done?—" I have it,'' said Tom : *^ keep 
 an eye on the door^ and the first time the 
 stage keeper comes out, we can slip behind 
 the scenes ; Til hide in one of the lumber
 
 64 
 
 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 chests, and you shall creep into Magog." — 
 Magog was a large figure, made to represent 
 the giant of that name ; he had been used in 
 a pantomime at the beginning of the season, 
 but now stood behind the scenes ; the body was 
 hollow, and large enough to contain a moderate 
 sized man ; the limbs were so constructed, that, 
 by pulling a rope, the whole figure would drop 
 to pieces. This hollow piece of mechanism 
 had served Tom for a hiding place before 5 as 
 we had planned, so it succeeded : I found my- 
 self safely lodged in the carcass of Magog, with 
 the pleasing certainty of seeing the play, by 
 creeping out the first opportunity, and pre- 
 senting myself, as if just come from the 
 front of the house. — I was scarcely fixed in 
 my new habitation, when the stage keeper 
 returned, accompanied by the manager, who 
 gave orders to prepare every thing for the re- 
 presentation of the Pantomime, which was 
 to be exhibited in lieu of the farce adver- 
 tised, owing to the indisposition of a favorite 
 performer. Alarm'd to agitation, I deter- 
 mined to facilitate my escape the moment 
 their backs were turned ; but unfortunately 
 the first preparation was begun upon the 
 giant 5 the ropes were properly fixed, the
 
 THE ITINERANT. 65 
 
 head fitted to the body, and the monster 
 drawn from the wall, to be in greater readi- 
 ness for his appearance. *^ He's confounded 
 heavy,*' said the carpenter; '^ I wish he was 
 lighter," thought I. — All my hopes of escape 
 vanished ; to creep out in his present tottering 
 situation was impossible, without throwing 
 down the whole apparatus; this I durst not 
 risk, but made a solemn resolution, if I escaped 
 discovery this time, never to be guilty of the 
 like in future. 
 
 Three hours passed, the most painful I 
 had ever known — the scene drew up, Magog 
 was discovered, the different characters skip- 
 ping about with the greatest alacrity, till 
 one entered, dress*d as a landlord, with a 
 large bowl of punch, which, after some time, 
 was poured down Magog's throat, and be- 
 dew'd me in a plentiful manner. Almost 
 suffocated with heat, the cold contents of 
 the bowl were tolerably pleasant at the mo- 
 ment ; but the consequence was, a violent 
 cold and fever, which confined ne for nearly 
 a month afterwards : at length Harlequin 
 gave the necessary signal, the figure dropped 
 to pieces, and discovered its contents, to the 
 surprise and astonishment of every body —
 
 ^ TUS ITINERANT. , 
 
 COverM with cobwebs and dirt -^ wet to the 
 skin — pale and trembling with fear. The house 
 ,r.oar'd with laughter. Not long did I continue 
 their spectack^ but took to my heels, over- 
 turning every thing that stood in my way, and 
 rued the time I first thought of getting into 
 Magog.. 
 
 As it was more than probable the affair 
 would get w'uxd, I determined- to relate the 
 whole without disguise. My father said 
 *^ I was rightly served; he hoped it would 
 teach ine to be above such mean dirty tricks 
 in future.'' — My mother's mind was greatly 
 hurt at my exposure, and her generous heart 
 grieved that I should be reduced to such 
 shifts for want of money. — ^^ My deac son,'^ 
 said this best of parents, whilst the tear of 
 affection stole down her cheek, *^ I am 
 filled with shame and sorrow ; the prin- 
 ciples of honor and honesty, which your 
 father and I have laboured so long to incul- 
 cate, are, I fear, dying away, and, in their 
 place, profligacy has taken root : — how am 
 I to account for this ? What company do you 
 keep ? Be cautious in that particular, 'tis the 
 rock on which many an hopeful bark has 
 split* You are now arrived,lt years of discre-
 
 THE ITINERANT* 67 
 
 tion, and we can do no more than advise 5 
 but remember your future happiness^ or 
 misery, depend upon the choice of your com- 
 panions. Ever be above a mean action — deny 
 yourself trifling gratifications, rather than 
 submit to receive them at the price of your 
 integrity : — be mindful of my advice — make 
 a proper use of my indulgence, and your 
 purse shall be supplied as far as our strait- 
 ened circumstances will allow/^ With this 
 a^dmonition, I received a guinea. Such ge- 
 nerous conduct had a greater effect upon me 
 than the most severe chastisement; 1 weighed 
 her counsel, determined to alter my conduct, 
 and avoid my old companion with studied 
 care, through whose persuasion I had sold my 
 books for less than half their value, and 
 was on the point of pilfering my mother's 
 pockets, had not a qualm of conscience inter- 
 vened. 
 
 I next associated with a set of young 
 men, who held weekly meetings for the pur- 
 pose of repeating speeches out of plays ; 
 technically cjillcd a Spouting Club: — here 
 I was in my element, and enjoyed particular 
 satisfaction in the society oi a youth of ami- 
 able manners, sound understanding, and un-
 
 (58 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 common general attainments : similarity of 
 taste soon ripen'd into a friendsbip, which, 
 I have the pleasure to say, exists at this 
 moment, and I trust will end only with our 
 lives. 
 
 On the 5th day of November 1773, our 
 first public exhibition was to commence 
 with the play of the ^' Grecian Daughter,'* 
 Clothes, suited to the different characters, 
 were made at some expense, and paper 
 scenes hung in theatrical order — our friends, 
 each performer introducing two, were led to 
 expect some amusement from our juvenile 
 efforts, and sat in fond expectation, with 
 hands uplifted, ready to applaud each favor- 
 ed youth : — the music ceases — the curtain 
 ascends — Phocion and Mel-^nthorn appear — 
 when a tremendous noise, which shook the 
 foundation of the house, put a sudden stop to 
 the performance; — ghastly fear sat on ever)' 
 
 countenance silent apprehension spoke 
 
 in features most expressive thunder — an 
 
 earthquake — the end of all things^^— ideas of 
 horrid import fill'd every breast — each sought 
 out his parent, sister, brother, friend — and 
 seemed rejoiced to meet, as if escaped from 
 some great danger, though what it was, con-
 
 THE ITINERANT. 69 
 
 jecture could not fathom :— at length it was 
 explained by the entrance of an elderly gen- 
 tleman, who, with trembling eagerness, said, 
 *^ Is my daughter here?" — " I am, my 
 father," said a beautiful girl : '* from whence 
 proceeds this alarm }" " The puppet show is 
 blown up, but thank God thou art safe." 
 With this he fell lifeless into the arms of 
 those who stood near, overcome with anxious 
 fears for this his only child. The gentleman 
 recovered, and our room was quickly empty : 
 — dressM or undress'd, away all posted to 
 view this dreadful spectacle — dreadful indeed 
 it was, and beggars all description. Not 
 three hundred yards from our exhibition 
 room stood an edifice called Eaton's dancing 
 school, in a court detached from other 
 houses ; the middle room was used for public 
 shows of various kinds — a lame school-master 
 occupied the upper story — beneath, was a 
 cellar, belonging to a grocer, fill'd with gun- 
 powder and other combustibles. — One Wil- 
 liams, whose celebrated puppet show is well 
 remembered as a popular thing of the^kind, 
 had advertised for the last night ; that cir- 
 cumstance, together with the holiday, fiU'd 
 
 the room. Whether squibs or crackers, 
 
 which flew about this evening, unfortunately 
 d2
 
 70 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 found their way into the cellar, or some spark 
 from the candles in the room above had 
 reachM the powder, could never be ascer- 
 tained ^ certain it is, the place took fire, and 
 blew up the whole building with its contents. 
 The cries of the wounded, the groans of the 
 dying, the darkness of the night, together 
 with the suffocating fumes of brimstone, 
 rendered this scene truly awful : twenty-four 
 dead bodies, mangled and disfigured, were 
 carried away by their sorrov/ing friends ; — 
 fifty others were deadfully wounded, many of 
 whom never survived the shocking calamity ; 
 and the poor man who rented the cellar, lost 
 his reason. 
 
 It is somewhat remarkable, that, previous 
 to the commencement of the performance, 
 the dog, who usually carried Mr. Punch 
 across the stage, ran home with the saddle on 
 his back, nor could the people of the house, 
 knowing he would be wanted, get him from 
 under the bed : this stupidity saved his life, 
 and^cms to argue an instinctive presenti- 
 ment of the approaching calamity. Serious 
 •and melancholy as this disaster proved, it 
 gave rise to many whimsical, though fabu- 
 lous, stories :— a black man was said to be
 
 THE ITINERA#iP* 7.1. 
 
 blown over a house, and discovered up to tl}e 
 middle in a dunghill unhurt — the devil was 
 blown through an opposite window into an 
 attorney's bed-chamber -and an honest jack 
 tar, on whose credulity the puppet-show man 
 had been exercising his magic art, was found 
 under a large beam uninjured, and, supposing 
 himself still under the influence of the conjuror, 
 exclaimed as they pull'd him out, *^ Blast his 
 
 eyes, what will he do next P*' It is mentioned 
 
 as a fact, t|iat, as the chairmen '' bore dead 
 bodies by," 6^ne carriage was followed by a crowd 
 of people, who related, " that under the rubbish 
 they found the body of a well-dressed gentleman, 
 who, they hoped, would recover, for he had not 
 a limb broke.*' Arrived at the infirmary, the 
 chair was opened — lights brought — and this 
 well- dress* d gentleman proved to be no less a 
 person than Mr, Punch himself I 
 
 The reader may perhaps recollect the beautiful 
 girl mentioned as an auditor of our theatrical 
 exhibition ; she was the first female who ever 
 caused me a painful moment ! I looked — I 
 
 sigh'd~and wished to speak, but could not 
 
 School became irksome, I neglected it ; a com- 
 plaint was made to my mother, who strictly 
 questioned me as to the manner of spending my
 
 72 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 ti«fie. — Unused to dissimulate, with hesitation 
 and blushes I made known to her the situation 
 of my heart, ending with a declaration that I 
 would never marry any body but my adorable 
 Eliza. 
 
 My good parent smiled at my warmth, called 
 my violent attachment childish folly, and wished 
 earnestly to hear of a situation, far from Chester, 
 where my thoughts would find different employ- 
 ment. As it happened, her wishes were imme- 
 diately fulfilled ; Mr. K., a respectable Woollen 
 Manufacturer, who lived on the borders of York- 
 shire, agreed to take me on trial. My parents 
 were much pleased with his honest bluntness 
 and sincerity ; on the contrary, I looked upon 
 him as the person who was going to tear me 
 from all I held dear, and discovered an hundred 
 imperfections in his appearance and behaviour : 
 he did not talk politely — his wig was unpowdered 
 — he smoked tobacco — and preferred beer to 
 wine. — In short, I said I would rather stay at 
 home. 
 
 My mother had too much penetration to be 
 thus imposed upon ; she reasoned against the 
 folly of my observations, and made me ashamed 
 of having uttered them ; informing me at the
 
 THE ITINERANT, 73 
 
 same time^ that my Guardian, Sir Thomas H., 
 would advance the apprentice fee, and allow me 
 thirty guineas per annum for my pocket expenses. 
 This last was a weighty argument : — in a few 
 days I departed with my master, and left my 
 good parents deeply affected at my loss- I too 
 was grieved, but from another cause : the lovely 
 Eliza was the first object in my thoughts, and, 
 in leaving her, I left every thing that could 
 make me happy, as I then thought.
 
 74 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 "AS YOU LIKE IT." 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 *' Life is but a walking shadow, a poor jjlayer. 
 That Struts aud frets his lioui upon the stage, 
 And then is heard no rriore.: it is a tale 
 Told by an idiot, full ot sound, and fury. 
 Signifying nothing." macbeth. 
 
 *' Give me the man 
 That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
 la my heart'r; core, aye, in my heart of heart?, 
 As 1 do thee." h\mi,et. 
 
 *^As brevity is the soul of wit, and tedi- 
 ousness the outward limbs and flourishes 
 
 thereof, I shall be brief;" well convinced, 
 
 that our juvenile transactions should be con- 
 densed into as small a compass as the sub- 
 ject will permit. Perhaps this observation 
 comes with an ill grace, as many of my 
 readers will think that I have been much too 
 prolix in the foregoing pages ; 'tis true, I 
 have related a number of childish anecdotes, 
 but they are, I hope, rendered interesting, 
 from a singularity of circumstances that do 
 not generally happen. 
 
 In two days, I found myself situated at the
 
 . THE ITINERANT. 75 
 
 house of Mr. K., a respectable woollen manu- 
 facturer, on the borders of Yorkshire, at a 
 place called Saddleworth. I cannot help 
 thinking, that parents are blameable in con- 
 sulting too much the childish inclination of 
 boys, in regard to the trade or profession 
 thpy wish to follow : whim, or caprice, too 
 often governs the choice, and parents, who 
 pught to have the best knowledge of a child's 
 genius, give up their judgment to the folly 
 of youth ; so at least it was with me. — Edu- 
 cation, and temperament, by no means fitted 
 mc for the situation I had chosen ; the pul- 
 pit, the bar, the army, and the navy, with 
 powerful interest, were given up, and, strange 
 predilection 1 the drudgery of a dirty manu- 
 factory, in an obscure place, fixed upon, as 
 
 my future employment. Daily associating 
 
 with servants, and those of the most vulgar 
 description, soon gave me a complete disgust 
 to the employment I had chosen, and I hour- 
 ly wished myself within the walls of that 
 venerable city, which contained the idol of 
 my affections, and near whose suburbs my 
 much loved parents dwelt. 
 
 Mr. K 's house was situated on the 
 
 side of an hill, commanding a most beautiful
 
 76 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 and extensive prospect ; near him lived many 
 opulent and respectable clothiers, to whom 
 were apprenticed young men of respectability 
 and fortune, who, like myself, found their 
 occupation by no means suitable to their 
 wishes : in society with these. I found a re- 
 lief from corporal labour, but was soon led 
 into scenes of dissipation, by no means suit- 
 ed to my pocket, and still less agreeable fo 
 njy constitution. 
 
 At the expiration of three months, during 
 which I had been upon trial only, I was on 
 the point of giving in my resignation, when 
 a circumstance occurred which totally chang- 
 ed the face of affairs. With an heart greatly 
 susceptible of the tender passion, I had re- 
 ceived, as I thought, a lasting impression at 
 Chester ; but three months absence had les- 
 sened the fair Eliza's influence, and the return 
 of Mr. K.'s eldest daughter from school 
 completed the work. A young female was to 
 me a never failing source of attraction; I 
 forsook the nocturnal revels of my dissipated 
 companions, who rallied me on my attach- 
 ment, but it was not in their power to laugh 
 me out of it. Every thing now bore a dif- 
 ferent aspect, and I signed the articles of ap-
 
 THE ITINERANT. f7 
 
 prenticeship with pleasure. To say the truth, 
 Mr. and Mrs. K. were very good people, and 
 my situation was rendered as comfortable, by 
 the domestic indulgence of the one, and the 
 hospitable heart of the other, as I could wish, 
 and more than I deserved, for I looked upon 
 the business with disgust, and neglected it. 
 
 I had been two years in Yorkshire, when 
 an event, of all others the most distressing my 
 heart had ever known, called me to Chester ; 
 my parents were truly dear to me, and, thought- 
 less as I appeared, every letter from home 
 was bedewed with the tear of affection : my 
 feelings, then, may more easily be conceived 
 than described, when the following lines were 
 put into my hand :— 
 
 Chester y July 10, 1775. 
 My Dear Son, 
 
 I AM summoned to attend at the bar of 
 heaven:— come and receive the blessing of your 
 
 Dying Mother, 
 
 M. R. 
 
 Let those who have been in a similar si- 
 tuation judge of mine^ to describe it would 
 be impossible.
 
 78 THB ITINERANT. 
 
 I reached Chester that night, but, alas ! a 
 paralytic affection had deprived my mother 
 of almost every sense ; I approached the bed, 
 and taking her hand, exclaimed, " Oh I my 
 Mother, grant me your blessing 1'* With closed 
 eyes, and apparently without sensation, I 
 entertained no hopes of an answer to my 
 petition, when, as if collecting every effort of 
 exhausted nature?, a gentle pressure of my 
 hand convinced me she heard, and answered 
 my request, with this last and only mark of 
 affection in her power ; for, with a heavy sob, 
 she breathed her last, as if her spirit only 
 waited my arrival, ere it took wing to ever- 
 lasting happiiiesa. 
 
 Behold me, at sixteen, deprived of my 
 mother, my tried, my only protector: my 
 father, from debility, both of mind and body, 
 was utterly incapable of assisting me, even by 
 advice. At this melancholy crisis, a complica- 
 tion of circumstances rendered my situation 
 truly pitiable. My mother's income for many 
 years had been insufficient ; she was frequent- 
 ly, nay always, in arrears with Sir T. H., to 
 whom she had written for a supply previous 
 to her illness. Soon as sorrow would permit, 
 I enquired into the state of our finances, and
 
 
 THE ITINERANT. 70 
 
 learnt that ttie house, for the last three weeks, 
 had been supplied on credit, half-a-guinea 
 comprising the whole stock of ready cash. 
 My feelings at this intelligence were truly de- 
 plorable; a corpse to be buried without money ; 
 a father, whose ill health required every indul- 
 gence, unable to give the least assistance, ei- 
 ther in person, or by advice, for his loss bore 
 heavy upon him, and, unless intoxication 
 gave some relief, his pain of body and mind 
 left him in a state of downright stupidity; 
 added to this, his creditors became clamo- 
 rous, and threatened an arrest. Attacked by 
 calamity on every side, without a friend to 
 advise, I knew not which way to turn myself; 
 — applying to the creditors for assistance, un- 
 til a remittance arrived, would be exposing 
 our wretchedness, without, perhaps, having 
 the desired effect, and might be the means 
 of precipitating my father into a gaol. At 
 this moment a thought struck me : my old 
 school -master, the Rev. Mr. Crane, still re- 
 sided in Chester, and I knew, though his 
 means were comparatively small, his heart 
 was capacious. At any rate, advice would 
 be serviceable. Seated on the bed, where lay 
 a lifeless lump of clay, which, in its animat- 
 ed state, gave existence to a being as uu-
 
 80 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 fortunate as itself, the tear of affection filled 
 my eye — affliction tore my heart. Not so 
 my father : seated in his easy chair, he had 
 flown for consolation to his old friend the 
 brandy-bottle, and, in the midst of my la- 
 mentations, roared out, '^ Old Rose, and bum 
 the bellows — the bellows — and burn and bum 
 the bellows /" These different sensations and 
 employments were interrupted by a loud rap 
 at the door. 
 
 A letter from Sir T H , inclosing 
 
 a twenty -pound bank note, cheered my heart, 
 and revived my hopes. I threw myself on 
 my knees, seized the cold hand of my re- 
 gretted parent, and exclaimed, I believe, with 
 more devotion than at any other period, 
 *^ Thank God !'' This was overheard, and 
 *« Old Rose" gave place to " Thanh God ! 
 For what ? For gout P — for povei^ty P — for 
 
 the loss of '' Here, taking another glass, 
 
 he finished the sentence with " Old Rose" 
 &c. &c. 
 
 This was no time for communicating the 
 good news ; and as advice became indispen- 
 sibly necessary, I waited on my worthy 
 schoolmaster, and, in a few words, painted
 
 THE ITINERANT. 81 
 
 my situation. Mr. Crane did all in his 
 power to comfort me ; he waited on the dif- 
 ferent tradesmen, and promised, in my name, 
 to discharge the whole of my father's debts, 
 with interest, when I arrived at the age of 
 twenty- one, or sooner if my guardian would 
 pCi-mit. 
 
 This proposal was agreed to, and, in the 
 space of a month, this good clergyman was 
 
 empowered by Sir T H to pay the 
 
 whole, for which purpose he remitted three 
 hundred pounds, — an act of unheard-of kind- 
 ness ; for, had I died during my minority, he 
 would have had the whole to refund. 
 
 In the morning, T made our good fortune, 
 and the advice of Mr. Crane, the topic of 
 conversation, and was pleased to find this 
 doubly-afflicted parent inclined to follow it. 
 -^ — "Very true, Sam — the parson's right — 
 if we can't stay here, we must go elsewhere—* 
 Poor Mary ! she's gone ! I wish I was with 
 her — you would do better by yourself — I 
 shall only be a plague to you. D — n this 
 tea ! — Reach me the brandy bottle." 
 
 Mr. Crane's advice was, to shut up the
 
 82 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 house, as soon as the funeral was over, and 
 take my father to his relations at Clifton, in 
 Lancashire. This plan was immediately adopted, 
 
 and my arrival at Mr. K 's greeted with 
 
 smiles and good humor. 
 
 It will be remembered, that an inclination 
 for theatricals was one of my early and pre- 
 dominant propensities. At this time an iti- 
 nerant company of comedians pitched their 
 tent in the village, laid siege to a barn, and 
 in a few days rendered it (as per bill) fit for 
 the reception of the fiobility and gentry of 
 Saddleworth. This was a glorious incident — 
 now, or never, to exhibit my wonderful ta- 
 lents — to astonish, to electrify, the object of 
 
 my choice by my superior attainments ! 
 
 Aye, aye : ^^ The play's the thing, in which 
 
 I'll catch the'* affections of Miss K ; 
 
 at any rate, I can surprise the nobility and 
 gentry of Saddleworth. Full of this idea, I 
 waited on the manager. From the style in 
 which Mr. Austin, the Chester manager, lived 
 (the only one I had the most remote know- 
 ledge of), I expected at least to be shewn 
 into a decent drawing room. Judge, then, 
 my surprise, when, entering a huckster's 
 shop, I was directed up three pair of stairs.
 
 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 6^ 
 
 or rather two — for the last was a ladder — 
 into a garret, furnished in the following man- 
 ner : In one corner stood an unmade bed, 
 without curtains, from under which a cer- 
 tain utensil made its appearance, and seemed 
 to serve for various purposes ; two chairs 
 without backs ; one arm'd chair complete, 
 over which was thrown a gauze petticoat^ 
 ornamented with gold leather, worn on the 
 preceding night in Queen Catherine, by the 
 Lady Manageress, and who was now conde- 
 scending to act the washerwoman. In a 
 remote corner of the room, and near the win- 
 dow, stood the great man himself — not in 
 buff, though nearly so — without coat or 
 waistcoat. He wore a garment that once- 
 bore the name of shirt, and still gave that 
 idea, from the dirty ruffles that hung over 
 his still more dirty hands; black velvet small 
 clothes, somewhat rusty ; no stockings, but 
 old red morocco slippers, bound with tarnished 
 gold. The printing press stood by him, at 
 which he plied with such skill and industry, 
 that I thought it almost a pity to interrupt 
 him. As neither the manager nor his lady 
 had observed my entrance, I stood for some 
 moments contemplating this strange scene.
 
 84 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 If this be the master's employment, thought I, 
 what must the sewants be doing ? 
 
 I now accosted him, and, after apologis- 
 ing for his deshabille, he entered into conver- 
 sation, with a degree of wit and spirit nei- 
 ther his appearance nor circumstances seemed 
 to warrant. 
 
 " You see, sir, though an actor, I am a 
 holy man'' — pointing to his shirt. " Permit 
 me to pun upon my own poverty. We play- 
 ers are a set of merry, undone dogs, and 
 though we often want the means of life, we 
 are seldom without the means of mirth. VVe 
 are philosophers, sir, and laugh at misfor- 
 tune; even the ridiculous situations we are 
 sometimes placed in are more generally the 
 cause of mirth than misery* Here you see 
 4lexander turn'd pressman, and Statira up to 
 the elbows in suds," 
 
 With these kind of lively sallies he con- 
 tinued to amuse me,, for some time, still 
 attending to his press, and taking off bills 
 with as much alacrity as if brought up to the 
 business.
 
 THE ITINERANT. $B 
 
 Having introduced the subject I came up- 
 on, enlarged upon iny abilities, and stated the 
 great attraction my acting would have — ^' And 
 so, sir, you mean to shine forth like a bla- 
 zing star, no doubt, and we, poor actors, shall 
 appear as your satellites" (still pulling at the 
 press) : *^ and pray, sir, in what part do you 
 
 mean to make your debut?" '^ Jachimo 
 
 in Cymbeline.'' — " Ha I ha ! ha I that brings to 
 my mind Bill Watson, the Cheltenham mana- 
 ger ; he was once applied to, by a silly lad 
 who had, like you, been bit by some mad actor, 
 and wa3 strongly tinctured with the spouting 
 mania, to let him play a part; '^ What part," 
 says Watson, *^ would you wish to play?'* 
 ^^ Jack ChimOf in Cymbeline, sir." — *^ Hum," 
 says Watson, flirting his finger, a way he 
 had, when he wished to be comical : ^•' my 
 dear fellow, I v/ish to indulge you if possible ; 
 but that part is in the possession of a favorite 
 actor, who will not willingly give it up : how- 
 ever you may, if you please, play Bill Chimo, 
 his brother, in the same piece. Ha 1 ha! ha !" 
 I join'd in the laugh, though I did not altogC'- 
 ther relish his placing me upon a level with 
 the silly spouter. '' Sir, your request shall be 
 complied with ; the play is up ; my wife is a 
 VOL. u E
 
 86 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 very capital Imogen — I do Posthumous, and 
 ray two sonSf who are now delivering out the 
 hills, play Belarius and the King ; so you see 
 all the principal parts are ready, except Cloten, 
 which is a double, you know, sir, with 
 Imogen,** *^ Excuse me, sir, if I confess 
 ray ignorance of your theatrical terms : what 
 do you mean by a double P'* " Why, sir, 
 when the company is thin, and one actor is 
 obliged to do two parts, we call that a double ; 
 so, as I was saying, my wife doubles Cloten 
 with Imogen,** Seeing me smile, he added, 
 *^ she is, I assure you, a very fine Breeches 
 figure. And now, sir, how would you wish 
 to be announced ? The part of Jachimo, in 
 large letters, by a young gentleman, being his 
 first appearance on any stage; will that do, 
 sir }*' '' Perfectly." 
 
 Preliminaries thus settled, I took my 
 leave of this merry son of Thespis and his 
 wife. 
 
 On my way home, I reflected on the ec- 
 centricity of the scene I had just witnessed, 
 and knew not how to assimilate such opposite 
 characters as the printer and player, the tra- 
 gedy queen and the washerwoman. " Oh,
 
 THE ITINISRANT. IfiT 
 
 what a falling ofF was here/' to what I looked 
 for in the life of a player ! I was led to sup- 
 pose, that applause and profit went hand in 
 hand^ that those who were so much caress'd 
 in the evening, if they did not fare sumptu- 
 ously the next day, at least enjoy 'd the neces* 
 sary comforts of it. My ambition for a trun- 
 cheon began to cool ; however_, I determined to 
 keep my word with the manager. 
 
 The village wakes happening at this pe* 
 riod, the unfortunate players were obliged 
 to remove their theatrical apparatus ; for, as 
 the barn belonged to a public house, it 
 was always in request at this time for dan- 
 cing, &c. 
 
 Although the family of the K *s visit- 
 ed not such places of rough festivity, they 
 did' not withhold the gratification from' me ; 
 and, impell'd by curiosity, I determined to be 
 an eye-witness of one whole evening's perform- 
 ance. 
 
 As I approached the village, which lay 
 near a mile from Mr. K 's house, I ob- 
 served the rising hill, which overhung this 
 rural hamlet, covered with country lads and
 
 88 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 lasses, in their best attire 5 all the gaudy co- 
 lors of the rainbow were here exhibited : as 
 they sat on the grass, each Damon enter- 
 tained his Phillis with ale, and cakes, and 
 kisses ; whilst a blind fiddler, mounted on a 
 three-footed stool, rasped away very seriously 
 the Black Joke, On first viewing this scene, 
 I observed to a friend who accompanied me, 
 ^^ Now this is, as it should be, an innocent re- 
 laxation : 'twere hard indeed if the lower classes 
 of society should be debarred from thus annually 
 enjoying a slight savour of those luxuries they 
 labor to provide for the great." 
 
 '^ Could you limit or restrain these peo- 
 ple within the pale of reason ; could you con- 
 tract their enjoyments to this scene only ; all, 
 as you say, would be very well ; but before 
 the night is over, I fear you will find all is 
 not as it should be. When the bridle is laid 
 on the neck of the passions, when pleasure 
 knows no restraint, the most cultivated mind 
 will find philosophy scarcely sufficient to pre- 
 vent its overleaping the bounds of moderation 
 and morality; of course, then, the ignorant 
 and illiterate, who have perhaps neither phi- 
 losophy nor religion, must be in a dangerous 
 state indeed/'
 
 THE ITINERANT. 89 
 
 *' In what way, then, Mr. Moralizer, would 
 you permit the laborious part of the commu- 
 nity to relax ? or rather, would you allow them 
 to relax at all ?" , 
 
 ** Do not think, my friend, because I have 
 pointed out the evils that arise from too much 
 liberty, that I am a tyrant ; Oh, no ; on the 
 contrary, I rejoice as much as you in the real 
 happiness of my fellow creatures, and wish it 
 were possible to invent some mode of pas- 
 time, some relaxation from the fatigues of 
 labor, that would not be attended with the 
 bad consequences of a country wake. Believe 
 me, the sight of yon merry group enjoying the 
 society of their friends would give me pleasure, 
 were J not aware, by experience, of their fatal 
 tendency/' 
 
 " Thus endeth the first lesson 5 you would 
 certainly make an excellent parson :'* and iti 
 a few years my words were verified ; for this 
 young man married a woman as amiable as him- 
 self, turn'd Moravian, and, though possessed of 
 a large ^xo^^xiy , frequently preach' d. 
 
 We now join'd a party of Mr. K- 's
 
 90 THR ITrNIRANT. 
 
 men, who, each with his sweetheart, had 
 seated themselves on the grass, oversha- 
 dowed by a tree : the glass went merrily 
 round ; and, what with the stimulus of the 
 liquor, the situation, the clumsy jokes of the 
 men, and the sweet smiles of the women, I 
 found my spirits quite elevated. — Not so my 
 friend — his passions were not easily moved; 
 indeed, it was always a doubt with me, whether 
 he ever had any 5 and I have sometimes ob- 
 served to him, ^' that there could be no merit 
 in abstinence^ where there was no inclination 
 to sin.'* 
 
 An accident happened at this moment, 
 which, in spite of my companion's stoicism, 
 work'd his steady muscles into risibility :-— 
 the poor blind fiddler had been continually 
 plied, from every party, with liquor ; and, at 
 length, became so unsteady, that he lost his 
 equilibrium ; the stool flew from under h?s 
 feet, and prostrate he fell on the turf. This, 
 perhaps, might have pass'd unnoticed, had not 
 the noise made by the crash of his in- 
 strument drawn our attention : when the 
 laugh subsided, it became a matter of debate 
 how to make up his loss : an hat was soon
 
 THB ITINERANT. 91 
 
 circulated, and in a few minutes poor* Crow- 
 dero was in possession of three times the worth 
 of his greasy violin. 
 
 The retreating sun began to hide its 
 cheering rays behind the broom -covered hills 
 of Yorkshire, when the village clock chimed 
 
 eight: my moral friend, leisurely drawing 
 
 out his watch, bade me good night 5 *' 'Tis 
 within half an hour,'' said he, ^* of the time 
 I promised my father to be at home, and you 
 know, friend Romney, a promise to a parent, 
 with me, is sacred." 
 
 As he, with pace as moderate as his passions, 
 perambulated the footpath, and slowly cross'd 
 the stile, I followed him with my eye, and 
 wished that Providence had form'd my mind 
 upon the model of his. 
 
 , The sun was now obscured, and the gay 
 throng began their retreat towards the vil- 
 lage. As I mechanically took the same di- 
 rection, I heard the barkiiig of many dogs, 
 mix'd with the voices of men in loud conten- 
 tion, with, ever and anon, the ukej'iful roaring 
 of a bull : as this, I understood, was the 
 conclusion of the last bull baitp I mended
 
 92 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 my pace, determined to be an eye-witness of 
 this amusement, of which I had heard much. 
 I soon found myself in the midst of the 
 throng, and beheld a scene of cruelty which 
 beggars description. This, it seems, was the 
 third time the poor animal had been dragg'd 
 to the stake that day : about fifty or sixty 
 brutal Yorkshiremen, with each an enormous 
 club, form'd the circle : tied to the stake by 
 a strong rope of about ten yards, this once 
 lordly animal kept at bay, as well as his 
 exhausted strength would permit, the feroci- 
 ous bull dog, and still more savage man, — 
 Every roar of anguish extorted from this crea- 
 ture by the bite of dogs or the blows of 
 men, produced a joyous exclamation from 
 the surrounding multitude ; and, whilst the 
 dogs were employed on the nose, one of the 
 brutes, I cannot call them men, seiz'd his 
 tail, and twisted it till it broke in pieces, 
 whilst others beat him on the sides with 
 their clubs. At length the wretches allowed 
 a pause of cruelty : the poor bull, with nose 
 lacerated, and hanging in various pieces, at- 
 tempted to stop the streams of blood, by ex- 
 tending his tongue towards the sores : at this 
 instant, a dog stole, unperceived, under his 
 belly, and, seizing his tongue, bit off a
 
 THE ITINERANT. 93 
 
 part, and gave him such exquisite torture, 
 and at the same time produced an horrid yell, 
 that froze the blood in my veins ; and I left 
 the place, wondering at the forbearance of the 
 Deity, in not consigning to immediate destruc- 
 tion a set of barbarous wretches, disgraceful to 
 humanity. 
 
 Yet this abominable custom, this disgrace 
 to the country, we are very seriously told 
 by a wise legislator, is of service to society, 
 and cannot be done without. Oh tempore I ! 
 O mores I ! 
 
 From this scene of human depravity I 
 fled as from a pestilence, determined to re- 
 turn home, and never more visit a country 
 wake. Passing a public house at the extre- 
 mity of the village, from whence the din of 
 discord was frequently interrupted by the 
 horrid scraping of the old blind fiddler, who, 
 it seems, had patchM up his instrument, I 
 was induced to call in, flattering myself that 
 the fireside would be rendered sacred by 
 the presence of females, who generally com- 
 mand some degree of respect, even from 
 the worst of men; and, as every room in 
 the house was crowded with customers of 
 e2
 
 ^ THE ITINERANT. 
 
 both sexes, I thought my feelings pretty secure 
 from such terrible attacks as I had just expe- 
 rienced. With these ideas I entered the house, 
 and with difficulty procured a seat. The con- 
 fusion of voices reminded me of the Tower of 
 Babel : women half tipsy, and men wholly so, 
 roaring out abominable songs, or dancing in the 
 most awkward manner to the melody of " Nancy 
 Dawson,*' — At length the company were sum- 
 iHoned into the barn, to witness a battle between 
 two noted Yorkshire fighters. *^ To what base 
 uses may we not return ?" This was the ma- 
 nager's barn, the identical barn in which my 
 dawning abilities were to shine forth with meri- 
 dian splendor. What a scene presented itself ! 
 not " The School of Reform,'' but '' The 
 Devil to Pay.^' Amidst the crowd I perceived 
 two men naked to their waists, lying on the 
 ground, grappling each other, perfectly silent, 
 and sometimes pretty still ; then, as if moved 
 by one impulse, a desperate scuffle took place ; 
 soon, however, the one extricated himself, 
 quickly obtained his legs, and, retreating some 
 paces, returned with great violence, and, before 
 bis antagonist could rise, kick'd in three of his 
 ribs : the vanquished lay prostrate, whilst the 
 victor stamp'd and roar'd like a madman, chal- 
 lenging all around. Retiring to my seat in the
 
 THE ITINERANT. 95 
 
 house, disgusted with Yorkshire fighting, I de- 
 termined to finish my wine, and leave the brutes 
 to the enjoyment of their brutality, when a 
 laughable circumstance detained me, and in 
 some measure made amends for the misery I 
 had sufFer*d. There is, I believe, a respectable 
 personage, who, amongst amateurs in sporting, 
 bears the appellation of a Belward, a gentleman 
 who gets his livelihood by leading a bear by the 
 nose from village tos^village ; — such an one now 
 arriv'd at this public house, and, placing his 
 companion in the pigsty, seated himself by the 
 fire, and call'd for a pint of ale. — The Yorkshire 
 warrior, elated with his victory, and. intoxicated 
 with liquor, went from room to room, and bad 
 defiance to every one : on entering the kitchen, 
 he espied the Belward, who, being a stout fel- 
 low, and a noted pugilist, was immediately re- 
 quested to take a turn with him. — '^ No, no,^' 
 replied the stranger, ^* I don't like Yorkshire 
 fighting; hugging, biting, and kicking, does not 
 suit me ; but I have a friend without who is 
 used to them there things : if you like, I'll fetch 
 him in." '* Aye, aye, dom hii^., fot him in: 
 I'll fight ony mon ith' country.'* The Belward 
 repair'd to the pigsty, and brought forth Bruin, 
 who, from a large siz'd quadruped, was chang'd 
 instantly to a most tremendous biped. In thi$
 
 96 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 erect posture he enterM the house, and> as it 
 was now nearly dark, the intoxicated countryman 
 
 was the more easily impos'd upon *' JOom 
 
 thee," he said, ^' I'll fight a better mon nor 
 thee, either up or down/' and made an attempt 
 to seize him round the middle, but, feeling the 
 roughness of his hide, he exclaim'd — " Come, 
 come, I'll tak no advantage ; poo off thy top 
 coat, and Til fight thee for a crown." 
 
 The bear, not regarding this request, gave him 
 such a hug as 'tis probable he never before expe- 
 rienced ; ^it nearly press'd the breath out of his 
 body, and prov'd, what was before doubted, that 
 there was as great a bear in the village as him" 
 self.
 
 97 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 « A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE/' 
 
 FARQUHAR. 
 
 " An old man, broken with the storms of war, 
 " Is come to lay his weary bones among ye; 
 ** Give him a little earth for charity !" 
 
 HENRY THE EIGHTH, 
 
 •* I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow, 
 *' In that some place thou hast appointed me, 
 " To-morrow truly will I meet thee." 
 
 MIDSUMMER NTGHt's DREAM. 
 
 J-JOVE scenes form the principal part of mo- 
 dern novels ; romantic descriptions of that 
 thatures serve to swell the pages of a fictitious 
 story : but in the relation of facts, abounding 
 with incidents, numerous and singular, these 
 auxiliaries are unnecessary, and, by being 
 slightly passed over, the sensible reader will 
 be saved the mortification of wading through 
 countless pages of sighs, groans, delicate 
 embarrassments, blushes, and silly circum- 
 stances, and situations, that lovers like to 
 read about, and some authors to dwell upon. 
 For my own part, I frankly acknowledge, '^ it 
 suitelh me not :" my juvenile readers must
 
 98 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 pardon me, if I endeavour to compress this 
 part of my life into as small a compass as the 
 necessary connection and thread of the story 
 will permit. 
 
 The manager was soon re-instated in his barn, 
 and plays and farces were exhibited in a style 
 never before seen in Saddleworth, or perhaps any 
 where else. 
 
 One evening I accompanied Mr. K. and 
 his family to see the Play of *^ Hamlet." 
 The manager presided at the receipt of cus- 
 tom, and, that no time might be lost, he was 
 armed cap-a-pie for the representative of the 
 <^ Royal Dane." The play was performed, 
 according to my slender judgment, very well, 
 with the exception of a few doubles, as the 
 manager called them, and some deficiency in 
 costume : during the fight between Hamlet and 
 Laertes, some young men stood up, when a 
 French dancing-master, who made a weekly 
 visit to the village, rose, and made the following 
 speech : — ^' If de gentilhomme vill sitty down, 
 
 he no hinder de lady for to see." This 
 
 caused an universal laugh, to the great discom- 
 fiture of the Tragedians, amidst which, down 
 dropped the curtain.
 
 THE ITINERANT. ' 99 
 
 III the morning I called upon the manager, 
 and found him, in point of appearance, greatly 
 improved : a very decent great coat closely but- 
 toned, and a fierce cock'd hat with a gold button 
 and loop, gave him a truly managerical appear- 
 ance. — After the usual compliments, we pro- 
 ceeded to business. 
 
 ^^ Well, sir, what night do you mean to 
 make your appearance ? suppose we say Fri- 
 day V 
 
 '^ On Friday, sir, I have no objection to per- 
 form Jachimo.*' 
 
 '^ Your friends, of course, will come — there 
 will be a good house ; that will answer my pur- 
 pose : — you will be applauded to the skies ; that 
 will answer your^s/' / 
 
 *^ The approbation of one's friends is cer- 
 tainly very grateful, but, if my abilities deserve 
 it, I should look for and expect unprejudiced 
 applause." 
 
 *^ Unprejudiced applause! ha! ha! ha! 
 my dear sir, there is no such thing. — Once I 
 thought, like you, that applause followed
 
 100 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 merit, but experience has convinced me 
 to the contrary. I'll give you an instance 
 now : you saw the play last night, and heard 
 the thundering applause given to ihat young 
 coxcomb, in Hamlet: do you know, sir, I 
 have played the part for forty years in this 
 circuit, and now they give the preference to a 
 silly lad of eighteen P Pray, sir, did you ever 
 see my Richard P'' *' No, sir, I have not had 
 the pleasure of seeing any of your children.'* 
 *^ Ha ! ha! ha! you don't comprehend 3 'tis 
 our way of speaking, when we wish to name 
 a part we have played. Now, sir, my Richard 
 is supposed to be as pretty a piece of acting as 
 ever was exhibited between trap and lamp; 
 and Ned Shuter (you have heard of Ned) 
 said so, when he came across us at the end of 
 the last town." 
 
 Not exactly comprehending his words, 
 nor wishing to excite his mirth by any further 
 enquiry, I departed, and, on my way home, 
 met my serious friend : I had not seen him 
 since the wake, and, though his temperarhent 
 and habits were totally opposite to mine, 
 yet I liked his company : he was an agreeable 
 monitor, who softened the asperity of repfcof 
 by the mildness with which it was delivered.
 
 THE ITINERANT. 101 
 
 We left the path to recline upon a bank, and 
 I opened my mind with the greatest freedom ; 
 repeated what had pass'd since we met be- 
 fore, and concluded, with my design to per- 
 form in the theatre. *' My good friend,*' 
 said he, " suffer me to ask, what you propose 
 to yourself from such an exhibition ? Profit 
 you look not for; is it, then, popularity you 
 seek ? Alas ! what avails it when obtained ? To 
 be the idol of ^ a set of giddy creatures seated 
 at a play,' who care not for the object of their 
 admiration beyond the period of his perfor- 
 mance /* 
 
 *^ Softly, my grave sir — you proceed too 
 fast — You do not suppose I mean to make the 
 stage my profession ; and why should a little 
 harmless attempt to amuse a few friends, be 
 attacked so seriously ? Make allowance for our 
 different habits, propensities, and genius : ^' plays 
 delight not you, nor players either ; yet both 
 may be delightful.'' 
 
 '^ You mistake ; I can very easily make 
 allowance for these things : but if Providence, 
 in the plenitude of its wisdom, has thought 
 fit to bestow on me a degree of thought 
 and prudence, not usual at my age, and
 
 102 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 which you attribute to want of energy and 
 lack of soul, as you call it, it would be 
 miserly to hide my talent under a bushel, and 
 not diffuse a little of that amongst my friends, 
 which daily experience convinces me they 
 stand so much in need of. I perceive you 
 smile at my arrogance ; but, seriously speak- 
 ing, I very much wish to dissuade you from 
 this strange, and I think imprudent, frolic. 
 What have you to do with players ? — Mind 
 your business : — if you live, you will have a 
 handsome fortune; by honest industry, en- 
 deavour to improve it, become an useful 
 member of society, and a credit to your 
 friends. , If, on the contrary, you continue to 
 fan that theatrical fire which I plainly per- 
 ceive burns in your veins, I tremble for the 
 consequences." 
 
 My friend's reasoning made a deep im-* 
 pression on my mind, though pride would 
 not allow me to acknowledge it: I endea- 
 voured to laugh away his seriousness, by ob- 
 serving, ^* that this fine discourse would do 
 very well from the pulpit, where only one 
 side of the question was heard, but would 
 prove merely sophistical when properly exa- 
 mined. Now, though I may not altogether
 
 THE ITINERANT. 103 
 
 allow that you are favored with this plenitude 
 of wisdom and prudence, — yet, granting this, 
 can I be blamed for not using what I never, 
 according to your account, possessed ? We 
 might as well punish a cripple for not using 
 his legs, or blame you for not turning actor, 
 who have no talent 5 whilst / should be still 
 more blameable, who have the talent, to hide it 
 under a husheL — There, now, is an answer in 
 your own pompous language/' 
 
 As we reclined on a bank, close by the 
 pathway, an old soldier, whose silver hair and 
 cleanly appearance commanded respect, and 
 who had lost a leg and an eye in the service 
 of his country, limped along, and, as he passed, 
 requested our honors would bestow a copper, 
 to purchase tobacco. With an irresistible im- 
 pulse, I dropped my last sixpence into his 
 hat, whilst my prudent friend, whose father 
 presided as head -of the parish, examined the 
 veteran on points of parochial import. '^ Why 
 did he beg ? the laws of this country made 
 ample provision for the poor ; and for the 
 disabled soldier, a pension might be obtained 
 by proper application.'" " Why, I'll tell 
 your honors. As to Chelsea, I've got that, 
 but seven pounds a year won't go far now-a-
 
 104 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 days ; and as to the parish, damme if ever 
 I trouble it again. — That is the place/' look- 
 ing back at the village, whilst the tear stood 
 in his eye, *^ which gave me birth : with 
 an intention to end my days there, about 
 a month since, I took a garret, and said to 
 myself, ' Jerome, thou mayst rest thy old 
 bones, for, with the assistance of a trifle from 
 the parish, thy small remnant of life will pass 
 in comfort/ — But, gemmen, I was reckoning 
 without my host : — the heart of a parish 
 officer is as hard as the butt end of a musket. 
 — They've killed poor Bibo, and old Jerome's 
 turned out to beg his bread." 
 
 The old soldier seem'd much agitated ia 
 uttering the last sentence, and, as we were at a 
 loss to understand what was meant by '' kill- 
 ing Bibo," I requested him to be more ex- 
 plicit. — " Why thus it is, your honors : — it's 
 damn'd foolish for an old soldier to stand 
 whimpering like a woman ; but when I think 
 of Bibo, though he was but a brute, and had 
 not a soul to be saved, I can't help chuck- 
 ling. — I believe there's one quid left in the 
 corner of my box," — saying this, he cramm'd 
 the tobacco into his mouth, wiped his eye, 
 squirted out a quantity of saliva, and pro-
 
 THE ITINERANT. 105 
 
 ceeded. ^'Twenty-four years I served un- 
 der the brave Captain Howard, in the 5th 
 regiment of foot, and a better gemman — (God 
 rest his soul) — never lived : — the last six years 
 of his life, he took me into his house as a 
 kind of valedy sham ; he had no family except 
 Bibo, a Newfoundland dog, which he lov'd 
 like a child ; for, when the noble captain 
 served abroad, he once fell overboard, and 
 Bibo saved his life. His honor was not very 
 rich ; he was too generous to be rich ; it 
 was as much as he could do to make both 
 ends meet ; however, he took care to keep 
 Bibo as fat as a pig ; and I've often heard 
 him say, if he died first, he'd leave Bibo a 
 fortune : but, Lord help him, he had no for- 
 tune to leave, for, when he lay on his death 
 bed, he ordered me to sell his gold watch to 
 buy nourishment. ' Jerome,' said he ^ take 
 care of my dog ; the life that he once sav*d 
 I am going to resign into the hands of Him 
 that made us both.' — He soon after died, 
 and Bibo was left to my care, — I had some 
 regard, gemmen, you will think, for the 
 poor animal, for you know the old saying, 
 * love me, love my dog ;' and though I 
 had nothing left but my pension, I thought, 
 if I retired to my own village, I might
 
 106 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 be able to live, as I said before, with a lit* 
 tie help from the parish ; so after the fune- 
 ral, I set off with Bibo at my heels, deter- 
 mined to beg as soon as my money was done, 
 which could not last long, being only a 
 new crown piece the captain gave me, 
 and sixpenny-worth of copper, to travel 
 seventy miles. Perhaps, gemmen, you are 
 tired ; — I'd better be hobbling on : — it will do 
 you no good to hear my story, and it grieves 
 me to tell it." 
 
 We assured him we were much interested, 
 and begg'd he would proceed. — ^* Well, then, 
 thus it is ; — but if you please Fll sit down, 
 because you know, your honors, when a man 
 has but one leg, he can't stand so well as 
 if he had two ! Ah ! I shall never forget the 
 day I lost the fellow to this ; it was taken off 
 
 by a shot at Bunker's Hill. As I lay on 
 
 the ground, the captain, passing by me as he 
 left the field, (for you see our forces were on 
 the retreat, and it was as much as his life 
 was worth to stay a minute) got me by the 
 hand, and said, ^ Jerome, God bless thee !* 
 — and may God bless him — and he will 
 bless him too j — for I can tell your ho- 
 nors "
 
 THE ITINERANT. 107 
 
 We now reminded him, that, in his afFec- 
 tion for his master, he seemed to have for- 
 gotten the sequel of Bibo. '' Very true, 
 very true" — running his finger round the bot- 
 tom of his empty box, in hopes of finding 
 another quid, — ^^ very true, I had got a 
 Httle out of the road, to be sure : Bunker's 
 Hill is not the way to Saddleworth. — Well 
 
 then, geramen, thus it is Old Jerome 
 
 hobbled on pretty stoutly, and Bibo waddled 
 after, at the rate of about one mile an hour. 
 To make short of my story — the crown piece 
 lasted till we reach'd Manchester — there I 
 began to beg for the first time — but I can't 
 tell how it was — whether, not being used 
 to the trade, I set about it clumsily, I don't 
 know, but — no one would give me a far- 
 thing. — It's very hard, thought T, that an 
 old soldier, who has lost a leg and an eye in 
 defence of his country, should find no one 
 willing to give him a trifle to help him on 
 the road : — at length an old lady approach- 
 ed, and was in the act of presenting some- 
 thing, when Bibo caught her eye — she askM 
 * whose dog he was ?' ' Mine, an' please your 
 ladyship.' — ^Indeed!' said she — drawing her 
 hand away, * if you can afford to keep a dog, 
 you can't want my assistance,* ^' Poor
 
 108 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 Bibo !" said I Bibo heard me— look'd up, 
 
 and wagg'd his tail — *^aye aye, poor fellow 1 
 wag away/' thought I ; '^ if I can get thee to 
 my own parish^ thou shalt be safely laid up 
 
 for life. Would you believe it, gemmen ? 
 
 I did not get one halfpenny the whole day: — 
 some talk'd of a pass — others threaten'd the 
 
 New Bailey neither Bibo nor myself had 
 
 tasted since morning :— night was coming on, 
 no place of shelter appeared ready to receive 
 
 our weary limbs. As I lean'd on my crutch, 
 
 debating, Bibo shook himself, as much as to 
 say, ^Jerome, it's very cold' — when the noise 
 of a new brass collar, the captain bought just 
 before he died, put a thought in my head, 
 that procured us meat, drink, and lodging. 
 That collar, said I to myself, is of no use — 
 better for Bibo to be without . coZZar than 
 without meat; so I took it off — went to a 
 shop, and sold it for fifteen pence— though 
 it had cost five shillings not a month before. 
 With ihis money I purchased the following 
 articles; four pennyworth of cheese — a pint 
 of beer— a twopenny straw bed — and three 
 pennyworth of tobacco. 
 
 " Refreshed, and praising God for all 
 things, we set off at five o'clock the next
 
 THK ITINERANT. 10§ 
 
 morning, and by night reached my native 
 place. Twenty- five years ago, I took on to be a 
 soldier; during that time, nearly all my friends 
 were dead ; those who remained, not knowing 
 me, would render me no assistance, except a 
 night's lodging, and advised an immediate appli- 
 cation to the parish. Seeing how matters were, 
 I waited on the commanding officer, and made 
 known my situation. Says I, ' Your Honor' — 
 for I thought I'd honor him, though he was but 
 a tailor — so, ^ your Honor,' says I, ^ my name's 
 Jeromy Antrobus 5 my father was sexton of 
 this parish for forty years : I've been twenty- five 
 years in the army— lost a leg and an eye, as 
 you see— and am laid by as useless, with a 
 pension of seven pounds a year; but that, 
 you know, is not enough to keep soul and 
 body together; so I'm come to your Honor 
 for a little relief, to help out with.' Now it 
 rain'd very hard, gemmen, and standing with 
 my hat ofl*, almost bald, as you see, I ask'd 
 leave to walk in ; for he peep'd out at a little 
 wicket casement, which, I am told, goes by 
 the name of the Devil's Picture-frame amongst 
 the poor. However, I was not admitted ; 
 but he held out his hand, and dropp'd 
 into my hat eighteen pennyworth of bad 
 VOL. 1. F
 
 110 THB ITINERANT. 
 
 copper, saying, ^ he knew nothing about 
 me, but would call at my quarters.' I am 
 told he makes a pretty penny of these bad 
 halfpence; for he buys them in at ten shil- 
 lings in the pound, and makes the poor take 
 them for their full value. 
 
 ^' Next day, this d — n*d tailor called — 
 God forgive me, I can't help swearing when 
 I think of him — the curse of the poor will 
 follow him to the grave — I say, gemmen, he 
 came to my quarters, and the churchwarden 
 with him. I had just breakfasted on three 
 parts of a basin of milk and bread, and Bibo 
 was eating up the fourth, when the tailor, 
 as stiff as buckram, came into the cellar. As 
 soon as he saw the dog, he exclaimed, ' What ! 
 a pauper keep a dog at the expense of the 
 parish !' With these words, ^e up with his 
 stick, and gave the poor brute ^uch a blow 
 under the ear, that down he dropp'd, and 
 never rose again. 
 
 " You may think, gemmen, an old soldier 
 would not sit long quiet in a situation of this 
 kind ; so I made shift to shoulder my stick, 
 and, with the first volley, brought down the
 
 TMfi ITINERANT. Ill 
 
 tailor's hat and wig; but, Ijefore I could rally 
 Utiy forces for another attack,, they beat a re- 
 treat; and it would have done your hearts 
 good, to have heard the churchwarden and 
 the overseer calling for assistance against a 
 poor crif ple> who had but one leg to stand 
 upon/ A mob was soon collected, who, be- 
 ing" properly inform'd how matters stood, 
 cursed the hard-hearted village tyrant- 
 made a grave for my poor Bibo, which I 
 
 soaked with my tears: and am now, as 
 
 you see, tracing my weary way back to 
 Manchester." 
 
 The veteran drew his hand across his 
 eyes, rose up, and prepared for his dep'art-ure. 
 
 My friend rose at the same time "Stop, 
 
 honest Jerome 1 perhaps we may have it in 
 our power to serve yoiv. All overseers are not 
 cursed with the disposition of neighbour Stay- 
 tape/' By this time, my companion had torn 
 a leaf out of his^ pocket-book, and hastily 
 sketched a few lines with a pencil. 
 
 ^^ About a mile hence, at the foot of yon- 
 der hill, ymi see a white house — -take this 
 note as directed, and in an hour I shall be 
 there myself.*'
 
 112 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 The old soldier placed the note in his empty 
 tobacco-box, and, with " God bless your Hon- 
 ors," slowly hobbled on his way. 
 
 After a pause, my friend William said, with 
 a sigh, '' Here is another proof of the -depravity 
 of human nature, I believe this poor man's 
 
 story ; for I know the tailor well -he is a 
 
 wretch ! Constant in all the outward forms of 
 religion, he turns over the leaves of his prayer- 
 book, and is louder than any of the congregation 
 in vociferating its contents; yet the first of all 
 Christian virtues, Charity y he is as much a stran- 
 ger to, as if he had never heard the name.'* 
 
 '*Aye, and I dare say, this church -going 
 rascal, this shouter of collects, creeds, and re- 
 sponses, would think it a less sin to starve the 
 poor, than visit a playhouse 1" 
 
 My friend smiled, and took me by the 
 
 hand *' This playhouse is the first object 
 
 of your thoughts; but, I hope and trust it 
 will, ere long, be supplanted by others of more 
 utility to society at large " of more heartfelt 
 satisfaction to yourself. Farewell™! have a 
 little business in the village, and shall then follow 
 the old soldier."
 
 THE ITINERANT. 113 
 
 Ere I proceed to shew the effect my 
 youthful monitor's reasoning had upon my 
 mind, it may be as well to finish the history 
 of old Jerome, which, to the honor of his 
 benefactor, I shall do in a few words. After 
 an ample supply of meat, drink, and com- 
 fortable clothing, he was placed in a poor 
 but respectable family, where, with his pay, 
 and a liberal supply from the parish, obtain- 
 ed through the influence of his friend, he 
 pass'd the remainder of his days in peace 
 and comfort; fighting over his battles, and 
 describing foreign countries, to- the great 
 amusement and edification of his gaping 
 hearers. 
 
 William's arguments carried conviction — 
 No ! — not exactly conviction — my mind wa6 
 still unconvinc'd — but they were persuasive. — 
 My fervor for acting began to abate — in short, 
 I gave up the idea, and, when I got home, 
 penn'd an apology to the manager. 
 
 I shall pass over nearly a year and a half, 
 during which, nothing occurr'd, either inte- 
 resting or uncommon, except the death of 
 
 Mr. K , my respected master ; but, as the 
 
 business was carried on by his widow and
 
 114 THB ITINERANT* 
 
 eldest son, who was called from school on 
 the occasion, my situasion continued the 
 sftone. 
 
 Behold me now, in my twentieth year, 
 lip to the heart in love, and very ignorant of 
 the business I was bound to learn, added to 
 , which my irreguLarity and dissipation were 
 become proverbial. Miss K. was cautioned 
 to keep me at a distance, but that was impos- 
 sible: arduous, eauthusiastic, and watchful as 
 jthe lynx, I lost no opportunity of enforcing 
 my passion, which at length was favorably 
 jeceived.: Hurried on by the w^rnath of my 
 imagination, I pressed my suit, and. in my 
 twentieth year prevailed on Miss K., aged 
 sixteai, to accoiripany me to Gretna Green^ 
 attended by a female friend, and my fellow 
 apprentice, who, about ten years afterwardg, 
 were themselves united in the bands of Hy- 
 men. The ofHciiting pyiegt was, both in per- 
 son and manner, vulgar in the extreme. He 
 is generally represented as a blacksmith : — 
 whether that is really his calling I know not; — 
 but, as a specimen of his literary talents, I 
 subjoin' the certificate be presented to us, af- 
 ter receiving lix guineas and a half for the 
 job, as he emphatically called it : —
 
 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 115 
 
 North Bretion Graitney Green Sept. 15 1776. 
 These are to Certijie all Persons that may Consern, 
 that Samuel William R— — and Ann K both in the 
 
 County of Yorkshire Who Came Before me, declaring 
 themselves both Single ParsonSj and Was Lawfully Marri- 
 ed By the way of the Church of England and Agree- 
 able to the Laws of the Kirk of Scotland gaven under 
 my Hand Date above menchend 
 
 Thomas Brown 
 Sam Wm R— 
 Ann K 
 Witness John Wood i -Dr.r.inrr.^^ "
 
 116 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 "THE HONEYMOON." 
 
 ** What a piece of work is man ! ho-w noble in reason ! 
 How infinite in faculties ! In form, and moving, 
 How express and admirable !'* hamlet. 
 
 Thus made man and wife, agreeable to the 
 Laws of the Kirk of Scotland, we hastened 
 back to the Bush, at Carlisle, to enjoy a 
 good dinner, according to the manner of the 
 Jnm of England ; to which we were sitting 
 down, when the waiter brought a Gentleman's 
 compliments, just arrived from Edinburgh, 
 there being no other company in the house, 
 requested permission to join our party. 
 Young, and inexperienced, we thought our- 
 selves honor*d by the request; and were 
 still more convinced of this, when the stran- 
 ger made his appearance, which was highly 
 prepossessing. He stood nearly six feet high ; 
 robust, yet of excellent symmetry ; his fea- 
 tures expressive of strong sense, and great 
 animation ; his address singularly courteous.
 
 THE ITINERANT. 117 
 
 and the tones of his voice created an inte- 
 rest I have never since experienced ; his dress 
 was fashionable, without foppery, though his 
 hair wore an appearance, at that time of day, 
 peculiarly singular. The usual style was a 
 toupee, curls, cue, and powder; but his jet- 
 black hair bore its natural hue, was tied close 
 to the head with a narrow riband, and fell 
 in ringlets down his back, 
 
 I have been this minute in my descrip- 
 tion, because this singular character will be 
 occasionally brought forward, I hope with some 
 interest. 
 
 At his entrance, we all rose ; he bowed 
 gracefully. " May I hope to obtain pardon 
 from this good company for the liberty I 
 have taken ? Man is formed for society 5 he 
 is miserable without it, and that society is 
 rendered doubly valuable when sanctioned and 
 enlivenM" (bowing to the ladies, as he took 
 his seat) " by the more lovely part of the 
 creation." 
 
 When the doth was drawn, he circulated 
 the glass with an address I had never before 
 F 2
 
 118 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 witnessM ; and conversed with a fluency upon 
 various topics^ that filled me with astonish- 
 ment : he spoke several of the modern lan- 
 guages, conversed upon history, and politics, as 
 if he bad made them his study ; then turned the 
 -discourse to Shakespeare, and other contem- 
 porary writers; in short, he seemed to be 
 equally acquainted* with plays and players; the 
 heroes of former times, and the great men of the 
 present day. He informed us '* his name was 
 Camelford, and that he was just returned from 
 Scotland/' 
 
 After passing a few pleasant hours, he 
 suddenly arose, looked at his watch, and ex- 
 claimed, ^^ I fear I am too late"— then or- 
 dered the dinner bill, of which he insisted 
 upon paying one-third, for which purpose 
 he .took from his pocket book a ten pound 
 note, and requested me to favour h'mi with the 
 difference. 
 
 " Proud of accommodating so great a man, 
 and perhaps not less proud of shewing him 
 the strength of my purse, I readily complied, 
 when, shaking my hand with uncommon, ener- 
 gy, he said, " This is not the la^t time we 
 shall meet ; you have done me a greater favor
 
 THE ITINERANT. 1 J9 
 
 than you are aware of, and have secured a friend 
 who both can and will serve you." Then, bow- 
 ing to the ladies, he precipitately left the room. 
 
 For a few moments my feelings were up 
 in arms, as well as my curiosity ; I reflected 
 on hi's parting words, and his agitation whilst 
 he pronounced them. What great obliga- 
 tion could there be in cashing a bill that 
 should secure me sl friend both aZ)?e and willing 
 to serve me ? Upon the whole, there appeared 
 a mystery in the business above my comprehen- 
 sion to fathom. 
 
 The next day, after breakfast, I sent Mr, 
 Camelford's note to discharge the bill; but^ 
 guess my surprise^ when the waiter returned it 
 as valueless. 
 
 On looking over it, (I confess for the first 
 time, for, when I received it, my confidence in 
 the man was so great, and my knowledge of 
 the world so little, that I was completely satis- 
 fied by only observing the sum of lOZ. at the 
 top of the bill, and the name of Charles Camel- 
 ford at the bottom) I now found the form ran 
 thus :—
 
 120 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 ^10..0..0 
 
 Glasgow, Sept. 12, 1776. 
 
 TTiree months after date, I promise to pay 
 the sum of lOi. to the person who has confi- 
 dence enough in me to exchange this noie^ 
 and to stand his friend, though at the utmost 
 hazard of my life, whenever circumstances de- 
 mand it» 
 
 Charles Camelford. 
 
 Here was an incident ! I was struck speech- 
 less with astonishment at the man's depravity, 
 and felt ashamed to have been so easily 
 
 duped. 1 paced the room at the rate of 
 
 six miles an hour — rang the bell — summoned 
 the master, mistress, and servants — but from 
 no one could I gather the least information : — 
 he was a perfect stranger, had come in the coach 
 from Scotland, without any luggage, and walked 
 out of the house the moment he left the dining 
 parlour. 
 
 There was no recalling the past ; I exa- 
 mined the state of my finances, and found 
 them barely sufficient to take us into L>an-
 
 THE ITINERANT. 121 
 
 cashire, without deviating from the common 
 track, which, in other circumstances, had been 
 my intention. 
 
 Behold us, then, comfortably seated in a 
 small village called Clifton, near Preston, in 
 Lancashire, where I had before placed my father, 
 and where we intended to remain till a 
 second and more binding marriage had united 
 us, and until my wife's friends were reconciled 
 to their runaway girl. 
 
 A circumstance occurred at our second 
 wedding, which I cannot omit relating, be- 
 cause it does honor to the principles of a 
 party concerned. When the sacred rites were 
 finished, I put into the hands of the clergy- 
 man (now vicar of Preston) a pair of gloves 
 folded up in paper; in one of the fingers I 
 had previously placed a guinea — these said gloves 
 lay unheeded in a drawer amongst a variety of 
 others, till a stated period, when they were to 
 be exchanged for gloves of a more wearable tex- 
 ture ; which was done accordingly without in- 
 spection. 
 
 But the vicar had scarcely reached his 
 home, ere the mistress of the shop brought
 
 122 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 him the guinea so curiously concealed ; which 
 I think was a rare proof of honesty. Several 
 years afterwards^ this worthy clergyman and 
 myself talk'd the business over, and an explana- 
 tion took place as above.
 
 123 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 *^ THE ROAD TO RUIN/' 
 
 HOLCROFT. 
 
 " Our history shall with full mouth 
 
 Speak freely of our acts." henrt v.'-' 
 
 rn u. Hi, I -„ •■{,, • . . ' , j ,. , .f 
 
 A.T the conclusion of my minority, I n^et Sir 
 
 T H , by appointment, in London, 
 
 who gave rae possession of my fortune, and 
 expressed a wish to see Mrs. R— r— and self in 
 Lincoln's Inn Fields, the following ^spring; 
 which invitation we accepted, and were treated 
 with ey§ry mark of respect and hospitality, both 
 by him and his lady. 
 
 ; We now commenced housekeeping, and 
 set off in great style; indeed, much greater 
 than my fortune could at all sanction. I had 
 always a passion for driving : now was the 
 time to indulge it. A one horse gig had its 
 coniforis, but then there was no dash — besides, 
 any one could drive a single horse. — My am-
 
 l24 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 bition soared to a pair, which, harnessed to a 
 lofty phaeton, would draw the attention of 
 
 the gazers. My wife voted for the gig, 
 
 which would be both convenient, and better 
 suited to our circumstances. Her argu- 
 ments, though sound, were not effective, and 
 an elegant carriage was bespoke. One ex- 
 travagance leads to another : 'twould be out 
 of all character to drive such an equipage 
 without a servant to follow it ; he must also 
 have a horse — but, by way of economy, I 
 purchased one that occasionally serv'd me for a 
 hunter. 
 
 Thus establish*d, we liv'd for about five 
 years in style; that is, we visited and received 
 company ; drove about from one gay place to 
 another, till the banker, in whose hands my 
 money was lodged, wrote me a very alarming 
 letter. 
 
 Young and inexperienced, we had an 
 idea that jour thousand pounds would never 
 have an end ; but, alas ! the fatal truth burst 
 upon us like a thunder- bolt : our visionary 
 schemes of happiness were- fled, never to be 
 recalled, and poverty, grim poverty ! stood 
 staring in our faces.
 
 THE ITINERANT. 125 
 
 1 possessed a small estate in right of my wife, 
 which brought in 501. a year ; this was all we 
 had now to look forward to ; our gay esta- 
 blishment must be disposed of. Farewell *^ the 
 neighing steed !'* the lofty phaeton ! — Farewell 
 our grand connexions I some sequestered nook 
 must be found to shelter our poverty, and hide 
 us from the world. In search of such a place, 
 I made a pedestrian tour into Westmoreland, a 
 fishing-rod in my hand, and two faithful pointers 
 at my heels. 
 
 Arrived at the lake of Windermere, I found 
 a spot apt for my purpose, and without reflec- 
 tion took it. The nominal rent was only three 
 pounds per annum, which had, to be sure, a 
 very cheap sound ; but I was obliged to lay out 
 at least 502. before it vvas at all habitable, and, 
 as we continued there only nine months, it will 
 appear we could have had the best house in the 
 neighbourhood of the lakes for less money. But 
 let me not anticipate. 
 
 I returned home in great spirits — charmed 
 my little wife with a description of Wesimore- ' 
 land — dwelt with rapture on *' Love in a 
 Cottage** — animadverted on the cheapness of 
 our habitation — on the plentifulness of every
 
 126 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 article necessary to our comfort: — in short, I 
 was eloquent, even to redundancy ; and almost 
 
 persuaded Mrs. R , that fifty pounds per 
 
 annum, at Newby Bridge, were fidly adequate 
 to all our wants.
 
 127 
 CHAP. VIIL 
 
 " THE POOR GENTLEMAN/^ 
 
 COLMAN. 
 
 *' How use doth breed a habit in a Man ! 
 This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
 1 better brook than flourishing peopled Towns.'' 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 iN the month of April, 1782, we took pos- 
 session of our cottage on the banks of the 
 beautiful serpentine river which terminates 
 the Lake Windermere. It \ requires the 
 pen of Mrs. Radcliffe to do justice to the 
 scenery In this delightful region; I confess 
 Imyself inadequate to the task. The lake is 
 twelve miles long, and two in breadth; the 
 water so amazingly transparent, that, at the 
 depth of nine or ten feet, you see the eels, 
 in graceful curve, gamboling at the bottom, 
 which bears the appearance of a fine newly 
 cut bowling-green. The boundaries are 
 thickly planted with trees, interspersed 
 with neat white cottages and gentlemen's 
 seats ; above which appear tow^ering fells.
 
 128 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 covered with broom. In the centre of the 
 Lake is an island, of about five and thirty 
 arcres, with a very handsome house, built by 
 a Mr. English, who, after laying out ten 
 thousand pounds, was under the necessity of 
 bringing it to the hammer, when the whole 
 was purchased by Miss Curwen, for, I be- 
 lieve, the small sum of thirteen hundred 
 founds ! 
 
 Our neighbours were few, and confined to 
 two classes, the rich and the poor ; the former, 
 friendly and hospitable 5 the latter, humble, 
 ^yen to servility. 
 
 . I pass'd the mornings in following my 
 favorite pursuits, , sfiooting and fishing ; in the 
 evening we sailed upon the lake, whose glassy 
 surface not a breath of wind ruffled, cast our 
 anchor, and the hours flew imperceptibly, 
 whilst talking over the past, and debating on 
 our future plans ; this was diversified, by 
 occasionally taking a book, or a hit at back- 
 gammon. When the weather admitted not 
 of these excursions, we beguiled the even- 
 ings with music, or a friendly interchange 
 of civility with our neighbours. The walks 
 about Newby Bridge are enchanting : fre-
 
 THE ITINERANT. 120 
 
 quently seated in the cool shade of some 
 adjoining wood, we enjoy'd the works of a 
 favorite author, whilst the feathered choris- 
 ters made the valleys echo to their cheerful 
 notes, and I may say, with truth, exalted the 
 
 ideas from the creature to the Creator. . 
 
 But, alas ! heavenly as these notes were, and 
 much as they tended to soothe the mind, other 
 notes were needful at Newby Bridge ; and 
 of these we soon found a woful deficiency; 
 for, though my amusements supplied game, 
 and fish, 'twas impossible for people of our 
 habits to exist with a maid servant, five dogs, 
 and ^^ a harmless necessary cat,*' upon fifty 
 pounds per annum. 
 
 Near the foot of Newby Bridge, and 
 within a few yards of my cottage, stood an 
 inn, which, during the summer months, was 
 much frequented by visitors, making the 
 tour of the Lakes. The landlord (rather an 
 uncommon circumstance) was a Quaker, 
 though, according to the vulgar phrase, a wet 
 one; and the spirit often moved him to do 
 those things he should 7iot have done, to the 
 great annoyance of his wife and the neigh- 
 bourhood. When much exhilarated, it was 
 his frequent custom to threaten suicide. One
 
 130 THE ITINEftANT. 
 
 evening he determined to put it in execution, 
 for which purpose he walk'd into the river, 
 up to his chin : his wife, a strong masculine' 
 woman, followed, and, taking him by the 
 ears, gave him a hearty ducking, exclaiming 
 at the same time, '^ Thou wilt drown thyself, 
 wilt thou, John ? Verily ! I will do my best to 
 cure thee of these megrims.*' This had an in- 
 stantaneous effect ; he never afterwards took 
 the water, except when qualified by the spirit, 
 I was an eye-witness of this truly laughable 
 scene, and would recommend the same mode 
 of treatment to the consideration of the faculty : 
 it would, I am persuaded, prevent many simi- 
 lar acts of lunacy. 
 
 One day we wej-e engaged to dine at a gen- 
 tleman's house two miles off. It is the hos- 
 pitable custom, in this part of England, to sup 
 where you dine ; and the night proving rainy, 
 and dark, we were easily prevailed upon to 
 take a bed. The following morning, on enter- 
 ing our little parlour, I perceived a letter on 
 the piano, which, to my inconceivable surp<-ise, 
 ran thus : 
 
 *^ Have I found you at last? With 
 this- certainty I inclose a twenty pound bill —
 
 THE ITINERANT. 131 
 
 — it will repay the pecuniary part of the obli- 
 gation conferr'd on me, seven years ago, at 
 Carlisle. — Never will the favor be erased from 
 my mind— and should the time arrive when, 
 my services can be useful, doubt not the 
 fulfilment of what I sacredly promised, in 
 the paper you gave me cash for. I have 
 trespassM on the allotted time, but the fault 
 has not lain with me;— had I sooner known 
 your address, the money would have been 
 sent to it ; — 'tis only within a few days I have 
 been able to trace you; and^ if I mistake not, 
 this is the period when the inclosure may be 
 acceptable. Excuse my frankness; but, I 
 know, times are not with you as they have 
 been. — I am sorry for it — nay heartily — ^— but 
 hope that, with the loss of property, you have 
 bought experience, 
 
 *^ You are a good natured man, 'tis said — I 
 am sorry for it — you are not a fool I believe — 
 yet, such as are generally styled good na- 
 tured men are little better: — weakness of 
 head often obtains a character for goodness 
 of heart. —The wise pity, the crafty make a 
 prey of them. Why sequester yourself, and 
 merely vegetate ? Go into the world — take an 
 active part — procure what you at present
 
 132 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 have 4iot — a livelihood. — A cipher in society is 
 contemptible — the mind and body are made 
 for employment — 'tis a duty we owe our 
 country and ourselves. — Awake from this le- 
 thargy — ^ take up your bed and walk,' or 
 poverty will soon run away with it. — I preach to 
 you — and am myself an outcast — isolated, shut 
 out from society — a wretched being is 
 
 '* CHAaLEs Camelford. 
 
 ^^ Done in your own little cottage, 
 
 this tenth day of Jiigust, 1782." 
 
 My astonishment, on reading this letter, 
 no language can describe. I questioned the 
 maid respecting the gentleman who had 
 called, and written a letter in our absence. 
 I thought she look'd confus'd at the interro- 
 gation, but she assured me no person of any 
 description had been seen by her. At length 
 the truth came out — she had locked up the 
 house as soon as our backs were turn'd, and 
 did not come home till dark. This account 
 added greatly to my amazement ; how did 
 Camelford enter the house ? indeed, by what 
 agency had he found me out at all ? Since 
 the money was restored, why not return it
 
 *HE' ITINERANT. tS^ 
 
 in person? There was an air of mystery in 
 the whole transaction that puzzled and per- 
 plexed me — it made me tineasy, though I could 
 not tell wherefore 5— his knowledge of my cir- 
 cumstarrces — the advice contain* d in his letter — 
 all^-*all, fiird me Vi^itR wonder. Indeed, as he 
 truly observed, '^ this was the period'* when 
 twenty pounds were acceptable, for we had, at 
 this moment, but one solitary guinea in the 
 house, nor any immediate expectation of re- 
 ceiving a remittance. 
 
 ^Twas several days ere I regained my 
 usual composure — Camelford was our never- 
 ceasing subject by day, and seemed, by some 
 undue influence, to govern even my hours of 
 slumber, 
 
 ' In ibe beginning of Septerriber, the Pastor 
 of our parish, who, in a similar cottage to 
 mine, ^^ lived passing well on forty pounds a 
 year,** call'd to fix the time for a shooting 
 excursion, which had been some time in agi- 
 tation, to a place call'd Low Furness, distant 
 About ttvelve miles. But as my friend, the 
 curate, is a character, it may not be amiss 
 to describe him. His knowledge of the 
 world was contracted, for he had never been 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 134 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 twenty miles from home — his mind was un- 
 cultivated, for his intelligence consisted en- 
 tirely of clerical information, which he dealt 
 out with much accuracy : no man was better 
 studied in the list of livings, or the different 
 degrees of preferment ; — this, and a reve- 
 rence, even to servility, for his superiors, he 
 seemed to think the principal, if not the only, 
 requisites for a country curate. — A foe to re- 
 flection, always in spirits, he bore the outward 
 and visible signs of good living; in short, 
 as Shakespear says — ^* he was one of your 
 round, sleek, fat faced fellows, that sleep o' 
 nights/' 
 
 The following day, having sent our guns 
 by the carrier, we set off— Don, Fop, and 
 Juno, at our heels. The way lay through a 
 most romantic country, the evening was per- 
 fectly serene, and the parson in more than 
 usual spirits. Time wore away impercep- 
 tibly ; we were within a short distance of 
 Furness Abbey, which formerly cut no insig- 
 nificant figure in monastic history, when we 
 observed, on a sudden turn of the road, a 
 chaise, which appeared stationary, and a 
 man on horseback, who seemed talking to
 
 THE ITINERANT. 135 
 
 the people wlthin.-^There mighf be mischief 
 going forward ; this part of the road was par- 
 ticularly solitary, and well calculated for deeds 
 of dai^kness. We approached with; speed, and 
 found Uhe highwayman, for: such he proved, 
 had conceal' d his features, by a piece of black 
 crape. Our appearance gave him no embar- 
 rassment, and, though we each seiz'd hold 
 of the bridle, he betray *d not the least fear, 
 but, in a resolute tone, said, ^' Gentlemen, I 
 have done you no injury, but provoke- me 
 not; release my 'horse, or the consequences 
 may be fatal ;" then, turning to me, in a 
 low voice, he said, /* What 1 Romney turn'd 
 thief-catcher at last!" and, spurring his horse, 
 burst from our hold, and was invisible in, a 
 moment, -, . \ 
 
 After my surprise at this str^^nge recog- 
 nition had in some degree abated, I turned 
 towards the chaise, and beheld two elderly 
 ladies, one of whom broke the silence, by 
 saying, *' Gentlemen, both I and Lady Mary 
 feel ourselves obliged by your good inten- 
 tions *' 
 
 As soon as my companion heard the 
 words *' Lady Mary,* V he was on her lady-
 
 138 THB ITINERANT* 
 
 ship's side of the carriage m a moment; bow- 
 kig to the very ground, and exposing his 
 fOiind bald pate, which bore the appearance 
 of a ripe pumpion. Lady Mary now took 
 u^ the discourse: " We are greatly obliged, 
 thaogh your interfetence proved useless. The 
 fellow had much the manners of a gentleman, 
 ind robbed us according to the rules of ^ po- 
 liteness." 
 
 *^ Then he has- robbed your ladyships!*' 
 said the parson. ^' Oh, yes, you shall hear the 
 whole process. After completely frightening 
 the postilion, he came up to the door of the 
 carriage, and, in gentle accents, said — " La- 
 dies, be not alarmed, you shall receive no 
 personal injury from me ; I only wish to exa- 
 mine a ring on that lady's finger. The ap- 
 plication, no doubt, appears strangle, and, 
 from a person of my appearance, alarming; 
 but I once more repeal, you have no serious 
 cause for apprehension. I have doubts, I 
 have a curiosity, that must be satisfied at all 
 hazards," 
 
 My friend then gave him her ring, which 
 was both valuable and remarkable. He ex- 
 amined it attentively, and his agitation, at
 
 THE ITrNBRANT. 187 
 
 the time, seem'd the result of recognition ; 
 yet, it appears impossible he should ever have 
 seen it before ; in short, the whole proceeding 
 is a mystery which time only can elucidate* 
 The man's appearance, independent of the black 
 crape, was genteel, and his manners elegant and 
 fascinating. He seemM, 1 thought, anxious 
 to get a view of my companion's count«^ 
 nance ; but her veil entirely defeated his cu- 
 riosity. 
 
 *^ Gentlemen, we will now pursue our 
 journey, and, should any accident bring you 
 into South Wales, we shall be happy to shew 
 you every civility in our power; and you will, 
 at the same time, receive the thanks of my 
 nncle Bishop,'' At the w<>rd ^* Bishop " the 
 parson bowed to the very ground. 
 
 She then presented her card, and, as my 
 friend received it, I thought he would lite- 
 rally have lick'd the dust to shew his gratitude. 
 
 We watch'd the chaise turn an angle of 
 the road> ere Clericus read the card, on 
 which was neatly written, *^ Lady Mary 
 Bullery Landaffy South Wales" Then, dis- 
 posing of it with more care than I should
 
 138 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 a fifty pound note, casting a significant look at 
 me, he exclaimed — 
 
 ' ** No mean connexion this ! something may 
 arise from it ! Many have risen in the church 
 froin a low origin to the highest dignity ! 
 The archbishop of C^ — - w^.s only the son 
 
 pjF a butcher ! — the late Rey, "Father in " 
 
 '^ Pray, my good friend, do not shew such 
 weakness 5 — you will never be a Bishop, depend 
 upon it." 
 
 •jiio :•-. : i V ...: .::;.■ 1^.. .• .: •.;^...:> ^ 
 
 , /'^ Who can be certain hof th?ft ?'* .taking a 
 })pok out of his pocket, which be caird a Re- 
 ligioiis Register i but which, in fact, was only 
 a list of livings, in ihe gift of bishops — ^* Let 
 me s^^ -r~ '^ Landaff'* — aye — here it is — no 
 less than five presentations ! and who knows^ 
 but, on a nearer acquaintance, her ladyship 
 may persuade her uncle the Bishop to-: — ** 
 ** Pho 1 pho ! I see through your mistake : — 
 she said, her ** uncle Bishop,'' not the 
 bishop.'* 
 
 ** ril tell you what, Mr. jRomney^few men 
 have a nict;r ear, with regard to things rdating 
 •to the church, than I have; and as I was qi> 
 her ladyifhip's hide of the carriage when her
 
 THE ITINERANT. 139 
 
 ladyship condescended to speak, there can be 
 little doubt of my being accurate." 
 
 *^ True, parson, there can be little doubt 
 of your being a curate. But, my good friend, 
 there is a partiality in gentlemen of your 
 cloth towards nobility, which I cannot, up- 
 on any rational grounds, account for. It can- 
 not be for the love of filthy lucre. The mam- 
 mon of unrighteousness, with all its deceitful 
 appendages, you abjure; and, from the prin- 
 ciples of that excellent religion you profess and 
 teach, you are taught to place your affections on 
 things above.'* 
 
 "True! but if we, who are entrusted with 
 so momentous and laborious a concern, do 
 not sustain the flesh with good wholesome 
 aliment, we should sink under the burthen; 
 for, as Archdeacon Paley very justly observes 
 
 Is not that a public house? let us adjourn, 
 
 and settle the point over a glass of good ale." 
 Accordingly we entered, and found the very 
 farmer to whose house we were goingj 
 and whom we attended to his hospitable 
 roof, where we pass'd a most comfortable 
 evening. Good cheer and hospitality had 
 an exhilarating effect upon us all. The
 
 wo THE ITINBRAKT. 
 
 parson was, in his way, more than com- 
 monly loquacious. Enveloped in the fumes 
 of tobacco, he amused, or rather confused, 
 the worthy farmer's family, with Benefices, 
 Bishops, Deans, Rectors, Curates, Prebends, 
 Deacons, Canons, Minor-Canons, and the 
 whole artillery of the Church Militant : in 
 vain I applied my foot to his under the table — 
 cough'd, wink'd — nothing would stop him, 
 till he had given a correct and edifying account 
 of all the ehurch revenues, from the Arch- 
 bishoprick of Canterbury down to Soder and 
 Man. 
 
 '^ Have you finished your devotions, my 
 good friend V said I : "if you haive not, for 
 pity's sake, postpone them, as you sometimes 
 do your sermons, to a future opportunity; 
 and give us a song/' This had the desired 
 eifeet, and the song went round till the clock 
 stfifck eleven. 
 
 Mi^,Wearos€ with the lark, in full spirits, and 
 €|g^ -expectation, of the coming sport. 
 
 Although the amusements of the field are 
 ky no means unobjectionable on the score of 
 humanity, yet, when the mind can conquer
 
 THE ITINERANT. 141 
 
 its feelings^ as it frequently does, either 
 by custom, or a partial mode of reasoning, 
 there are comforts, and enjoyments, attend- 
 ant on the life of a sportsman, which lie 
 alone can describe, or, when described, com- 
 prehend. 
 
 " When my pointers around me all carefully stand, 
 " And none dare to move, but the dog I command ; 
 ** When the covey he springs, and I bring down my bird, 
 ** IVe a pleasure no pastime besides can afford : 
 ** No pleasure, no pastime, that's under the sun, 
 ** Is equal to mine, with my dog and my gun." 
 
 The voluptuary, the indolent, and the dis- 
 sipated, will pardon this rhapsody : I have 
 mounted my favorite hobby-horse, in riding 
 which 1 have too often thrown the reins on 
 the neck, and o*er-leaped the bounds of 
 prudence. 
 
 G 2
 
 142; 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 -- ^/MORE WAYS THAN ONE." 
 
 MRS. COWLEY. 
 
 "Swear not to make known what you have heard to night. 
 Nor by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, 
 Nor by ambiguous givings out, denote 
 That you know ought of me." hamlet. 
 
 Jb R o M seven in the morning till eight at 
 night, w<; pursued our sport with eagerness 
 and success 5 but, now, sorely pressed by hun- 
 ger and iPatigue, began to calculate the dist- 
 ance from the house of our hospitable host. 
 We were close to (the ancient ruins ofiFurness 
 Abbey, whose high majestic walls had been 
 untenanted for nearly a century ; it stood proud- 
 ly solitary, not an human habitation with- 
 in its ken. — The evening closed apace — heavy, 
 black clouds appeared at a distance — the wind 
 whistled through the valley ; the crows ap- 
 proach'd the ivy'd walls with more than usual 
 haste, as if to avoid the coming tempest, and, 
 with their monotonous notes, warn'd us to do 
 the same.
 
 THE ITINERANT. 143 
 
 The dogs, at this moment, began to bark, 
 and scratch against the wall, as if to gain ad- 
 mittance : I whistled, but was not attended 
 to; they continued to scratch, and bark, nor 
 could aU my efforts draw them thence. At 
 length I approached the place, and perceiv- 
 ed, about six feet from the ground, a cavity, 
 though nearly covered with ivy. To discover, 
 if possible, what made the dogs uneasy, I 
 placed a large stone under the dilapidated wall, 
 and, mounting thereon, could easily discern 
 through the chasm what I conckided had 
 formerly been a vault, or burial ground, for, 
 through the dusk, I could perceive human 
 skulls and bones. A mouldy kind of damp 
 smell assailed my nostrils, and caused a suffo- 
 cating sensation : there were the remains of a 
 stained glass window, which emitted too fee- 
 ble a light for me to ascertain the full ex- 
 tent of this nauseous place, but, from the' 
 echo of my voice, it appeared large and 
 lofty. 
 
 My curiosity was strongly excited to see 
 the interior of this once noble pile 5 particu- 
 larly as the rain descended in large drops, 
 and the thunder rolled over our heads in loud 
 and awful peals.
 
 144 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 My companion went to the other side, in 
 search of an entrance; in the mean time, I re- 
 mained stationary, and thought I could dis- 
 cern something move under the painted win- 
 dow. Concluding it was my friend, who 
 had found admittance, I requested him to 
 come under the place where I stood, and dis- 
 cover, if possible, what had caused the alarm 
 amongst the animals. He answered not, but 
 came as I requested. To discover objects 
 more distinctly, I had extended my body as 
 far through the cavity as I could with safe- 
 ty, and saw something gradually arise towards 
 me, when, within a few inches of my face, 
 1 discovered the skull and upper part of a 
 human Skeleton ! 
 
 By the reasoning and discipline of ray 
 ipother, I had, in early life, been taught to 
 disbelieve in supernatural agency : the idea of 
 a Ghost never entered my imagination, yet, 
 at the moment, I could not help shuddering, 
 and, as I shrunk back, exclaimed, — " Good 
 God r' 
 
 I soon, however, raHied my courage '^to 
 the sticking plac^'* and concluded it was a 
 trick of the parson: confident of this, I
 
 THE ITINERANT. 145 
 
 Stretched out my hand, determined to rattle 
 the bones about his ears; but, ere I could 
 reach them, they vanished, and I received a 
 blow, that, for the instant, deprived my fin- 
 gers of motion. More than ever convinced 
 that his reverence was the perpetrator of this 
 act of violence, I descended, fully resolved on 
 an explanation : for this purpose, I explored 
 every part of the ruin, but without effect; in 
 vain I called ; there was the most profound 
 silence, save the interruption caused by the 
 thunder and rain, which now came down in 
 torrents, and added greatly to the local dis- 
 agreeables of the place. Darkness, too, ap- 
 proached with rapid strides, and I was a 
 stranger to the intricacies of the road ; never- 
 theless it must be attempted. With this view, 
 I leaped the adjoining hedge, and whistled 
 my dogs, but no dogs were forthcoming — 
 they had vanished, as well as the parson. This 
 circumstance greatly increased my uneasiness, 
 for if alive, and at liberty, they would have 
 answered the well known signal. 
 
 How was I to conduct myself? What be- 
 fore was merely surprise, now amounted to 
 alarm, to fears for my safety ; for there is a
 
 146 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 fancied security in the society of these faith- 
 ful dogs which I was now deprived of. At 
 any rate, there was mystery surrounding me, 
 if not danger, and I had every reason to sus- 
 pect the laiter; it was, indeed, nearer than 
 I dreamt of, and approached in a form the 
 most terrible, even in the form of a Bull! — 
 an enormous Bull! — who grazed within a few 
 yards of me, and whose rage my whistling 
 and hallooing had called into action. 
 
 With the most hideous roar, he tore up 
 the earth, threw his tail over his back^ and 
 with terrific fury , made towards me. My 
 gun was loaded, and, when the rain came on, 
 I had carefully wrapp'd my handkerchief round 
 the lock: this I instantly untied, determin- 
 ed to give him the contents of both bar- 
 rels, if I found it necessary to my safety. 
 The creature was within three yards of me, 
 when I lifted the gun to my shoulder, retreat- 
 ing at the same time, and was in the act 
 of pulling the trigger, when my foot, com- 
 ing in contact with a stone, tripp'd up my 
 heels. The gun, my only safeguard, flew 
 out of my hand, and left me at the mercy 
 of this merciless animal. In vain I tried to
 
 THE ITINERANT. 147 
 
 recover my legs ; the rain had made the ground 
 slippery, and hope herself was fled. 
 
 The horn of the furious bute pierced my 
 jacket, and tore away the skirt, but luckily did 
 no other injury: he was menacing a second 
 •attack, which, doubtless, would have been 
 effectual, when his attention seemed to be 
 .diverted from me by something immediately 
 behind him; an^ I was pleasingly surprised 
 to find myself no longer the object of his 
 notice. He danced— he roared— rwhilst a stout, 
 brawny, black-looking fallow, was belabouring 
 jhi§ sides with an ashen cudgel in his right 
 hand, whilst, with the left, he held him fast 
 by the tail. Having completely tired himself, 
 and tamed my opponent, he let go his hold, 
 and the lordly ;;tyrant galloppM away. By 
 this tim.^i 1, hatd .f ^covered my legs, and de- 
 termined to go to the assistance of my de- 
 liverer, but found/ him completely master of 
 the field. As I.'approached> :his appearance, 
 dress, and attitude, filled me with amazement: 
 no opposite^ were ever more contradictory ; 
 for to the person and gestures of an hero was 
 joined the most squalid wretchedness of at- 
 tire. It consisted of two waistcoats, the un- 
 der one of dirty red cloth, with sleeves ;
 
 145 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 the other of rusty black: his lower habili- 
 ments were, originally, of a dark hue, but 
 patched with a variety of colours; his com- 
 plexion was a dingy olive, and down his back 
 hung a profusion of black hair, tied close to 
 the head with a piece of packthread : in short, 
 I never saw a more wretched habit, I never 
 saw a more dignified person! Struck with the 
 commanding air with which he stood to re- 
 ceive me, I scarcely knew in what kind of 
 language to thank him : his dress spoke, as 
 plain as dress could speak, that my purse would 
 be acceptable; but his carriage and deport- 
 ment gave tlmt the He so pointedly, that I 
 was lost in a labyrinth of conjecture. 
 
 The commanding air with which he wait- 
 ed my approach, whilst gracefully pointing 
 to my vanquished adversary, kept me silent, 
 which he seem'd not inclined to interrupt, 
 but fix*d his penetrating eye upon me, as if 
 disposed to read my very soul. 
 
 " Friend,'' said I, at length, " you have 
 rendered me a singular service — you have, in 
 all probability, saved my life — ^how shall I 
 requite you ? Will the offer of my purse> 
 which, for your sake, I wish was better fill'd'*
 
 THE ITINERANT. 149 
 
 He interrupted me by saying, very em- 
 phatically — " Pshaw ! — why offer that to me you 
 so much want yourself P'^ 
 
 I started — the voice was familiar to me — 
 the words were rude — they struck at my 
 pride — they wounded my self consequence. 
 This strange man interrupted my reverie, 
 by retreating a few paces towards the Abbey: 
 he beckon'd me to follow, which I slowly 
 dic^and never, in my recolleciion, felt my 
 fears and curiosity so much awake, I had 
 followed him to the very walls of ihe ruin, 
 when fear, or prudence, got the bi-iler of 
 curiosity, and I determined to proceed no 
 further. 
 
 "Stop, friend!'* I exclaimed, in rather 
 a peremptory tone; *^ where are you taking 
 me? What is your design? who are you? You 
 have saved my life, and whilst I have this 
 •weapon, I will defend it. — Answer me — are 
 your intentions honest?'' ^' Horn soit qui rrial 
 y pense,'* said he ; and still -went ov^ beckon- 
 ing me to follow. 
 
 This man, thought I, is above the com- 
 mon stamp; he can have no design on my
 
 150 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 property! that he has already refused; and 
 were my death his object, the bull had full 
 power to inflict it ; — then, what have 1 to 
 fear ? 
 
 My courage revived, and, with undaunt- 
 ed step, I followed him. It was now be- 
 come so dark, that I could with difficulty 
 discern ray leader, and, mending my pace, 
 just reached the ruin, as my guide rush'd 
 through an arch so thickly covered with 
 shrubs, that it was impervious to the e^^ of 
 a stranger. What was now to be done? to 
 follow him were madness I I found my reso- 
 lution relax, and remain'd immoveable. At 
 this moment the following words were pro- 
 nounced in an audible voice, *' / promised 
 to stand your friend, even at the hazard of my 
 life, whenever circumstances might demand it J" 
 The very words of Camelford's note ! ! ! was 
 it possible ? the voice — it must be he. — I 
 caird out, " Camelford !" «« Romney/' was 
 immediately answered, from within. I riishM 
 through tj^e arch, and seiz'd the hand of my 
 preserver, with as much gladness, gratitude, 
 and sincerity, as though he had been a prince 
 clothed in purple,' and this ruinous Abbey 
 his palace.
 
 THB ITINERANT. 
 
 151 
 
 "Still your finger on your lips; I know 
 you are grateful — I know you are anxious to 
 learn the reason of this mysterious conduct — 
 but now it cannot be ; my friends expect me." 
 "Indeed! have you companions, then ?*' 
 *^ Follow me, and Til convince you ;— but, 
 first, let me lay a solemn injunction on you 
 not to reveal to any one what you know of 
 me, or what from circumstances you may be 
 led to guess, I will be your friend ; I am your 
 friuid — I have preserved your life ; but re^ 
 member, self preservation is the first law of 
 nature. — My life may depend on your secre- 
 cy — and yours will not be safe if you betray 
 my confidence. Were you not a little too 
 precipitate yesterday ? was it prudent to attack 
 a desperate man?" 
 
 It immediately occurred to me that Ca- 
 melford was the highwayman. Good hea- 
 ven ! what a confusion of ideas now crowd-i 
 ed on my imagination 1 " Camelford ,a rob- 
 ber ! Camelford in disguise, in concealment I 
 perhaps a murderer !" My heart,.>fiMnk with- 
 in me, and amazement kept me silent. *' Come 
 on, Romney," said he, " and think not 
 too hardly of me : my life has hitherto been 
 a very unhappy one/' The next time we
 
 152 THE .ITINERANT. 
 
 meet alone, I will give you some account of my 
 adventures 3 in the mean time, think on what 
 I have said, and be cautious/' 
 
 We now proceeded a few yards up the 
 narrow vaulted passage, when I thought 1 heard 
 the breathing of various people, aud, at the 
 same time, fumes of tobacco assailed my nos- 
 trils ; but what astonished me most, was, the 
 barking of my faithful dogs, who pretty loudly 
 signified their knowledge of my approich. 
 ** Camelford," said I, ^^ where are we ?*' for 
 there was total darkness. 
 
 ** That you shall see presently,*' and, stamp- 
 ing his foot on the ground, in a moment the 
 place was illumined with, at least, a dozen 
 small lanterns, and I beheld a scene that 
 filled me with pleasing astonishment, and 
 made a lasting impression on nry mind. I 
 found myself in an arched vault, about the 
 size of a common dining-room. The stone 
 with which it was built bore the appearance 
 of Derbyshire spar, filled with small shining 
 particles, which returned the refltcied light 
 ten thousand fold : on several large stones, 
 of an uneven surface, were spread bread, 
 cheese, onions, cold ham, and eggs, with
 
 THE ITINERANT. 153 
 
 flasks of strong beer ; but the company^ 
 twelve in number — oh, heavens 1 what a 
 raotley group — their complexion and habi- 
 liments reminded me of Macbeth's Witches. 
 All stood up at my entrance, and I was intro- 
 duced by the title of ' Confido'—a, term in use 
 amongst them, and signified ^' a person they 
 might trust/' 
 
 Camelford smiled at my astonishment. 
 " There is," said he, '' a curiosity in this ca- 
 vern, which will surprise you more than all you 
 have seen.'* I turned my head; but, conceive 
 my amazement at beholding my parson, seated 
 in a niche of the wall, puffing away sorrow in 
 large volumes of smoke, and moistening his clay 
 with a horn of brown stout. 
 
 He laughed heartily at my surprise, and, 
 giving me a welcome shake by the hand, libe- 
 rated the dogs, which he had, by desire of 
 Camelford, tied up. 
 
 The pleasure of finding my brother sports- 
 man in safety 5 the prospect of a good, whole- 
 some meal, which I stood in great need of; 
 and a retrospect of the disasters the evening 
 had produced, and which were now happily
 
 154 
 
 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 ended, gave an elasticity to my spirits, an 
 exhilaration to my faculties, which, I believe, 
 added to the harmony of the group. The 
 place — the people — the oddness of the cir- 
 cumstance which brought me there — the joy 
 of my pointers^ who play'd about my legs 
 in never-ceasing gambols — the parson's red 
 nose — Caraelford's attention — the beauty of 
 a young girl, whom they call'd Fanny — in 
 short, all these circumstances combined with 
 the strong ale to intoxicate my faculties ; 
 and, being a little pot-valiant, I determined 
 to ask an explanation of this mysterious 
 scene. 
 
 ^^ My copper-faced friend," said I, " you 
 have certainly been at- the torrid zone since first 
 I knew you, for you are famously sun-burnt ; 
 or, perhaps, you are turned Gumea captain, and 
 these are your ship's crew, for they are all of 
 the same complexion." 
 
 *^ Friend Romney," cried the parson, 
 *' what has complexion to do in the busi- 
 ness ? Do you think I should dislike a good 
 living because the congregation were mu- 
 lattos ? ' Clean money may come through 
 dirty hands,' as our Rector says. I look
 
 THE ITINERANT. 155 
 
 upon this lusty sinner now," forcibly striking 
 Camelford on the shoulder, *^ as a son of the 
 church — perhaps a bishop, and these dingy- 
 faced gentlemen the clergy of his diocese. 
 'Tis true, he has not many fat livings in his 
 gift, but he has plenty of fat bacon in his 
 larder ; and, I'll be bound, the tithes are 
 industriously gathered, as every farm-yard 
 can witness. My friend the bishop, too, 
 seems such an enemy to the church of Rome, 
 that, though nothing will ever force him to 
 say Amass, if I judge right" — with an arch 
 look at Fanny — '^ he has no objection to say, 
 Amo^ Although the conclusion of this 
 rhapsody produced a smile, there were some 
 points in it that, I knew, could not be agree- 
 able, and which, had my friend known Ca- 
 melford as well as I did, perhaps he would 
 not hjive uttered ; but, thinking them a 
 set of low, marauding gipseys, he went his 
 lengths, as he called it, without fear of offence, 
 
 ** When you get upon your parochiah, par- 
 son,*' said I, '' there is no stopping you : I 
 simply asked our host, what was the cause of 
 his change of complexion, without expecting 
 your animadversion upon it."
 
 156 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 " I should have expected, Mr. Romney/' 
 said Camelford, '^ from your age, education, 
 and experience, a little more knowledge of 
 the world : have you never heard of a sect 
 called Gipseys ? We belong to that body of 
 people 3 we bear the appellation and the ig- 
 nominy, and prefer liberty of mind and body 
 to the tyranny of partial laws and sacerdotal 
 imposition ; we despise the opinion of the 
 world, as much as we do its customs. The 
 ambitious statesman, who would sacrifice his 
 country's welfare for a place or a pension — 
 the honorable courtier, who suffers his trades- 
 man to languish in a gaol — the mercenary 
 merchant, whose narrow habits of trade have 
 rendered him dead to every feeling of hu- 
 manity, whose tall ships scour the burning 
 coasts of Africa, and tear asunder the nearest 
 and dearest ties of consanguinity, — we de- 
 spise — we shun their society, detest their 
 principles, and abhor their practice. Satis- 
 fied with a little, we are seldom in want ; and, 
 though we may not enjoy the luxuries of 
 lifcjt we have aU its necessaries. Thus, then, 
 you know what belongs to the character ctf a 
 gipsey — dX least such are the gipseys of the 
 North."
 
 THE ITINERANT. 157 
 
 Though half intoxicated, I was not be- 
 reft of reason ; I heard this defence of the 
 gipseys with amazement. How a man, with 
 such accumulation of talent, could assimilate 
 himself to a set of wretches, seemingly the very 
 scum of society, puzzled me ; but, indeed, 
 every circumstance I had known, that at all 
 related to him, was equally mysterious : he was 
 a character, to me, altogether indefinable — a 
 nondescript. 
 
 It will not be improper here to observe, 
 that, as my companion knew nothing of Ca- 
 melford, before the present time, it could not 
 be expected he should receive from his ap- 
 pearance a very favorable impression, having 
 much more experience of the gipsey tribe 
 than myself, and, being as contracted in his 
 notions as he was in his knowledge of man- 
 kind, he was not very partial to the calling. 
 At the same time, his frequent applications to 
 the flask had rendered him extremely irri- 
 table ; and the word Sacerdotal he inter- 
 preted as an insult offered to himself and his 
 profession. At the conclusion of Camelford's 
 speech, taking his pipe from his mouth, he 
 muttered, at intervals, " Sacerdotal ! — umph ! 
 — it's come to a pretty pass!" At length, 
 VOL, I. H
 
 158 THB ITINERANT. 
 
 knocking out the burnt embers on his thumb- 
 nail, he began :— 
 
 ** That's very well, very well indeed, ho- 
 nest man ; and, if divided and subdivided, 
 would lay the foundation for a good ten mi- 
 nutes' discourse. I remember, when 1 went 
 to St. Bee's, I had a kind of thesis to com- 
 pose on the sixth Commandment — ' Thou 
 shalt not steal.' Now, I can't help thinking, 
 Mr. Copperface, that, if I had had you at my 
 elbow, what a discourse might have been pro- 
 duced ! for, as Solomon says, ^ Experience 
 makes even fools wise.' At the conclusion 
 of this speech, he, as usual, gratified himself 
 with' a loud, self-approving laugh, repeating 
 the last sentence, *' Experience makes even 
 fools wise." 
 
 Throughout the whole of this silly, and 
 indeed ungrateful, attempt at satire, I trem- 
 bled for the reverend simpleton. Such a 
 man as Camelford, alone, could have annihi- 
 lated him : what imprudence, then, to insult 
 him at his own table, surrounded by his crea- 
 tures, who both loved and revered him, and 
 whose hospitality we had so liberally shared ! 
 I was, however, pleasingly deceived 3 for, al-
 
 THE ITINERANT. 159 - 
 
 though the other members of this hetero- 
 geneous socrety exhibited evident marks of 
 anger, Camelford's high spirit, aided by his 
 good sense, threw a degree of expression into 
 his countenance, that savor'd more of pity than 
 anger ; he turned to the parson, with a kind 
 of half- smile, and said, '^ Fan quce sentias 
 aequa animo.'' Gn hearing this, a stern looking 
 man, who sat at another table, started up, and, 
 looking fiercely towards us, replied, ^' Nemo me 
 impune lacessit.*' At this Camelford rose, in 
 some heat, and, turning to the man, exclaimed, 
 *' Corifido Conquiesco.'' 
 
 The parson, who fully understood this 
 conversation, began to feel uncomfortable, 
 and, taking another horn to the health of 
 the company, he said, " I find we are 
 amonost the literati: instruction in this coun- 
 
 o 
 
 try being so cheap, is a great advantage to the 
 lower classes of society, and *tis a man's own 
 tault '' 
 
 I suspected he was going to make bad 
 
 worse, and therefore interrupted him 
 
 " Very true, parson, as you say, instruction 
 in this country must be very cheap, or you 
 would have remained in ignorance ; for I
 
 160 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 have heard you say, your father was a working 
 tailor at Cartmely and your mother a washer- 
 woman at the same place." Now, though this 
 was a fabrication, I hoped it might rouse the 
 company to mirth, or, at least, divert their 
 thoughts from a subject not quite grateful to 
 their feelings. Indeed, his observations were 
 both ill-natured and ill-timed, and tended to 
 involve both him and myself. 
 
 What I jokingly said, answered my wish ; 
 the whole company joined in the laugh, not 
 omitting the reverend himself, who shook 
 his fat sides, and said, ** Friend Romney 
 must have his joke.*' At length, the fatigues 
 of the day, and the good cheer, had a somni- 
 ferous effect : the divine snored most de- 
 voutly, and Camelford ordered two of his fol- 
 lowers to lay him on some clean straw in the 
 other cavern. The conversation now be- 
 came more general, and I was surprised to 
 find the whole company not only possessed 
 of information, but of polished manners ; and 
 two hours pass'd away, not merely with plea- 
 sure, but profit. 
 
 ** Romney,'* said Camelford, *' you are 
 not used to late hours; we are accustom'd
 
 THE ITINERANT. 161 
 
 to them, and, you know, man is the child of 
 habit. Let me conduct you to your friend — 
 recruit exhausted nature with a few hours' re- 
 pose, and, in the morning, you will depart in 
 peace/' He accompanied me to my bed of 
 straw, and, as I extended myself upon it, said, 
 in a melancholy tone, *^ Good night! I leave 
 you entomb'd before your time : — would it were 
 my case in reality 1" 
 
 *^ What, in the name of Heaven, Camel- 
 ford, thus hangs upon your mind ? Unbosom 
 your griefs ; they will be lessened by participa- 
 tion—and, surely, you may trust me/' 
 
 " I know I may ; but now I cannot — dare 
 not; there will come a time, when you shall 
 be informed of all." Then, taking my hand, 
 he put a purse into it, with these words, " / 
 do not want money— i/oi* do : your income is 
 insufficient — Take that — you will find a ring — 
 'tis a pledge of friendship — Part not with it, for 
 your life, till I demand it. Farewell till morn- 
 ing." He grasped my hand, convulsively, and 
 departed. 
 
 A crowd of reflections kept me from re- 
 pose. How did this man acquire a know-
 
 l62 jJ^JTHE ITINERANT, 
 
 ^ 
 
 ledge of my circumstances ? I had never hinted, 
 even remotely, to any one, the state of my 
 finances — surely I am in a dream 1 No — 
 the purse in my hand, and the snoring of my 
 companion, convince me to the contrary. 
 The ring, too — this brought to my recollec- 
 tion the highwayman, and the ring he had 
 so unwarrantably possessed himself of. Good 
 heaven I if this should be the same — for I 
 had every reason to suppose Camelford the 
 robber — what a situation shall I be placed in ! 
 I must for ever conceal it, or be suspected 
 for a thief. Part with it 1 dare not — Camel - 
 ford may be as dangerous an enemy as he 
 is now a friend. With these unpleasant re- 
 flections I fell asleep, nor awoke till the day 
 was far advanced. " Where are we ?*' said 
 the parson. It required some reflection ere I 
 could inform him : the only glimmering of 
 light came from the hole we had crept through, 
 and the adjoining cavern was but dimly 
 lighted by the painted window I before men- 
 tioned. 
 
 We felt our way out, but found the place 
 deserted ; not a vestige of the last night's 
 hospitality remained, save my friend's broken 
 pipe.
 
 THK ITINERANT. 163 
 
 '^What a proslUution of time!'* said the 
 curate. '^ I shall never forgive myself ! A man 
 of my cloth, who am honored with the* cor- 
 respondence of a bishop who has twelve* liv- 
 ings in his gift, to herd with vagabond gip- 
 
 seys ! — Let me see — is my money safe? 
 
 Well — that is more than I expected. I re- 
 member his Lordship, in his last charge to 
 the '' 
 
 ^^ D — n his Lordship," said I, having just 
 struck my head with force against the wall, 
 in endeavoring to find the passage ;— ^^ you 
 can think and talk about nothing but bishops 
 and livings : do try if your memory will furnish 
 you with the means of extricating us from this 
 infernal place." 
 
 ** 'Tis well for you we live not in the 
 times of Bishop Bonner, or you might repent 
 your words — Why, sir, you d — d the bishop ! 
 I assure you, 'tis a very dangerous expression, 
 and I don't know, even now, when liberty 
 borders on licentiousness, whether the Spiri- 
 tual Court has not power to take cognizance of 
 
 At this moment my dogs discovered the
 
 164 THE ITINBRANT. 
 
 passage, and once more we beheld the face of 
 day J 
 
 # Thank God r said I. 
 
 ** Amen V said the parson : '^ these are the 
 only pious words I ever heard you make use of." 
 
 We made the best of our way towards 
 the farmer's, and on the road were met by a 
 number of people, headed by a constable, 
 who informed us they were in quest of a 
 gang of gipseys who had infested the coun- 
 try, and done much mischief for the last 
 three "^veeks. " They are gone," said the 
 
 ""parson but I interrupted him "Yes, 
 
 they are gone from this part of the country, or, 
 most likely, we should have seen something 
 of them." I then forced him away, for fear 
 he should say all he knew. 
 
 ** Now, parson, you would have betray'd 
 these people ! Can you justify your conduct on 
 a principle of gratitude ? Have we not been 
 *Vreated hospitably by them ? But, were it 
 not so, your friendship for me should have 
 withheld your tongue 5 for did not one of them 
 save my life?"
 
 THE ITINERANT. 165 
 
 ^' Very true — very true, my good friend ; 
 but these petty considerations must give way 
 to the more weighty concerns of justice and 
 the good of society. Here is a gang of listen- 
 tious profligates, who break through all iWFs, 
 civil and religious, and plunder without dis- 
 crimination ; nay, I dare say, they would not 
 scruple to rob the henroost — even of a bishop! 
 And if this sacrilegious set were suffered ^ 
 increase, we might soon, and with justice, cry 
 out — the church is in danger! V — ''^ Your liv- 
 ing you mean, parson : take away the livings, 
 and your anxiety for the church will not endan- 
 ger your repose/' 
 
 *^ The labourer is worthy of his hirjif Mr. 
 Romney ; great is our industry, and great shojra 
 be our reward ; and for such ' Dominns Fkovi' 
 debit/ as our Rector says." 
 
 We were now met by the farmer and his 
 two sons, who had been all morning in search 
 of us, and were full of apprehensions for our 
 safety. I partially related the strange adven- 
 ture, which fiird the worthy man with astonish- 
 ment ; for he exclaimed " The ghost is then 
 
 accounted for." Upon requesting an explana- 
 tion, he continued, 
 
 h2
 
 166 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 '^ For the last three years^ at stated periods, 
 thtre have been strange appearances seen at 
 the Abbey,, both by day and night. fVe 
 country people are ignorant, of course super- 
 stifious ; and attributed these to the power of 
 magic, or supernatural agency : the consequence 
 was, as might naturally be supposed, — the ruins, 
 ■which were formerly much resorted to, both 
 by the curious and the idle, were entirely de- 
 serted ; no footstep approached thenrbyday — 
 no eye but shunn'd even their most remote ap- 
 pearance by night." 
 
 We took leave of the farmer immediately 
 after dinner, intending to shoot over the fields 
 h^e. As if accidentally, I steer'd our course 
 towards the abbey, and, when near its vicinity, 
 pointtid out some fields to the left, which 1 re- 
 commended to my companion, whilst I , took 
 the opposite direction, and approached the ruins. 
 Arrived at the secret entrance, I wrote on 
 a card, " Your rendezvous is discovered,'' This 
 I placed against the wall, in such a manner, 
 that no one, entering that way, could possibly 
 overlook it. I then rejoined my companion, 
 who was loading his gun, having, as he said, 
 just Tythed a Covey,
 
 THE ITINlERANT. 16? 
 
 Resting ourselves on the stump of a tree, 
 I requested an explanation of some circumstances 
 relative to the preceding evening, which, as 
 yet, I was ignorant of. 
 
 These he gave me, in the following words : 
 *^ As I went round the Abbey in search of 
 an entrance, a' man unexpectedly started up- 
 on me; he had neither sword nor pistol, 
 but he had weapons that have subdued 
 more than either: they consisted of a large 
 flask bottle of strong ale, and a drinking 
 -horn J — he began the attack, pourM out a 
 bumper, and held it towards me. Full of cou- 
 rage, having tasted nothing since morning, 
 I grappled with him, and, in the struggle, re- 
 ceived the whole contents in my stomach : 
 thus vanquish'd, he persuaded me to follow 
 him, which I did, with your <logs at my 
 heels. After some few questions, he said he 
 knew you well, and was your friend : I fol- 
 lowed through a subterraneous passage which 
 led to the spot of ground you that moment 
 overlooked, when, placing a skull on the end 
 of my gun, he advanced it to your face, and, as 
 you reach'd out your hand, gave it a blow with 
 his cudgel. The whole business was enterM 
 upon and executed with such perfect good hu-
 
 168 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 mor, that I, of course^ opposed it not ; and, 
 after placing me in the comfortable niche where 
 you found me, he set off in quest of you. But 
 who and what is this man ? he knows you ; 
 the knowledge, I suppose, is mutual. Oblige 
 me so far as to develope the mystery,' for one I 
 am convinced there is, appertaining to this strange 
 character." 
 
 ** I am little more enlightened respecting 
 the person you allude to than yourself: I have 
 by accident met him before, though not in the 
 character of a gipsey ; but my knowledge is too 
 desultory to gratify curiosity." 
 
 The pleasure of being moderately fatigued — 
 the smiles of the woman one loves— the spoil 
 laid on the table — the dogs fed and kennelled in 
 clean straw — the snug little cot — the easy chair 
 
 —the fireside — the -But whither am I going? 
 
 —a brother sportsman will feel with me, but 'tis 
 caviere to the lame and the lazy, the plodding 
 tradesman, and the poring pedant ; from such, I 
 hope for that indulgence I should be willing to 
 shew to their hobbies ! though I might not be 
 disposed to ride them. 
 
 Ann's astonishment, when I related our ad-
 
 THE ITINERANT. 169 
 
 ventures, was unbounded — ^^ Was it indeed pos- 
 sible ? the elegant Camelford a highwayman ! a 
 gipsey ! But he had preserved her husband's life, 
 and, with her latest breath, she would bless him 
 for it/' 
 
 The purse contained nine guineas and some 
 silver. The ring was every way remarkable — 
 the stone, a valuable antique, set round with 
 amethyst; the cipher LP. C. on the under 
 side ; and round the ring, in white enamel, was 
 engraved E. C, obit Dec. 31st, 1730, jEtat 20.
 
 170 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 " SUCH THINGS ARE." 
 
 MRS INCHBALD. 
 
 » "Let them 'be well used j for they are the abstract and 
 brief Chronicles of the times. After your death, you were bet- 
 ter have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.'" 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 ^NE beautiful calm evening, in the latter end 
 of September, I was standing on a large stonc^ 
 under the middle arch of the bridge, endea- 
 voring to ensnare the finny tribe — " my cus- 
 tom sometimes in the afternoon" — when I 
 beheld rather a smartish looking group of pe- 
 destrians coming down the hill ; they consisted 
 of three males and two females. On their 
 nearer approach, I was considerably struck 
 by their appearance. One of the men wore a 
 gold-lac'd cock'd hat, long ruffles, a faded 
 pea-green coat, and an ivory-headed cane, 
 which he flourished with much self-import- 
 ance ; the other two, one in scarlet, the other
 
 THE ITINERANT, 171 
 
 black, with tarnished gold on their waistcoats, 
 and silk stockings. The females were equally- 
 removed from plainness — their appearance smart 
 and showy. 
 
 The few inhabitants of this remote place 
 were at their doors, marking the progress of 
 this singular cavalcade. The blacksmith left 
 his anvil; the exciseman stopp'd to gaze; the 
 superannuated 'squire, and his still more an- 
 cient rib, peep'd through the garden enclo--^ 
 sure; and I, eager to behold, and wondering 
 who they could be, forgot my slippery situ- 
 ation in the middle of the river, lost my 
 footing, and was immersed to my waist in 
 the cooling element, at the moment they were 
 entering the house of my neighbor, the Quaker. 
 
 The rivulet was neither broad nor deep : 
 I got out with all possible expedition, lest 
 the gazers should change their object ; ran 
 home, redress'd myself, and return'd to the 
 public house, determined to know the rank 
 and calling of these strange-looking people. 
 There was one common sitting parlor in this 
 hotel, for the reception of travellers; and, 
 finding the party had ordered tea, I sent my
 
 172 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 compliments, requesting permission to take it 
 with them. This was readily granted, and, 
 with my best bow, I sat down near ^tjie 
 youngest of the ladies, expecting a greater 
 treat than merely fea could afford. 
 
 I was not disappointed ; the appearance 
 of these people was not more eccentric than 
 their discourse. I have, in general, remarked 
 that a man*s calling may be known by his 
 conversation ; the present party discovered 
 theirs, ere I had been two minutes in their 
 company. The gentleman in the cock'd hat 
 had left the room previously to my entrance; 
 and returning, just as I sat down, with 
 my back towards the door, did not imme- 
 diately perceive me ; but, throwing himself 
 into an attitude, and, at the same time, 
 shutting the door with much force, he bel- 
 lowed out, *'Thou canst not say I did it, 
 bloody Banquo ;*' — when, observing me, he 
 turn'd with great ease, took off his hat, and, 
 with a low and graceful bow, said, '^ Sir, I 
 crave your pardon. When Roscius was an 
 actor in Rome, then every actor rode upon 
 his ass; but now every actor rides upon his 
 ten toes, as my shoes can witness, Ecce sig^
 
 THE ITINERANT. 173 
 
 numP* — turning up his foot, and exhibiting 
 a sad lack of sole. 
 
 ^^ Oh, fie, Mr. Best!*' cried the youngest 
 of the females ; ^^ you should not talk of asses 
 before ladies." 
 
 *^ I wonder. Miss Usher, you should be sur- 
 prised at the introduction of an ass, whilst 
 Hamilton is in company." 
 
 '^I'll tell you what," replies Hamilton — 
 taking up the remains of a lobster he had 
 been eating — ^^ I make a better appearance than 
 Best, for I enter with Eclat.'* 
 
 ^^ Mr. Hamilton, my dear, pray reach the 
 kettle : you are so lazy !" 
 
 '^ True, madam ! he is but a kind of a loh, 
 and it's impossible to make a hh stir,'' 
 
 With this kind of conversation, though it 
 had neither wit nor sentiment to recommend 
 it, I was highly amused ; it was characteristic, 
 and, to me, had the recommendation of no- 
 velty. Free, easy, and unembarrassed, they
 
 174 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 play*d upon each other with the most perfect 
 good humor. Each lively sally, each sprightly 
 joke, was followed by a hearty laugh. I felt 
 happy, and fancied my neighbor's tea more 
 highly flavored, and his brown toast more truly 
 delicious, than any I had before tasted. 
 
 ^^ Pray, gentlemen,'* said I, ^' wliafTs your 
 candid opinion of the stage ? it must be a 
 pleasant profession. Is it profitable;?"" 
 
 The third gentleman, who had hitherto 
 remained silent, and who, I found, was the 
 manager, looked at me with surprise, and, ia 
 a coarse Irish brogue, replied, " Plasing and 
 profitable ! by my soul it's naither. As to the 
 pleasure, my jewel, I have been an actor man 
 these thirty years, and nher could plase my' 
 silf, or any body else; and as to the profit, 
 it*s like Macbeth and the dagger : a man is 
 continually grasping at shadows, whilst- the 
 substance slips through his fingers. — There 
 have I been rowling and scrowling. up and 
 down the country for the last two years; and 
 
 for what ? Why, Nix wy dole. The stage I 
 
 by the powers, sir, if you wish to bother 
 your brains for the good of your bowels, you 
 must not come there.'*
 
 THE ITINERANT. 1/5 
 
 This extraordinary speech did not come 
 exactly within the orbits of my comprehen- 
 sion ; hut, as freedom of speech seem'd to be 
 the order of the day, I observed, 
 
 '' That, doubtless, there were technical 
 terms belonging to the stage, as well as 
 other professions, which none but professors 
 could understand. As this was at present my 
 case, I hoped he would pardon my curiosity, 
 and inform me what was meant by ' Ma? my 
 
 ^^ Aye, aye, manager T' was echoed by the 
 whole company ; ^* let us have an explanation 
 of * Nix my dole,'* 
 
 ^^ Find it out, ye spalpeens 1 , Am I to 
 supply you with brains ? You see, sir, the 
 ignorance of these people ; it is not a gold- 
 laced cock and pinch, nor knuckle-dusters 
 of long lawn, that bestow since and raisdh ; 
 
 * These are the trappings and the suits, you know ; 
 
 * There must be that within, that passeth show.' 
 
 But to answer your question, sir — ^ Nix my 
 dole* is a species of the ancient Sclavonic, 
 which I sometimes use, to express Nothing
 
 176 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 at all at all — a term very applicable to my 
 company of comedians; for, if you sarch till 
 Doomsday for their merit, you'll find it, at 
 last, * Nix my dole,* 
 
 "Well said, manager!" replied Mr. Best 5 
 "this is the first time, ladies and gentlemen, 
 that Mr. Cuthell ever made a speech with- 
 out bogging,'* 
 
 '^ Come, gentlemen," cried the youngest 
 female, '^ have done with the shop, and speak 
 in language more intelligible. How can this 
 gentleman, who is a stranger to such jargon, 
 understand what you mean by bogging? He 
 will, perhaps, think you called the manager a 
 bog-trotter ; and in that case, if I was Mr. 
 Cuthell, I should call you out — with pistols." 
 
 " Pistols !" replied Best — taking her in his 
 arms, and giving her a hearty kiss ; — '^ there's 
 a great gun for you 1" 
 
 *^ No" — said Miss — ^^ it's only a blunder- 
 buss T 
 
 The freedom and ease with which these 
 people conversed ^their impenetrable good
 
 THE ITINERANT. J 77 
 
 humor, and satirical remarks on their pro- 
 fession and poverty — convinced me that the fol- 
 lowers of the stage were a happy people, and 
 I longed to be enrolled a member. 
 
 The party were preparing for a march, when 
 two return'd chaises, jfrom Kendal, drove up 
 to the door ; from one of which descended 
 a little man, carrying a fiddle-case nearly 
 as large as himself, who, in coming into 
 the room, was greeted by the name of Fid- 
 liano. This person I, some years before, re- 
 collected as leader of the band in the Man- 
 chester Theatre. His travelling companions 
 were an old woman and two children. 
 
 It was soon agreed that the pedestrians 
 should change their mode of travel. Accord- 
 ingly, the carriages were filled, and Mr. Brown, 
 the little musician, placed in front, seated 
 upon his fiddle-case, out of which he had 
 previously taken his instrument, and, with much 
 humor, addressed the ladies : — 
 
 ** Thus, to your Majesty says our suppliant muse, 
 WouM you a solo or sonata choose ? 
 Name but your wiU--»'tis done as soon as spoke,"
 
 178 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 ^^A civil fellow !~play up the Black Joke f"^ 
 exclaimed one of the ladies. This apt quota- 
 tion caused an universal laugh ; and whilst 
 Brown rasp'd, in burlesque style, the 'Black 
 Joke,' the merry group were driven away, 
 to the astonishment of the inhabitants of 
 Newby Bridge ; who, should these authen- 
 tic Memoirs be read in so remote a place, 
 will, doubtless, recollect the ludicrous cir- 
 cumstance, and, in the recollection, renew 
 their laughter. 
 
 The last scene of this comedy was wit- 
 nessed from the cottage door by Ann, my 
 wife ; and, when I recounted the whole of the 
 conversation, it produced a train of thinking, 
 of serious import to ray future welfare, and 
 which, in the end, turned the tide of my affairs 
 into a new channel. 
 
 We had pass'd about eight months in ob- 
 scurity, and had, more than once, been re- 
 duced to the last shilling. *Twas impossible 
 to live without taking credit ; the time of 
 payment approach'd — and no money due from 
 Yorkshire.
 
 THE ITINERANT. 179 
 
 To an upright mind the idea of being 
 dunn'd is terrible — to turn the honest trades- 
 man without his due, a gaUing reflection, 
 and what we had hitherto avoided. These 
 meditations produced an inquiry into our ex- 
 penditure, and proved, what we ought long 
 before to have known, the impossibility of 
 existing on so limited an income. We saw 
 
 the evil but how to procure a remedy ? 
 
 Trade, my habits had unfitted me for my 
 
 propensities did not originally tend that way ; 
 from my youth I had a predilection for the 
 stage, and Vanity whisper' d, * You have ta- 
 lent.' Ann disapproved the expedient alto- 
 gether 5 she could not brook the degradation, 
 and advised me to apply to Sir Thomas 
 
 H ; perhaps, through his interest, a place 
 
 under government might be obtained. This 
 proposal I would not listen to a moment — I 
 long'd for a state of more independence; 
 and this, I conceived, the stage alone would 
 grant. 
 
 Many and various were our discussions — 
 I might say, altercations. Ann could not be 
 prevailed upon to think the stage as respect- 
 able as any other profession ; or that, in be- 
 coming a player, I should retain the appella-
 
 180 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 tion of ^a gentleman.' At length, I wrung 
 from her, her " slow leave •/* indeed, it was 
 an amiable weakness, common with her, to 
 adopt my opinions, which, had she more 
 steadily opposed, would, in the end, have been 
 better for us both. 
 
 Having gain'd my point, and finally con- 
 cluded on the stage as my future destination, 
 it became necessary to consider how an en-^ 
 gagement was to be procured. The only 
 company I had the least knowledge of was 
 Messrs, Austin and Whitlock's; to them I 
 wrote, and was favor'd with a very polite an- 
 swer. "They were on the point of leaving 
 Chester; but, if I chose to join them at 
 Newcastle-upon-Tyne, I should be immediately 
 enrolled in the list of performers — my talents 
 fairly put to the test, and my emoluments 
 upon a par with the rest of the company." 
 
 Here was a glorious prospect for a young 
 adventurer ! Received into immediate pay, 
 with a fair opportunity of displaying those 
 talents which had hitherto been buried in 
 obscurity, and which, I flattered myself, 
 would burst forth with meridian splendor. 
 Nay, even Ann, with all her dislike to the
 
 THE ITINERANT. IBl 
 
 Stage, help*d to fan this spark into a flame, 
 by flattering my pride with encomiums on my 
 abilities. Alas ! hei' praise, and my conse- 
 quent pleasure, only shew'd our ignorance. 
 
 Amongst young candidates for the' stage, 
 inclination is often mistaken for ability : ^tis 
 true, I was not destitute of talent ; but it lay 
 in a different line from that which at present oc- 
 cupied my thoughts, 
 
 Hamlet, Romeo, Douglas, and George 
 Barnwell, were my constant companions. I 
 storm'd on the banks of the lake — modulated 
 my voice into the softness of love in the pad- 
 dock behind my cottage — practised the most 
 graceful and least hurtful method of falling 
 on the carpet in the parlor — and the more 
 common declamatory passages were rehearsed 
 in every lane within a mile of my habita- 
 tion. 
 
 John Braithwaite the Quaker and Ben 
 the blacksmith, learning my future designa- 
 tion, left the tap-room and the forge, to try 
 what effect their oratorical powers would 
 have in counteracting so rash a decision. 
 The landlord, though he could scarcely arti- 
 yoL. 1, I
 
 182 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 culate a word, through the influence of the 
 spirit, read me, what he thought, a lecture 
 on the immorality of the stage, and the dis- 
 sipated lives of its professors; whilst honest 
 Ben, hitching up his small-clothes, and spit- 
 ting a quantity of tobacco-spittk on the car- 
 pet, swore it was a blackguard trade, and he 
 would rather see his son a beggar, than he 
 should disgrace his family by turning player. 
 I smiled at the inconsistency of these mo- 
 ralists, but gave them credit for their good 
 intentions. 
 
 Newcastle is, at least, a hundred and forty 
 miles from Newby Bridge. Money was a ne- 
 cessary article in the expedition, which the 
 sale of my furniture, after paying my debts, 
 amply supplied. The auctioneer gave the 
 final blow to our comfortable cottage, by 
 knocking down all its conveniences to the 
 best bidder ; nay, even my dogs and shoot- 
 ing apparatus were disposed of — so deter- 
 mined was I to sacrifice every other propen- 
 sity, and devote my whole time and attention 
 to this new undertaking. 
 
 I cannot pass over this part of my his- 
 tory, without indulging a few melancholy re-
 
 Tim ITINERANT. 18S^ 
 
 flections on the instability of earthly en- 
 joyments. Perhaps a greater degree of corai* 
 fbrt could scarcely be imagined than we ex-- 
 perienced in this retired abode, and which a 
 trifling addition to our income might haVe( 
 continued; but, iri' a moment, the tent is 
 ^nick— a marfch is beaten, and the quietude 
 of a coufitry life^ exchanged fbr the bustle, 
 dissipation, and confusion of a busy world. 
 Alas ! had I known the sea of troubles I was 
 launching my bark into, I should have sunk 
 under the idea of never being able to weather 
 the storm. 
 
 Were it possible for me to express what 
 I now feel, whilst recalling to memory these 
 circumstances, I, perhaps, might make a 
 similar impression on my readers; but in 
 writing, as in acting, 'tis probable those 
 whose feelings are most acute make the least 
 impression. I have known a respectable 
 actor cry like a woman, through an affecting 
 part, without producing any similar sensa- 
 tion in the audience; whilst Cooke would 
 drown them in tears, and, at the same time, 
 be slily winking at his friends behind the 
 scenes.
 
 184 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 With a hundred pounds in my pocket— 
 the future emoluments of the theatre, which 
 my sanguine imagination magnified into a 
 handsome provision, added to our little in- 
 come — I thought poverty could never ap- 
 proach us ; I looked on the cottage with con- 
 tempt, and left it without regret I Yes — I 
 left a degree of happiness, I have never since 
 experienced, without regret I
 
 185 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 " THE REHEARSAL/' 
 
 DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 
 
 ** For the law of wit and liberty, these are the only men.'* 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 I FOLLOWED Camelford's advice — *^ I launched 
 into the world, and was no longer a cipher in 
 society.'' 
 
 We reached Newcastle-upon-Tyne in Fe- 
 bruary, 1783, without accident, and settled 
 ourselves in a comfortable lodging, at half-a- 
 guinea per week. The manager welcomed me 
 with much cordiality and politeness — " hoped I 
 had had a pleasant journey — was I com- 
 fortably accommodated with a lodging?'* &c. 
 and, giving me a friendly shake by the hand, 
 ^* begg'd to see me at the theatre on the 
 follpwing rehearsal."
 
 186 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 The morning came, and I felt, as a 
 stranger, an unpleasant sensation, at the idea 
 of facing the actors ; but the manager, with 
 his usual attention, introduced me into the 
 green room : the company rose — they bow- 
 ed — I did the same, and, with much confu- 
 sion of countenance, took ,my seat. They 
 consisted, as nearly as I can recollect, of 
 Measrs. Austin and Whitlock, the managers; 
 Munden, Duncan, Piatt, Kennedy, O'Reilly, 
 Mapplef?, Clarke, Morton, Saunderson, Stan- 
 ton, Mason ; Mrs, Kennedy, Mrs. Munden, 
 l^rs. Duncan, Mrs. Morton, Mrs, Mapples, 
 and Mrs. Lester. I eagerly, in silence, lis- 
 tened to their conversatioA, but did not ob- 
 serve that freedom, that spirited pleasantry, 
 which marked the itinerants at Newby 
 Bridge; on the contrary, formality, reserve, 
 and affectation, appeared to my inquisitive 
 mind the leading traits of my present assa^ 
 ciates, I have since had reason to correct 
 this opinion, respettin^ the company in ge- 
 7|era,Z^* and now, ifroip long experience, Jio- 
 nestly declare, that the green room of a re- 
 spectable theatre is a scene of animation and 
 pleasantry, provided the manager's manners 
 are conciliatory, ^nd his conversation atten- 
 tively polite to all 3 in short, provided he is in
 
 THE ITINERA^fT. 18? 
 
 every respect the reverse of Mr. — , who, 
 some years since, commanded the dramatic 
 corps in Liverpool. 
 
 In the evening I took Ann to the theatre, 
 where we were much entertained ; the com- 
 pany were highly respectable, and what is 
 c£illed the husiness of the theatre was con- 
 ducted in 3. masterly style. I was not a little 
 surprised, at the end of the play, to see Mun- 
 den come forward, in the dress of a sailor, to 
 «ing * Blow high, blow low* — a song totally 
 out of his line, and beyond his powers— ano- 
 ther proof, among a thousand in my recol- 
 lection, that actors, particularly young ones, 
 make a wrong estimate of their talents ; the 
 greatest comic geniusses having generally started 
 as servants of Melpomene, 
 
 I regularly attended the rehearsal, in ex- 
 pectation of employment ; but, though the 
 manager continued his politeness, not a word 
 was said relative to my appeaiance. At last, 
 I spoke to the prompter, and learnt, to my 
 great surprise, that, in all probability, some 
 time would elapse ere my play would be 
 brought forward, as several new and popular 
 pieces were in rehearsal, and George BarU'
 
 188 ' TKB ITINERANT. 
 
 well was not, at this time, an object to the 
 managers. During this interval, I employed 
 myself in studying long tragedy parts, which 
 I never performed, and attending the green 
 room, where I was, in a few days, tolerably 
 familiar. 
 
 At the conclusion of the first week, the 
 prompter put fifteen shillings into my hand — 
 my share cf the profits. It was then the cus- 
 tom, in most theatres out of London, to give 
 shares — an iniquitous business, by which the 
 manager laid his hands upon every thing, 
 and gave the poor actor a paltry, scanty sub^ 
 sistence. 
 
 Mr. Austin, who had remained in Man- 
 chester, now joined us ; and being very de- 
 servedly a favorite, a full house was expected 
 to his first performance. 'Tis strange ! but this 
 gentleman, possessing first-rate comic talents, 
 chose to open in Hamlet ! Such a perversion of 
 judgment is excusable in youth; but Mr. 
 Austin was, at this period, a veteran in ex- 
 perience, though not in years. 
 
 At the end of the third week, on receiving 
 pay share, I was given to understand that
 
 THE ITINERANT. 189 
 
 George Barnwell would be rehearsed that 
 morning, in order for its representation the 
 Wednesday following. This long- wished -for 
 intelligence threw me into a perturbation of 
 spirits I could not conceal 5 it was not plea- 
 sure — it was fear, almost amounting to agony. 
 I ran home to inform my wife, who laughM 
 at my apprehensions, flattered my abilities, 
 and soothed me into composure. The hour 
 arrived — I attended the rehearsal, and, in my 
 life, never passed through such a fiery or- 
 deal. The prompter, with all the conse- 
 quence of office, was seated on the stage — •. 
 the managers, alternately, attentively listening 
 or whispering to each other ; — the performers, 
 surrounding the wings, or, perhaps, thinly 
 scattered in the boxes, were, to my terrified 
 imagination, more awful than a larger audi- 
 ence of indifferent spectators ; their judgment 
 is more to be feared, because, when sincere. 
 
 My second speech seem*d to be approved 
 by the managers, and their opinion is gene- 
 rally echo'd by the performers. One of these 
 gentlemen energetically clasped his hands, 
 and swore it was the best attempt he had 
 I 2
 
 190 rBJi ITXNJERANT. 
 
 ever seen; then, turning upon his heel, was 
 heard to say, in an under-voice, ' Blarney,* 
 
 In tremulous tones, and with a palpitating 
 heart, I gpt through the first rehearsal ; when 
 one of the managers call'd me aside, and, 
 taking me by the hand — ''Mr. Romney, my 
 advice is, that your next attempt be in some 
 other line. I do not think tragedy is your 
 forte; not but you speak sensibly enough, 
 but you want energy ; neither is your voice 
 calculated for it." I thanked him for his 
 candor, and returned home, mortified and 
 disappointed : my tragic talents were dis- 
 puted, and all my air-built hopes of a liveli- 
 hood by the stage at an end ! Ann, whose 
 disposition was foreign to any thing like de- 
 spondence, rallied my want of fortitude, and 
 urged me to persevere. She very wisely dis- 
 covered, too, ' that perhaps the manager was 
 right — I was certainly very facetious when a 
 youth;' and then call'd to my recollection 
 ** a thousand queer pranks I had play'd, when 
 an apprentice, which threw not only her fa- 
 ther's house, but the whole neighbourhood, 
 into confusion." There was, in her discourse, 
 *n animated playfulness, that could, almost 
 at any time, rouse my rfiore reflecting mind :
 
 THE ITINERANT, 191 
 
 at this important moment it acted as a sti* 
 mulus, and I determined, after the play of 
 George Barnwell, to make trial of my talents 
 in the comic walk. 
 
 Wednesday arrived, and, two hours before 
 the play began, I was completely dressed foi 
 the London Apprentice ; but, as my figure was 
 of the greyhound make, I added three or four 
 waistcoats, to give me a proper rotundity, and 
 cork calves, to make an agreeable prominence 
 to my legs. A chair convey'd me to the 
 theatre, where I sat, in statu quo, as miser- 
 able as heart could wish, till the tingle of 
 the prompter's bell gave *^note of dreadful 
 preparation ;'' and then my feelings could only 
 be compared to those of a condemned cri- 
 minal, whom the solemn toll summons to in- 
 stant execution. The call-boy cried out, in 
 the most unfeeling key, ^ Mr, Romney !' The 
 sound was discordant to every faculty of my 
 mind ; yet he must be obey'd. I crept to- 
 wards the scenes, my legs scarcely doing their 
 office, and look'd round, hoping there was 
 no witness to my disgraceful imbecility. A 
 faltering step, and palpitating heart, brought 
 me before the audience, whose encouraging
 
 192 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 plaudits, in some degree, relieved nie ; and 
 when the scene concluded, I found myself a 
 hero. The flattering reception given to a 
 young performer, by the best-natured audience 
 in the vi'orld, roused my dormant faculties : 
 vanity suggested an idea, that the manager's 
 judgment was fallible, and that I might yet 
 be an honor to the buskin. 
 
 Piatt, who was an actor of the old school, 
 play'd Thoroiighgood. In declination he was 
 Dompous, and well versed in all the crossings 
 and recrossings necessary to impose upon 
 the million. Pointing the toe, and standing 
 erect, like a fugle-man, he call'd the line of 
 beauty. A cockM hat, drawn over his right 
 eyebrow, gave a fireceness to his appear- 
 ance, which he endeavor*d to support, both 
 on the stage and in private life, by never 
 giving up an argument, or suffering, if he 
 could help it, a dissenting opinion. Mossop 
 was the criterion by which he judged of stage 
 excellence, and any deviation from that bom- 
 bastic actor was a crime against the sove- 
 reignty of eminence. His discourse was too 
 often interlarded with execration ; and if, in 
 controversy^ like a skilful engineer, he could
 
 The itinerant*. WS 
 
 not storm the fort of his adversary, he gene- 
 rally concluded with a Blast, 
 
 The first four acts went off smoothly 
 enough ; but in the prison scene, poor Piatt, 
 having taken too much of the ' creature' — his 
 favorite word — was embarrassed, and made 
 frequent applications to the prompter. At 
 length there was a total stand ; I had not 
 experience enough in the profession to cover 
 the mistake, by speaking out of my turn 3 and 
 Piatt, pretending to be much affected at our 
 parting scene, cover'd his face with his tra- 
 gedy handkerchief, to give time for recollec- 
 tion. Vain was the effort — his grief could 
 no longer be continued ; upon which he hur- 
 ried to the side of the wing, and said, ^' Give 
 
 me the word, b 1 you 1'* The prompter, 
 
 nettled at his intemperance, instead of obey- 
 ing this, imperative command, very coolly 
 closed the book, and walked away. This 
 drove Pomposo to the last extremity ; and, 
 continuing his strut round the stage, he took 
 nie by the hand, and said, in a whisper, 
 *^ Don't be alarm'd — I'll bring you off, my 
 boy." Then, leading me down, he thus ad- 
 dressed the audience : ^' Ladies and gentle-
 
 194 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 men, — as there is no accounting for the ti- 
 midity of young actors, especially on their 
 first appearance, this gentleman, I hope, will 
 experience that lenity you have so often 
 shewn on similar occasions. His fears have 
 caused some liitle inaccuracy, which, I trust, 
 will not be repeated.** He then made his 
 bow and his exit. 
 
 Taken by surprise — not at all expecting 
 the imperfection would be placed to my account 
 — I was, in reality, now '^ at fault.'' Piatt had 
 left the scene unfinished — I knew not where, nor 
 how, to take it up. My embarrassment was vi- 
 sible to the audience; but they took the good- 
 natur'd part : they applauded — I bowed, and 
 Trueman came to my relief. 
 
 When the curtain dropp'd, Piatt seized 
 me by the hand, and, giving it a hearty 
 shake, exclaim'd, *^ I told you, my dear boy, 
 
 rd bring you off, b 1 me !'* In vain I 
 
 expostulated— in vain I pleaded my own accu- 
 racy. No redress could be obtained ; on the 
 contrary, he wrapped himself up in fancied 
 superiority, and said, very gravely, *^ Young 
 man, you know but little of the Old Bailey :
 
 THE ITWERANT. 195 
 
 when you have been as long on the boards as 
 I have, you will know how to value the service I 
 have done you/' The performers titter'd ; even 
 the manager smiled, and said it was the best 
 theatrical manoeuvre he ever heard of. 
 
 From this moment I took leave of the bus- 
 kin, and devoted my leisure hours to the comic 
 muse — studying such parts as I wisKd to per- 
 form, rather than those my inexperience in the 
 profession rendered me fit for. 
 
 During a period of five weeks, I was only 
 caird upon twice ; still I received a share, 
 equal to those who labor'd in play and farce 
 night after night, and who were, at least 
 many of them, actors of sterling merit. Such 
 was the injustice of the sharing plan! Thank 
 heaven 1 such a petty, paltry, iniquitous sys- 
 tem no longer exists. Professors are now re- 
 warded, as far as the parsimony of managers 
 will allow, according to their merit, though 
 not equal to their deserts. 
 
 When the benefits commenced, I was en- 
 trusted with several trifling comic characters, 
 such as William in "As you like it" — Dig^
 
 196 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 gory, in ^^ She stoops to conquer/' &c. — but 
 nothing of consequence ; those parts were fill- 
 ed by experienced actors, and I thought myself 
 happy in taking their refuse. 
 
 Not having any pretensions to a benefit, 
 nor acquaintance in the town, I, of course, 
 declined the manager's offer of taking one, 
 and, at the close of sixteen weeks, found 
 myself minus about twenty pounds, with no 
 immediate engagement ; for a longer stay, 
 with the present company, I conceived to be 
 a loss, both of time and money. I had, in 
 the course of the season, written to several 
 managers, but without much encouragement 
 to join them. One gentleman would engage 
 me for the first line of low comedy, provided 
 I could dance between the acts, and play 
 Harlequin. Another gave his company small 
 certainties, of nine shillings and half-a-guinea 
 per week, according to their merit, A third 
 play'd all the leading parts himself, but had 
 no objection to give me a share in the bu- 
 siness, provided I could occasionally assist in 
 the orchestra. The fourth would allow me 
 a share, with a shilling per night extraor- 
 dinary, if I would^ when leisure served, take
 
 tHE ITINERANT. 197 
 
 the prompt-book, receive the checks^ and help 
 to distribute the bills. 
 
 Thoroughly disgusted with these several 
 answers, 1 was on the point of returning to 
 my friends in Yorkshire, when Tony Lebrun, 
 who had join'd the company previous to 
 the benefits, burst into my room, with an 
 open letter in his hand, containing an en- 
 gagement for himself, and one for me, if Z 
 chose to accept of it. 
 
 As nothing more eligible offer'd^ I joy* 
 fully acceded to the proposal — kept Tony to 
 dinner, and, over a bottle of wine, settled the 
 time and manner of our march to Wolver- 
 hampton 5 where I was to fill the second line 
 of low comedy — have a share and a benefit in 
 each town, viz. Wolverhampton, Worcesterj 
 Gloucester, and Ludlow. 
 
 I had no great opinion of sharing; but 
 with that partiality to my own abilities, which 
 is no where more prevalent than on the stage, 
 I conceived there would be little doubt of 
 the benefits proving lucrative, for I should 
 now have an opportunity of exercising my 
 talents to advantage.
 
 198 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 As I shall have the pleasure of again vi- 
 siting Newcastle during the course of these 
 Memoirs, and under more auspicious circum- 
 stances, I forbear to speak of the inhabitant* 
 till that period arrives. At this time I was 
 a stranger, in a strange land — unknowing, 
 
 and unknown ; in 1786, I was But let vat 
 
 not anticipate.
 
 If^ 
 
 CHAP. XIL 
 
 ^' EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR." 
 
 BEN JON SOI?. 
 
 " If the rascal have not given me medicines to make m« 
 r«Fe him, I'll be hang'd-<-it could not be else l" 
 
 UEMRT XT. 
 
 ** A merrier man. 
 Within the limits of becoming mirth, 
 I. never spent an hour's talk withal.'* 
 
 love's labour lobt. 
 
 i ONY Lebrun's finances were not in a flourish- 
 ing state ; he was rich in humor, and good 
 hwoiorj — but of the current coin, which alone, 
 in this vile world, makes a man respectable, 
 he was wofully deficient. However, a post- 
 chaise would hold three very snugly, besides 
 our little fat dog ; nay, the admission of 
 Tony would add to our travelling comforts : 
 he was a veteran in the service — knew the 
 road — was upon terms of intimacy with the 
 people at every inn we should visit; in short, 
 his joining us was an accommodation to all
 
 200 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 parties ; and " his share of the expense was 
 to be disbursed at his next benefit, which 
 could not fail of being productive, for he had 
 a most extensive and respectable acquaint- 
 ance among the blacksmiths of Wolverhamp- 
 ton/' It may not be amiss to give the reader 
 some idea of this singular character ; for the 
 truth of which I appeal to my theatrical 
 brethren, to almost the whole of whom he 
 was well, known, and by them generally re- 
 spected. 
 
 Tony Lebrun was, in figure, something 
 like the late celebrated Parsons, though not 
 quite so tall. The flexible features of his 
 face were capable of good comic eflfect, and, 
 had he possess'd the smallest degree of pru- 
 dence and perseverance, would, doubtless, 
 have been a good actor ; " but company, vil- 
 lanous company, is the ruin of us all*' — at 
 least so it was with Tony ; he preferr'd a long 
 pipe, and the chimney corner of a public 
 house, to the boards of a playhouse, and the 
 fumes of tobacco to the fame of the drama. 
 The prominence of his nose and chin, added 
 to a large cock'd hat, which he constantly 
 wore, rendered his profile singularly laugh- 
 able, and the constant subject of caricature:
 
 THE ITINERANT. 201 
 
 he wore long ruffles ; and, as a strict attention 
 to cleanliness was not amongst Tony's vir- 
 tues, their appearance, after a week's wear, 
 may be easily conceived. His gait, too, was 
 remarkable : with his right hand he grasp'd 
 an ivory-headfcd cane, whilst his left was con- 
 stantly employed in supporting the waistband 
 of his small-clothes, which, every step he 
 took, requir'd an effort to replace. He was 
 a facetious companion — abounded with thea- 
 trical anecdote, and his company, of course, 
 in general request — perfect in all the parts 
 of the drama, off, but never knew a line on, 
 the stage — personally acquainted with every 
 manager in the kingdom, from Oliver Carr 
 up to David Garrick : his recommendation 
 was generally attended to, and the poor actors 
 often found a friend in Tony, who, from the 
 contracted state of his finances, had seldom any 
 other way of shewing the goodness of his 
 heart. Swearing was not amongst the list of 
 his vices, but he had a phrase that intruded 
 on all occasions, — ' Od rabbit it /' Amidst 
 his peculiarities, he possessed virtues that en- 
 deared him to his friends — and enemies he 
 had none.
 
 204 mt ITINERANT. 
 
 Such, as I can recollect, four and twenty 
 years ago, was Tony Lebmn. When I offered 
 him a seat in our chaise, I was a stranger to 
 his eccentricities, although his physiognomy 
 gave me an idea that he was not one of your 
 common every-day characters. 
 
 We slept, the first night, at York. The 
 Theatre was open, though, unfortunately, it 
 was not the night of performance; and, as 
 Lebrun was acquainted with the manager 
 and all the performers, he and I Went' in quest 
 of the general rendezvous, and join'd the 
 merry group, where we passed a few hours, 
 as pleasantly as fine ale, good humor, and 
 excellent jokes, could make them. The next 
 night we reached Manchester; the theatre 
 was open, but, to my regret^ we were too late 
 for the play : however, Tony wss ?Doif sur- 
 rounded by the actors, who catrfe, Tr6t Only 
 to enjoy his jokes, but hi^ liquor; fcr,' hav- 
 ing finished six bottles of wine, they took a 
 friendly leave, and left Tony answerable for 
 the whole, who, in the joy of his heart, for- 
 got his inability, or, at least, never troubled 
 his head about it, till I jogged his- memory
 
 THE ITINERANT. 203 
 
 next morning, by shewing him the amount' 
 of the bill. 
 
 ^^ Lay out, lay out, my dear fellow,** 
 hitching up his small-clothes, in the usual 
 way ; '' Til pay all at my benefit : the natives 
 at Wolverhampton won*t forget me, and, for 
 interest, I have a comical wig, that my old 
 friend Ned Shuter used to wear in Old 
 Hardcastle, You shall have it; and as you 
 mean to do the part, I'll put you up to a gag 
 or two of his, that's sure to bring them 
 down.^* 
 
 I had, by this time, become pretty well\ 
 acquainted with the cant phrases in use 
 amongst actors, and returned my thanks ac- 
 cordingly. We arrived at Stone, to a late 
 
 dinner, , and as I stood, with Mrs. R , at 
 
 the window, we saw Tony, who had strolled 
 out the moment we alighted, coming up the 
 street, arm in arm with an odd dressed, 
 queer-looking person, whom he introduced as 
 *' Manager Horton." 
 
 The dinner being over, at which he play*d 
 a principal part, " Od rabbit it 1'* cried Tony,
 
 204 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 " we must not starve the cause. A manager, 
 two first rate comedians, a lady, and a lap 
 dog, can surely afford a bottle of wine ;** 
 which being produced, Tony gave the ma- 
 nager to understand, " that I was a young 
 gentleman, of handsome fortune, going to per- 
 form at Wolverhampton, for my amusement.'* 
 
 I reproved Tony for his false statement, 
 and enquired of Mr. Horton, where his com- 
 pany were at that time? '' Fy look'e, sir," 
 smiling at my companion, " my company is 
 all in this here town ; and, though I say it, 
 a better set you'll not see at any fair in the 
 kingdom, set aside Bartlemy — Ax Mr. Lcbrun 
 else." 
 
 The man's idiom was new to me, and the 
 honor of my profession injured by this ha- 
 rangue from a manager. Tony was silent ; 
 and, merely to keep up^ the taik — conversa- 
 tion there was none— F replie<^ *' Races and 
 fairs are highly productive, no doubt, of pit 
 and gallery auditors ; but, I should think, 
 your boxes would be empty." 
 
 '^ 'Empty ! — no less than forty in a box."
 
 THE ITINBRA.NTi 203 
 
 ^' Indeed ! I didn't suppose so small a 
 place as Stone was capable of supporting so 
 extensive a theatre." 
 
 ^^ Py, sir, my theatre vill hold folk 
 enough ; but the expense is wery heavy ; so 
 I thought, the other day, as how Fd take 
 in a partender, afamions fellow, one who had 
 got a little of the ready, and had a good knack 
 at your Jiip-Jiaps and somersets; but I soon 
 found he was. canoeuvreing, and so I gave him 
 the bag.'* 
 
 This speech was nearly unintelligible — 
 Flip-flaps I summer sets /— ^^ Oh 1 you mean 
 lo say, your 56* do not perform in the winter,'^ 
 
 Tony could contain himself no longer, but 
 broke forth into a horse-laugh, whilst Manager 
 Horton continued 
 
 " Vyy look'e^ sir, I'se afeard re'ue been 
 crossing questions this here while : you take 
 me for a stage marxager, and so I am — but it*s 
 a> mountebank stage. V, 
 
 ^VWhy, sir, didn't you talk oif your theatre, 
 and your boxes that would hold fo;:ty people?" 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 206 THB ltlNfi!lANt» 
 
 " Pills, sir— pills— I meant.*' 
 
 ^^ Aye/' cried Tony, '' pills, to be sure — I 
 saw, friend Romney, you could not swallow 
 the pills." 
 
 I confess this explanation did not increase 
 my respect for the manager; however, there 
 was one trait in his character not general 
 amongst Tony's acquaintance — he paid his 
 share of the dinner hilly and we set off to 
 Wolverhampton. 
 
 As we proceeded, I could not help observing 
 that ^' the mountebank doctor, to whom he had 
 introduced me, was not the kind of acquaint- 
 ance I should prefer 5 that my habits were ill 
 adapted to such company ; in short, that his 
 society was very much beneath that with which 
 I had been used to associate, especially being a 
 man so truly void of every requisite to rendei: his 
 company desirable." 
 
 *^ Od rabbk it, sir, you don*t know me ; — 
 you'll find me out bye and bye. I am one of 
 your equality men — I am a provident bee, sir ; 
 and know how to extract honey from the 
 coarsest flowers. This pompous distance amongst
 
 THB ITINERANT. 207 
 
 fellow creatures may be very prudent, but 
 I atn sure it very much contracts the small 
 portion of pleasure allotted to mankind. As 
 an instance : — suppose, now, we had been 
 detained in Stone all night, you Would have 
 been kicking your heels alone — ■ — Od rabbit 
 it ! I ask pardon, I forgot this darling little 
 
 woman 5 well, but suppose you were k 
 
 bachelor, like me, you would be kicking 
 your heels alone at your inn, deprived, by 
 your grandeur, of the pleasure I should en- 
 joy. Sally out, — (that's my way) stop at the 
 first public hoUse^ — listen for a noise — if caused 
 by laughter, so much the better — if not, in I 
 go— call for my liquor — a yard of clay, of 
 Course. Sixteen cobblers seated round a kit- 
 chen fire— sit down amongst them— -laugh with 
 them, or at them, it matters not which, for 
 there are so many causes to cry in our pas- 
 sage through life, that the man of sense and 
 the' philosopher seize the laugh wherever they 
 
 can find it- ^ Angels and ministers of 
 
 grace!' who's here?" Then, putting his head 
 out of the window, ^^ Stop, Coachee ! * Be'st 
 thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, thou 
 com'st in such a questionable shape, I'll speak 
 to thee : I'll call thee, Joey ! Hollycomb ! 
 Fellow townsman ! I 1"
 
 208 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 A figure now presented itself that almost 
 defies description ; apparently fifty in con- 
 stitution, though not more than thirty-five in 
 years, for the marks of dissipation were legi- 
 bly written in his putrid complexion. To the 
 nose of a Bardolph were attached the figure, 
 and nearly the costume, of Romeo's apothe- 
 cary. His wardrobe, contained in a snufly 
 check handkerchief, hung on a stick over his 
 left shoulder. 
 
 The actor, for such he was — aye, and a good 
 one too, replied, with a degree of humor not 
 to be expected from his forlorn appearance, 
 ^' Tony, my boy ! * it gives me wonder, great 
 as my content, to meet thee here,' What, you 
 knew me by my nose ?'' 
 
 *^ Aye, aye, I nosed you coming down the 
 hill. Well, ^ what bloody scene has Roscius 
 now to act?' what unfortunate barn art thou 
 going to besiege ?" 
 
 "Apropos!" replied Holly comb ; "we have 
 been closely besieged at Bilston, and obliged to 
 surrender, sword in hand.'' 
 
 "How so?"
 
 THE ITINERANT. 209 
 
 *^ An honest tale speeds best, being plainly 
 told'' — so thus it was : Our company was re- 
 duced to six effective hands, including the 
 women ; so, as I had taken Bilston some time 
 before, we went, and gave out /or a few nights, 
 only. But it unfortunately happened that the 
 bellman claim'd a right to stick up our 
 bills, for which he demanded two shillings. 
 Now, this extortion 1 did not choose to com- 
 ply with, for we never used more than half 
 a dozen, and those in manuscript. To make 
 short of my story, " Richard'' was the play, 
 and Larry Conner the tyrant — You know 
 Larry's lungs — he was bellowing away with a 
 voice of thunder, when the battle of Bos- 
 worth Field was interrupted by the war dogs 
 of justice, in the shape of two constables, fol- 
 low'd by the identical bellman. The theatre, 
 a room in a small public house, was quickly 
 deserted ; our poor sticks and rags pulled 
 down, with strict orders to decamp in the 
 morning, or the first floor of a gaol was to be 
 our portion. I am now going to. take Stone, 
 with very poor hopes of jiccess, as I under-, 
 stand we are to be opposed by a mountebank 
 doctor. However, something must be done : 
 — empty pockets and empty stomachs are mi- 
 serable companions."
 
 210 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 During this relation, I observed a tear steal 
 down Tony's cheek. At the conclusion, he 
 muttered to himself *' Od rabbit the bellman V* 
 At length,, he leaned out of the chaise window, 
 looked up the road and down the road, and 
 asked the postilion if there was a public house 
 at hand ? 
 
 *^ Not wdthin a mile," replied the actor ; '* I 
 made my last disbursement there, for a small 
 glass, just to keep the wind off my stomachs" 
 
 ^* Lend me a shilling,** whispered Tony. I 
 put a crown into his hand, which, stifling his 
 feelings, and rallying his spirits, he gave to poor 
 Hollycomb, saying, *^ Lay out—lay out, Bar- 
 dolph 5 this noble makes an angel ; an' it were 
 two, take it all.** 
 
 *^ Tharv^ you — thank you, my old Go-mate ; 
 I confess my spirits began to flag ; but now,*' 
 throwing his bundle across his shoulder, and 
 bowing to Mrs. R—:—- , ^' Richard's himself 
 again l" ^ 
 
 We spent the remainder of our journey in 
 moralizing on the instability of human happi- 
 ness. '' This man,** said Tony, *' poor and
 
 THE ITINERANT. 211 
 
 miserable as he looks, I remember a great 
 favorite in some of the most respectable towns 
 of our island. Alas ! poor Hollycomb ! Od 
 rabbit it ! who knows what may be our own 
 lot? grass and hay — here to-morrow, and gone 
 to-day. But never mind, my boy 5 there's no 
 wisdom in anticipation ; 
 
 " An ounce of rnirth is worth a pound of sorrow ; 
 " We'll laugh to-night, and cry perhaps to-morrow.*'
 
 212 
 
 CHAP. XIIL 
 
 "MANAGEMENT/' 
 
 REYNOLDS. 
 
 Oh, that men should put an enemy into their mouths, 
 To steal away their brains !*' 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 A.T Wolverhampton we were snugly accom- 
 modated with a lodging; Tony, as usual, 
 taking up his residence in a public house. — 
 At eight o'clock the mistress of the house 
 came to know what she should provide for sup- 
 per, at the same time informing us "that there 
 had been seven geese and sixteen roast beefs aied 
 ihat day,*' 
 
 This was a matter beyond our compre- 
 hension ; but an explanation gave us to un- 
 derstand, that, on a Saturday, every public 
 house that roasted a goose or a piece of beef
 
 THE ITINERANT. 213 
 
 gave notice through the town by the pubHc 
 crier. This was not only profitable to the 
 owners of said beef and geese, but a great 
 accommodation to small families, and people 
 in lodgings, who were thereby supplied with 
 a comfortable meal at a moderate expense, and 
 of which we took frequent advantage during our 
 stay in this town. 
 
 The next day being Sunday, was, of course, 
 a time of rest; but on Monday, I was intro- 
 duced, by my travelling companion, to Mr. 
 Powel, the manager ; and, from his conversa- 
 tion, was led to suppose that my situation would 
 be comfortable enough. 
 
 The company consisted of Messrs. Pero, 
 Powel, Penn, Richards, Nunns, Wood, Whal- 
 ley, Vale, Mason, Durravan and son ; Mrs, 
 Pero, Mrs. Richards, Mrs. Nunns, Mrs. Ma- 
 son, Mrs. Wood, Mrs. Owen ; which, with 
 Tony and myself, made up a very respectable 
 party ; and " Ralph, in the Maid of the Mill," 
 was fix'd upon for my opening part, in which 
 I acquitted myself apparently to the satisfac- 
 tion of both the audience and manager. — - 
 After the play, Mr. Powel invited me to take 
 a glass with him at the Swan, over which he 
 k2
 
 t\< THE ITINERANT. 
 
 opened his mind very freely regarding his 
 private circumstances, and seemed to place 
 a degree of confidence in me, which a long 
 intimacy could alone have authorized. Be- 
 ing unused to his company, I did not per- 
 ceive that the stimulus of liquor brought 
 forth sentiments that, in sober moments, he 
 would have concealed. I found that his part- 
 ner, Pero, was, by no means, a man to his 
 mind ; — he spoke redundantly of the excel- 
 lence of the circuit, the costliness of the 
 wardrobe, and the money that might be made 
 under certain regulations ; — wished for a part- 
 ner capable of taking an active share in the 
 business, the whole weight of which, at pre- 
 sent, lay upon his shoulders, and engaged so 
 much of his time, that he had scarcely lei- 
 sure to take a sociable glass with a friend, 
 which, though no drinker, nature sometimes 
 required. 
 
 This Powel was, some years ago, a great 
 favorite in Yorkshire: he was an actor of 
 good conception and sound judgment ; but his 
 voice was inconceivably disgusting, a kind of 
 speaking counter-tenor, capable of little mo- 
 dulation. His memory was uncommonly re- 
 tentive ; he never forgot a part, or even a line
 
 THE ITINERANT. 215 
 
 of a part, that he was once literally studied in, 
 though it required labor and length of time to 
 imprint it on his mind. I have known hiA 
 walk six hours in his room, ' reading over a 
 part of (what is called in theatrical phrase- 
 ology) two lengths ; that is, twice two and 
 forty lines, without making much progress. 
 My experience of human nature was a good 
 deal enlarged since I had launched into the 
 theatrical world, and, from what I observed, I 
 found it necessary to be cautious in giving 
 implicit credit to appearances ; — in respect 
 to Manager Powel, however, a very small 
 share of discernment was sufficient to fathom 
 his character. From his repeatedly assuring 
 me he was no drunkard, I might perhaps 
 have been led to believe him, had he not, at 
 last, fallen off his chair in a thorough state of 
 intoxication. 
 
 I assisted the waiters in taking him home, 
 where we were received by his wife with a 
 shriek, and an attempt to faint ; but, not be- 
 ing able tp accomplish it, she sat herself down 
 in an armed chair, and roU'd about a pair of 
 large goggling eyes like the wire-work'd glass 
 pnes in a wax doll : in my life I never beheld 
 such a figure,- It was then the fashion for
 
 2I($ tHE itlNERANr. 
 
 ladies to wear a large quantity of something 
 near a foot high, calTd a toque, over which 
 the hair was dress'd, with curls tier o*er tier 
 on each side, and literally plaistered with pow- 
 der and pomatum : over one of these, of an 
 uncommon height, Mrs; Powel had thrown 
 a white handkerchief, and tied it under the 
 chin. Having naturally a lengthen'd visage, 
 the longitude, from the top of her head-dress 
 to the chin, could not be less than two feet ; and 
 when she lean'd back in her chair, had it not 
 been for the motion of her eyes, she might 
 very well have passed for an Egyptian mum^- 
 my. The apartment was of respectable di« 
 mensions, and well furnished, with a recess 
 at the end, in which stood a bed ; on a side- 
 board were placed the remains of the meat, vege- 
 tables, and pudding, left at dinner. Though 
 the season was summer, there was a large fire; 
 the windows were never open'd to admit the 
 Mr ; on the contrary, sand bags were placed 
 ^^a' expel it, the door was listed, and even 
 the key-hole stufTd with cotton to keep all 
 ■tight. From this description, the reader will 
 eiasily conceive the miscellaneous congregation 
 of scents which assailed my olfactories : thQ 
 choice was, a precipitate retreat, or a fit of 
 nausea : I chose the former, and left the mana-
 
 THE ITINERANT. 217 
 
 ger to the enjoyment of his perfumes, and 
 the company of his parboil'd-looking wife. 
 
 One day, about a month after my arrival, 
 when wine had warm'd the heart of Powel, he 
 began upon the usual topic, his dislike of Pero, 
 and his wish for a more active partner ; hinting, 
 at the same time, how eligible such an establish- 
 ment would be for a young man, who^ like me, 
 was determined on the profession, and ambi- 
 tious of excelling, which could no way be 
 so quickly accomplished as by a share in the 
 management, when I should have an opportu- 
 nity of choosing my parts, and performing only 
 what I liked, and when I liked. 
 
 The idea of being manager was, I confess, 
 a flattering .one. Four hundred pounds was 
 the sum Pero expected for his share, two of 
 which were to be paid down, the remainder 
 by instalments at six and twelve months. 
 Ann eagerly approved the scheme ; accord- 
 ingly I wrote to Yorkshire, enquiring if a 
 mortgage was practicable, slating my plan, 
 and future prospects. 
 
 Tony Lebrun, who knew more of the
 
 218 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 world, particularly the theatrical worlds than 
 I did, . disapproved the business altogether : 
 '' Od rabhit it,'* you'll not have a shirt to 
 your back in twelve months 1 It would be as 
 rational for nie to undertake the management 
 of the untameable hyaena, or, what is still 
 more difficult, my own passions, as for a 
 novice like you to manage a set of strolling 
 players. Your feelings are not sufficiently cal- 
 lous ; you have too good an opinion of mankind : 
 you'll be the prey of every artful adventurer 
 who has ingenuity enough to form-a plausible 
 story. Od rabbit it ! you must be mad to 
 think of such a scheme. Suppose, which 
 is very probable, the business should be 
 bad, and there is little, or perhaps nothing, 
 to share ; can you bear to see a man, his'wlfe, 
 and six children, without bread'? ^ No ! . you 
 lend money, which will never be repaid ; to 
 supply which, you run in debt with your 
 tradesmen : they become importunate, you 
 are irritable. To avoid their clamor, you sell 
 your share for an old song, and thus get rid 
 of your little patrimony, which would always 
 be a decent backset, and, added to your share 
 and benefits, afford you a comfortable liveU- 
 hood.*'
 
 THE ITINERANT. tl9 
 
 This really good advice, had I been wise 
 enough to follow it, would have saved me 
 years of misery, or rather of poverty, for they 
 are by no means synonymous terms. Compe- 
 tence is certainly a great blessing 5 but though 
 deprived of . it, whilst bless'd with my little 
 wife, strong health, and the perfect use of my 
 faculties, I cannot be calTd miserable. 
 
 Mr. Pero, the other manager, had beerj 
 out of town ever Isince my arrival : he now 
 returned, and I was a good deal surprised to 
 find him . so different a character from what 
 Mr. PowePs account led me to suppose. Upon 
 investigation, he proved a plain, kind hearted, 
 good humored man ; and I soon found, that, 
 instead of Powel being the only active part- 
 ner, it was in fact quite the contrary ; that 
 Pero was the man of business. Tony intro- 
 duced me to him, and whispered, '' If you 
 are determined on this mad scheme of ma- 
 nagement, better consult with him ; he will be 
 more candid than the other, and won't deceive 
 you.'^ 
 
 We soon became intimate ; he was a 
 pleasant, harmless character, and was, in fad, 
 what the other pretended to be — a sober man.
 
 220 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 When I told him my wish to purchase his 
 share of the concern, he said, *' he had no- 
 other motive for disposing of it than his dis- 
 like to Powel, whose frequent ebriety made 
 him both an unpleasant and an unprofitable 
 partner ; but/' added he, " the man, either 
 through intoxication or fickleness, changes 
 his mind so often, there is little dependance 
 on his word. I'll give you an instance : you 
 din'd with him, three days ago ; he was then 
 very anxious for you to become the purchaser : 
 since that time, short as it is, he has, to my 
 knowledge, been advising Richards to do the 
 same. Now, this Richards is a deep fellow, 
 who knows Powers weak side, and will take 
 advantage of it; in short, he is a man I don't 
 wish to have any dealings with; 'and, if you 
 thirik the purchase adviseable, you shall have the 
 preference.'* 
 
 I had, long before, decided in my own 
 mind upon this business; and a letter from 
 Yorkshire, inclosing two hundred pounds, 
 settled the matter at once. The articles were 
 signed and sealed, and 1 looked upon myself, 
 with increased approbation, as manager of a 
 company of comedians.
 
 THE ITINERANT. 221 
 
 A few nights preceding my entrance into 
 office, Tony's benefit was announced ; by the 
 profits of which, he was to discharge his obliga- 
 tion to me, and do many other things, too nu- 
 merous for me to mention, or him to perform. 
 
 The morning previous, he attended re- 
 hearsal, with his pockets full of tickets, and 
 a large bundle of bills under his arm, which, 
 added to the support of his small -clothes and 
 ivory -headed cane, completely occupied him. 
 Whilst he was stammering through the part 
 of * Old Hardcastle,' of which he knew not 
 five lines', -a gentleman's servant came for 
 twelve box tickets. Exhilarated with so large 
 a demand,- T^ny^ repeated the servant's words 
 in a loud key, that the performers might wit- 
 ness his success — " Twelve box tickets ! eh, 
 sir ! — Od rabbit it ! I must have some more 
 printed," or T shall not have enough to last 
 the day." Then, laying aside hii cane to 
 search for tickets, drown dropp'd the bills ; in 
 stooping- to reach them, the tickets slipp'd 
 out of his hand— the smallclothes were left 
 to their- own guidance, and Tony was down 
 on all-fours, collecting his property, amidst 
 the horse-laughs of the performers, and tlie
 
 222 TIIK ITINERANT. 
 
 smiles of th? stranger who had caused all this 
 confusion. 
 
 '^ Too many eggs in one basket, Tony V* 
 said I — " Aye,*' replied he, with his usual 
 good humor, but they are not addle eggs, 
 for FlI hatch them in a moment." Then, 
 delivering the tickets, he received one pound 
 sixteen shillings in exchange, andj shaking 
 the money, exclaim'd, ^' Hear how t:he,chicken^ 
 chirp, you ragged rascals !— I shall' ^^\,yo^\ all 
 up to-night.'' 
 
 This expected great night, however, did not 
 answer his expectation ; the gallery was jfuU of 
 bis friends, the blzjcksiniths' — the; pit, lt,p^^^ablc 
 :r"b,^t the boxes, nearly eipfipty. 
 
 The next morning h? ca^i^ntp.m^ with a 
 long face : — " Od rabbU it, ! I qan't pay yow 
 » farthing/' 
 
 ; '.fflsfo 1 y^hy, you had a good benefit." 
 *^ A paper house, sir — a paper house." 
 *^ What do you mean V*
 
 THK ITINERANT. 223 
 
 '* Why, all tickets — not cash enough to 
 pay for the candles. It was a meeting of my 
 creditors ; they have paid themselves, ^nd I 
 hsive nothing to receive — scarcely sufficient ^ 
 to pay the manager's charges. But Worcest6l'> ^ 
 will do the job — the glovers will stick by me > 
 besides, I'm going to turn Roman Catholic, and 
 that is sure to do the business at Worcester/' 
 
 I expressed my disapprobation at his want 
 of principle, and remonstrated on the impiety 
 of making religion a cloak to cover his mer- 
 cenary views. *^ Besides, where was the po- 
 licy ? If he meant to affect a sliew of reli- 
 gion, why would not the Protestant interest 
 serve his turn ?" 
 
 " How little you know of the Old Bailey 1 
 I never knew an actor, that was a Papist, fail 
 in a benefit, where that religioa was at all 
 profest. There's Malaehy Durravan, for in- 
 stance ; in this place there's scarcely any 
 of his persuasion, and he won't have the 
 charges ; but mark the difference at Wor- 
 cester. Do you think old Roger Kemble 
 and his family would have risen thus rapidly 
 in the world, independently of their being
 
 224 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 Catholics ? Not they, indeed ; and if I had 
 held up the Pope's supremacy some years 
 ago, I had not now been poor Tony Lehrun, 
 a strolling player, but Mr, Lebrun, in large 
 characters f for a few nights only, Od rabbit 
 it ! I know what Fm about, my boy ; and if 
 I don't pay you at Worcester, 'spit in my 
 face, and call me Horse' — that's all." So say- 
 ing, he puU'd up his small-clothes, flourish'd his 
 cane, and left me. 
 
 Behold me now at Worcester, in 1784, as 
 great, in my own opinion, as a general at the 
 head of an army. 
 
 What a strange being is man! The deeds 
 of yesterday are subjects of reprobation to- 
 day. What was esteem'd an act of prudence 
 some years past, appears, at this moment, an 
 act of insanity. Young, unsuspicious, san- 
 guine in expt'Ctation, and precipitate in deci- 
 sion, I looked forward to certain fame and 
 fortune. The little patrimony that might have 
 procur'd a safe harbor, in the worst of times, 
 was now, in part, sacrificed for shadows that 
 eluded the grasp : the substance was gone — 
 never to return 1
 
 THE ITINERANT. 225 
 
 » 
 
 The first night's receipt in Worcester, with 
 an excellent company and two popular pieces, 
 amounted to seven pounds, and that mostly 
 at half-price — a ruinous system in country 
 towns : the first three acts of the play are 
 frequently perform'd to empty benches, and 
 the fourth interrupted by the entrance of half- 
 pay. 
 
 The more I saw of Powel, the more ec- 
 centric his character appeared. He had a 
 great ambition to be thought an economist ; 
 a character he had, at that time, fewer pre- 
 tensions to than any man living ; and this, in 
 a particular manner, shew'd itself in his mo- 
 ments of intoxication, which happened regu- 
 larly every evening. He was a good actor, 
 in spite of his shrill, discordant voice; but 
 much dependance could not be placed on his 
 stability. 
 
 One evening, Mr. Penn, who should 
 have play'd the very long part of Dormer, in 
 *^ A Word to the Wise," was suddenly taken 
 ill. Powel had frequently perform'd the 
 part— but where to find him ? It was then 
 five o'clock, and the curtain was to draw up
 
 226 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 at seven ; there was no time to be lost, and 
 out I sallied on this difficult expedition. Ta- 
 vern after tavern I cautiously examined, but 
 without success : at last I callM at a house of 
 general and respectable resort, kept by Mr. 
 Granger — a man in high estimation amongst 
 all who knew him. As I entered, I heard 
 Powel's shrill pipe, calling for '' a large 
 quantity of punch/' and, following the sound, 
 found him surrounded by smokers. When I 
 had dispersed the cloud, by waving my hat, 
 I discover'd him, with a long pipe — his 
 little scratch wig nearly the wrong side be- 
 fore — with his pot companion (One of the 
 ■actors) seated at his right hand, laughing at 
 his jokes, and assenting, with much compla- 
 cency, to whatever Manager Powel chose to 
 advance. 
 
 I urged the state of the play ; that we 
 could do no other at so short a notice, nor 
 even that without his assistance. 
 
 *^ My assistance, my dear fellow ! — what 
 is to become of the punch? I have order'd a 
 crown-bowl — a serious concern — antl 1 am too 
 loyal a subject to desert the Crown,'*
 
 THE ITINERANT* 227 
 
 'This speech was followed by a loud laugh 
 from his neighbour, whilst Powel's little eyes 
 sparkled with pleasure at this successful hit. 
 
 I now found, that though I possibly might 
 persuade him to come to the theatre, it would 
 be a physical impossibility to get through so 
 long a part in his then situation. Greatly 
 embarrass'd, I proposed to apply to a Mr, 
 Williamson, whom we had engaged for a 
 few nights, but who, having demanded 
 greater terms than were in the original agree- 
 ment, had withdrawn himself. This man, I 
 told Powel, could do the part ; and though it 
 would lay us under ihe necessity of yielding 
 to his terms, it would be better to sacrifice a 
 few pounds, than, by dismissing the house, 
 bring disgrace upon the theatre. Though I 
 was not aware of it, this was attacking Powel 
 in a vulnerable part : he mounted his econo- 
 mic hobby the moment I mentioned Wil- 
 liamson and the loss of a few pounds ; jumped 
 up, snatch'd his hat, got hold of my arm, and 
 we were in the street in an instant. As we 
 went staggering along, he exclaimed, *' Wil- 
 liamson be d d 1 Pay him for playing 
 
 Young Dormer whilst I am in the company ! 
 No— no!"
 
 228 
 
 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 By this time we reachM the theatre ; 
 the gallery entrance was open, and he in- 
 sisted on examining the door-keepers, to see 
 if the checks were right; *^ For/' said he, 
 *^ my dear boy, they are common robbers ; 
 and if I was not to keep a sharp eye upon 
 them, what would become of our property ? 
 That's th^ way to look at the matter*' — a fa- 
 vorite expressiofl of his. 
 
 It so happen'd that twelve or fifteen girls 
 of the town — tag-rag and bob- tail — were 
 amongst the crowd at the door. As soon as 
 Powel ^spied them, he got upon the gallery 
 stairs, and call'd out, *' Walk in, ladies, yon 
 have nothing to pay — This way, my pretty 
 girls !" Up they clatter'd, Powel. waving his 
 hat, and crying, " Poor girls 1 — poor girls !" 
 
 I stood motionless, at a loss to account 
 for this act of insanity ; but he soon relieved 
 me, by laying it all to the score of economy. 
 ^^ My dear fellow," said he, as he went .be- 
 hind the scenes, " you are young in the bu." 
 siness, and are not aware of the service I 
 have done you. These poor girls, you know', 
 have all their paramours and buines— they 
 could not afford to pay to-night; but what
 
 THE ITINERANT. 229 
 
 will be the consequence on Wednesday? 
 Why, they come, with each her swain, and 
 fill the gallery ; and thus tlie property will be 
 benefited— that's the way to look at the mat- 
 ter. Am not I right, Romney ?*' I readily 
 assented, as I should have done to any thing, 
 rather than retard his dressing — to, expedite 
 which was a task that reqjji^d no% common 
 address. T^^>^ ^ 
 
 "This coat," he said, " is^too. good, and 
 ought only to be worn on particular occa- 
 sions; the property would be ruin*d, if .1 did 
 not look after it. The hair- dresser now ar- 
 rived, with his best tie-wig in^ ful^ powder, 
 which he immediately seizM, aad^^f^-|J30ut 
 the poor man's head, till we- were neany in 
 a state of suffocation, exclaiming, " Young 
 
 Dopner in a fuU-dress'd wig, you d — d 
 
 ideot 1 Have you been hair-dresser to the 
 company these ten years, and know no better 
 yet ? Get out, you scpundrel^ and bring my 
 best scratch.'* 
 
 At length we got him dress'd, and, to my 
 utter, amazement, he went through the part, 
 without deviating, in a single instance, from 
 the author. His acting, that night, was wild; 
 
 VOL. I. J.
 
 230 THE ITINERANT, 
 
 in many instances unnatural ; but when 
 
 I consider the state of his brain, it was 
 wonderful. The audience were bountiful of 
 their applause, and not at all aware of his 
 situation ; but, in the hst act, a circumstance 
 occurred which ended the play rather pre- 
 maturely. 
 
 Powel was a great advocate for energy ; 
 he could not bear, what he call'd, '^a still- 
 lifed actor/^ When one of this description 
 was speaking, if he happen'd to be at the 
 wing, he would gnash his teeth, stamp his 
 foot, twist his wig round, and bawl out, loud 
 enough for the audience to hear, "Throw it 
 
 out, man throw it out!" This eventful 
 
 evening. Manager Powel was particularly ener- 
 getic: in making Sin exit in the fifth act, 
 with more than usual animation, his right 
 shoulder struck against the wing, and shook 
 cut one of the lamps. Powel called loudly 
 for the lamp-lighter; but no one obeying 
 the summons, he very deliberately wiped up 
 the oil with his cambric handkerchief, lest 
 the ladies* trains should be spoird, and there- 
 by the property injured. He had scarcely 
 finished this mistaken act of economy, when 
 the prompter (poor Adam Smith) caird out,
 
 THB ITINERANT. 231 
 
 " Mr. Powe!, the stage waits — you are want- 
 ed for the last scene.'* 
 
 Alarm'd to agitation, he cramm*d the 
 greasy, grimy, savory piece of cambric into 
 his coat pocket, and hurried to the scene of 
 action. Forgetting, amidst his energies, the 
 disaster of the oil, and warm'd, perhaps, 
 with his late exertion, he unthinkingly drew 
 forth this fatal handkerchief, and applied it 
 to his face : his countenance, after this ap- 
 plication, set gravity at (Jefiance. The ami- 
 able heroine, whom he was addressing with 
 all the enthusiasm of love, turn'd up the 
 «tage, to conceal her mirth ; the whole party 
 caught the infection — it flew round the house 
 like electricity, and we dropped the curtain, 
 amidst convulsions of laughter and roars of 
 applause. 
 
 There is an incident, somewhat aimilar to 
 this, in one of our modern comedies, ex- 
 changing oil for ink ; which, very likely, took 
 its rise from the above anecdote. 
 
 After the play, Powel return 'd to the 
 crown- bowl of punch, at his friend Granger's, 
 and was met next momixig, in the broad
 
 232 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 face of day, going home with a lighted 
 lantern. 
 
 Another instance of PoweFs ideal economy 
 I must relate. 
 
 He and Mrs. Powel left Wolverhampton 
 three days previous to the general move ; and 
 when our party arrived at the second stage, 
 I was not a little surprised to see him appa- 
 rently domesticated at the inn, for he and 
 the landlord were very sociably smoking their 
 pipes at the door. 
 
 After handing Mrs. R into the house, 
 
 he took me aside, and ask'd after the pro^ 
 perty. Had I ^' pass'd the waggon on the 
 
 road ? The greatest care was necessary 
 
 we must sail near the wind — take the guineas 
 prisoners. Worcester, with care and eco- 
 nomy, would do great things ; leave all to 
 
 me, my dear boy you are young and 
 
 thoughtless ; for instance, you are posting all 
 the way — a pretty expense: on the contrary, 
 I and Mrs. Powel got into a return chaise 
 for a third of the money, and we are now 
 waiting for another ; that's the way to look 
 at the matter — Leave all to me, and I'll bring
 
 THE ITINERANT. 233 
 
 you through."' I learnt afterwards, that, 
 whilst he was waiting for a returned chaise, 
 he incurr'd a bill at the inn that would have 
 doubly paid for posting. But this was not 
 all ; being advertised in the first play, and 
 waiting, in vain, till the last moment, he 
 engaged a chaise and four, which triumphant- 
 ly set him down at the theatre just time enough 
 to dress for his part. 
 
 Some years subsequent, when reduced to 
 almost abject poverty, a relation of Mrs. 
 Powel died, and left them a handsome pro- 
 perty. I never saw him afterwards ; but am in- 
 formed that his parsimony almost equall'd the 
 miserable Elwes ; that the door was kept con- 
 stantly lock'd, and the front window shutters 
 closed, to prevent the approach of old ac- 
 quaintance ; and that this passion of avarice 
 kept increasing till the period of his death, 
 which, I believe, took place some years ago, 
 in the city of Worcester. 
 
 Many of my theatrical readers will re- 
 member Penn with some degree of plea- 
 sure; for he was an actor above the common 
 
 stamp. He had the grand requisites an 
 
 expressive eye features well calculated to
 
 234 THB ITINERANT. 
 
 pourtray the passions, and a strong, articu- 
 Jate voice. In opposition to these advan- 
 tages, his person was awkward, and his de- 
 portment ungraceful ; he had neither the ap«* 
 pearance nor the gait of a gentleman : ia 
 consequence of being brought up a school- 
 master, he was pedantic in the extreme. 
 Could these disadvantages have been cor- 
 rected or overlooked, Penn would have been 
 in high estimation, and ranked before many 
 first-rate actors of his day. He was, how- 
 ever, a great favorite in the country — made 
 good benefits, and might have done very 
 well, had not that destructive companion, 
 dissipation, robb'd him of the comforts en- 
 joyed by those who take prudence for their 
 guide. Seldom had he a decent coat ; in 
 lieu of which, he generally wore a great coat, 
 buttonM to the chin, which served to con- 
 ceal the forlorn state of his linen. His slow, 
 methodical mode of speaking gainM him the 
 appellation of Podo. Regularly every morn- 
 ing, at twelve o'clock, he entered the doors 
 of a small public house in the vicinity of 
 the theatre, and, with folded arms, knit 
 brows, and a side -look at the landlady, he 
 beckon'd three distinct times ; then, pointing 
 to his mouth, gave full intimation of his
 
 THE ITINERANT* 235 
 
 wants. A glass of real Nantz, followed by 
 an approving smack of the lips, gave a rich 
 sparkle to his eye, and a firmness to his 
 nerves, which, before this application, were 
 languid and relaxed ; then, turning slowly, and 
 poiriting to the cupboard-door — behind which 
 his account was kept — he marchM out, nor 
 utterM a syllable during the whole negociation. 
 
 Some people there are, who cannot pro- 
 tiounce the r; others misplace the v and w : 
 the I is sometimes substituted for the n; 
 which gives an articulation similar to that of 
 a person who has, by some calamity, lost 
 the roof of his mouth. Of this latter descrip- 
 tion was Podo's landlady. I had heafd of 
 his long score behind the cupboard door, and 
 caird to give her a caution. 
 
 *^ Does Mr. P^nn ever talk of paying you V 
 said I. 
 
 ^^ Lo, sir," she replied ^* he lever talks 
 at all.*' 
 
 I then advis'd her to chalk no more till 
 the other was rubb'd out.
 
 236 THE ITINERAKT. 
 
 Penn went the next day, as usual 
 
 beckonM pointed to his mouth ; but it 
 
 would not do. 
 
 "Til tell you what, Master Pell/' said this 
 dealer in drams, *' it siglifies lothilg talkllg; 
 — you aid me must have a reckolilg — eighteel 
 shillilgs aid eight pelce ^lalfpelly is your score* 
 Aid Master Romley, the malager of your 
 compaly, has beel here; aid he says, I must 
 lot score alother loggil of gil till the other's 
 rubb'doflf." 
 
 Penn, on hearing this, utter'd the inter- 
 jection ^' Oh V* — turned upon his heel, and 
 walk'd away. 
 
 Notwithstanding the excellence of our com- 
 pany, the business by no means answer'd 
 my expectations. The sharing, on an aver- 
 age, did not amount to more than half-a- 
 guinea per week. Throughout the kingdom, 
 the ^/larm^ plan was, at this period, nearly 
 general : 1 soon became acquainted with the 
 principle, and found it an iniquitous busi- 
 ness, which, in as few words as possible, I 
 shall explain.
 
 THE ITINERANT. 237 
 
 The manager claims a right to five shares, 
 four of which are called dead shares ; two for 
 
 his care and trouble two for clothes and 
 
 scenes, and one for acting; added to this, 
 there is a stalking horse under the sem- 
 blance of which^ the manager, if so disposed, 
 
 can rob and plunder at pleasure which is 
 
 called ^ A Stock Debt.' In times of success, 
 such as races, fairs, &c. the great man makes 
 a mighty grasp, and pockets perhaps fifty, 
 sixty, or an hundred pounds. This theatrical 
 bugbear had, no doubt, its origin in justice; 
 but it was so frequently prostituted to base 
 purposes, as to become proverbial in all compa- 
 nieS) that ** the stock debt is never paid,'* 
 
 In times of bad business, the manager is 
 obliged to lend money out of his private 
 purse, to discharge the bills at the conclusion 
 of a season, which the receipts have not en- 
 abled him to do. These are look'd upon, 
 and justly too, as debts from the company to 
 the manager, which he has a right to take 
 up, whenever success will permit. When I 
 purchased into this scheme, the " stock debt" 
 amounted to four hundred pounds, incurred 
 in the lime of old Whiteley, to whom 
 L 2
 
 23S THE ITINERANT, 
 
 this circuit formerly belongM ; but I have 
 been told by actors, who were many years in 
 the company, that this enormous debt had 
 been paid over and over again ; yet the sum 
 total still remained upon record, and was 
 a feasible excuse for a handsome deduction 
 at the close of a lucl^y week. In this case, 
 there is no appeal — the manager is the only 
 umpire. 
 
 It is related, that, after a very successful race 
 week, Whiteley gave his performers a guinea 
 each for their share ; but one of them, with be- 
 coming spirit, remonstrated — ^' What, sir, only 
 one guinea ! — I expected three at least.'' 
 
 " A hea^7 stock debt, my dear." 
 
 " Stock debt, sir ! — a mean excuse to rob 
 us of our earnings.'' 
 
 ^' Eh ! what's that you say, my dear ? — 
 Talk of robbing 1 why, you would rob a 
 church ! — You are a common swindler, my 
 dear — you get money under false pretences. 
 When you came to me, you said you were an 
 actor, my dear.'*
 
 THE ITINERANT. 239 
 
 ^^Well, sir, and so I am. Did not you 
 yourself say the people thought me a very pro- 
 mising actor ?" 
 
 " People ! What people, my dear ? — 
 your washerwoman and tailor ? Yes, I dare 
 say, they have found you a vei-y promising 
 actor f for promises are all they could ever 
 get from you. You an actor! my dear — 
 why, you are a common pauper, that go 
 about the country, picking the pockets of 
 the people : — the women run to the hedge, 
 my dear, and gather in the clothes, when 
 you are corning. My company are all gen- 
 tlemen; — you were a naked, shirtless being, 
 when you came to me — your lousy look set 
 me a-scratching, when first I beheld your 
 cut-me-down countenance, and put me in 
 mind of a gibbet. You an actor! why, I 
 could — — a better actor than you. You are 
 a pustule, an excrescence, a fistula, in the anus 
 of acting, my dear.'* 
 
 Whiteley was, perhaps, one of the strangest 
 mortals that ever lived, and said more (what 
 are called) good things than any man I ever 
 heard of: there can be but one reason for 
 their not being handed ' down to posterity.
 
 240 THE ITINERANT, 
 
 and that Is, their excessive grossness and 
 brutality. 
 
 There happened, at this period, a serious 
 contest for pre-eminence between two tra- 
 gedy queens, Mrs. Nunns and Mrs. Mason ; 
 they were pretty equally supported by their 
 partisans, who came to hiss and applaud, 
 alternately. Under different signatures, I filled 
 the newspapers with puffs, pro and con, 
 which promoted the interest of the theatre, 
 and k^pt alive public curiosity. It was 
 really laughable to hear the bursts of ap- 
 plause which followed the speeches of RoX' 
 ana and Statira, Alida and Jane Shore. A 
 stranger would absolutely have thought the 
 audience mad, and very justly have said to 
 himself, " What is all this for ? I see no un- 
 common merit to call forth this enthusiasm.'* 
 To speak with candor, neither of these he- 
 roines soar'd above mediocrity ; but pirty 
 prejudice, aided by a few inflammatory puffs, 
 kept the house in an uproar, and brought 
 money to the treasury. This, however, could 
 not last long : when the furor ceased, the be- 
 nefits commenced, and the season concluded 
 without profit.
 
 THE ITlNERANr. 24 1 
 
 I had nearly forgot to mention, that at 
 this time there appeared a phaenomenon in 
 the theatrical hemiijphere, in the person of 
 Rebecca Richards, now Mrs, Edwin. She 
 could not be more than twelve years of age ; 
 yet her delineation of character was wonderful 
 — her figure beautifully petit — her complexion 
 clear, her features animated ; and, whilst she 
 captivated all eyes in the " Irish Widow," 
 or the " Fine Lady" in '' Lethe," she call'd 
 forth irresistible admiration in ^* Maria,'* the 
 " Ephesian Matrou,'* and " Dorcas" in 
 '* Thomas and Sally." — I am convinced, had 
 the idea occurred to her parents, which has 
 since been so successfully exemplified in young 
 Betty, she would have possessed equal attrac- 
 tion ; but, then, it had never entered the heart 
 of man to conceive that the world were 
 to be duped in the manner they have lately 
 been. 
 
 Ludlow was the next town in rotation, 
 and being a small place, where much could 
 not be expected, the greatest and most re- 
 spectable part of the company steer'd ano- 
 ther course. This loss we supplied by the 
 introduction of Mrs. and Miss Collins — the 
 latter lady was afterwards at Drury-lane, and
 
 242 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 Is^ now the respected wife of Mr. Woodfall ; 
 Mr. Keys, his wife and family ; Mr. Lortg, 
 commonly call'd Bonny Long, who had the 
 misfortune to be born with five fingers on 
 each hand, of the same length — his wife and 
 nine children j Mr. Weston, Mr. Hervey, and 
 Mr. Spragg. 
 
 The indifference of the Worcester season, 
 which was in general the sheet anchor, had 
 such an eifect npon PowePs sober reflections, 
 that he made a proposal to sell his share for 
 the sum I had c^ngaged to give Pero. This 
 was a desirable event to my ambitious mind. 
 Sole Manager! .gonvey'd a degree of conse- 
 quence, whichrset the difficulty of attainment 
 at naught. The miseries I bad to struggle 
 with, in procuring money to make good the 
 payments when they became due, even if I 
 could raise sufficient for the deposit, never 
 struck me, and I ran headlong into almost 
 certain ruin, with my eyes open — ambition 
 having cast a film over them, which nothing 
 but misfortune could dispel. Mr. Weston, 
 being possess'd of a little money, offer'd to lend 
 
 me one hundred pounds ; and a Mr. L , 
 
 who then profess'd abundant friendship, came 
 forward with another. These two hundred
 
 THE ITINERANT. 243 
 
 pounds were deposited in the hands of Powel's 
 attorney, and I engaged to pay the remainder 
 in six and twelve months. 
 
 Behold me, now, uncontrouled manager of 
 this — £ was led to believe — money-getting 
 scheme I 
 
 When I look back upon this period of my 
 life, it appears to have been governed either by 
 necessity or madness ; for no person, who was 
 not impeird by one of these caaseS;, would have 
 involved himself as I did ; but I was an easy, 
 credulous fool — an instrument for designing peo- 
 ple to play upon : and this is the only way I can 
 now apologize to myself for a fatal blow to my 
 future welfare. 
 
 The sharing plan had always been my aver- 
 sion ; to remedy this, I made a proposal to try 
 the town of Ludlow, upon small salaries of half 
 a guinea, fifteen shillings, and a guinea, accord- 
 ing to the merit and utility of the different per- 
 formers. This was cheerfully agreed to, and 
 we arrived in safety at this romantically pic- 
 turesque place.
 
 244 
 
 CHAP. XIV 
 
 "ALL IN THE WRONG/' 
 
 MURPHT. 
 
 " Oh ! that a man might know 
 The end of this day's business ere it come ! 
 But it sufficeih that the day will end, 
 And then the end is known." 
 
 JULIUS C£SAR< 
 
 Ludlow is, in point of situation, equal, per- 
 haps superior, to most towns in England. 
 The ruins of the castle from the principal 
 feature in a landscape truly grand. HVas 
 on this classic ground the immortal Milton 
 composed his beautiful * Masque of Comiis,' 
 We cannot say that he was inspired by the beau- 
 ties of the surrounding scenery ; for, alas ! his 
 visual orbs were involved in perpetual dark- 
 ness, in contrast, it should seem, to the di- 
 vine light which irradiated his mind : per- 
 fectly independent of this circumstance, he 
 soared in flights, beyond the common ^' ken," 
 sublimely reaching even the abode of angels.
 
 THE ITINERANT. 245 
 
 In a fields on the opposite side the river, is 
 a stately avenue, beneath whose sombre fo- 
 liage, tradition says, Barnwell murder'd his 
 uncle. For the truth or falsehood of this re- 
 cord, I do not pretend to vouch, nor is it 
 materially of consequence : the play, whether 
 composed of fiction or reality, is a work of 
 merit ; but 'tis a question with me, " whe- 
 ther this tragedy has done as much good, as 
 the *' Beggar's Opera" has done harm, to the 
 morals of mankind. 
 
 Having fix*d my wife and little Fanny in 
 a delightful rural lodging, I thought it be- 
 hoved me to pay attention to the property ; 
 accordingly, I walk*d towards the suburbs 
 leading to Wx)rcester, in hopes of meeting 
 the waggon, which contained the scenery, 
 wardrobe; &c. At the entrance of the town, 
 I observed a concourse of people collected 
 round a four-wheel'd carriage, which moved 
 slowly, and, on its approach, I found, to my 
 surprise, it was the property; and such an 
 exhibition ! — had the carter endeavor'd to 
 excite a mob, he could not have done it more 
 effectually, than by the manner in which he 
 had pack'd the load. Some scenes and 
 figures, belonging to a pantomime, lay ou
 
 246 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 the top of the boxes^ which were numerous, 
 and piled very high. To keep them steady, 
 he had placed a door, on which was painted, 
 in large characters, ' Tom's Punch Housed ia 
 front of the waggon ; this soon gave a title 
 to the whole. Upon the uppermc?t box, and 
 right over the door, was a giant's head, of 
 large dimensions, whose lov-.r jaw, being 
 elastic hung, open'd with every jolt cf the 
 carriage. By the side of this tremendous 
 head rode our large mastiff, who, enraged at 
 the shouts of the mob, bark'd, and bellow'd 
 forth vengeance. The letters on the door 
 had, of course, stamp'd it for a puppet- 
 show ; to corroborate which, the impudent 
 carter, somewhat in liquor, had placed a 
 pasteboard helmet on his head, whdst, with 
 awkward gesticulation, he thump'd an old 
 tambarine, to the no sniall amusement <rf 
 the spectators. To finish the farcical phy- 
 siognomy of this fascinating group, Bonny 
 Long, his wife and nine children, sat in 
 the rear — Bonny, in a large cock'd hat— his 
 wife, with a child at her breast, wrapped in 
 a Scotch plaid, and the other eight in little 
 red jackets, i^s soon as I beheld the comic 
 effect produced by this tout etisemble, I 
 slipped down a back street, to avoid the share
 
 tSb itinerant. 247 
 
 of applause I should, doubtless, have received 
 if recognizM as owner of the property. 
 
 I was waiting at the theatre, with some 
 impatience, when the stagekeeper came run- 
 ning to inform me, that the waggon was 
 overturn'd, and Mr. Long kill'd. In an in- 
 stant I was on the spot, and sure enough 
 there lay the contents of the cart, and Bonny 
 Long under the whole. The crowd had con- 
 siderably increased 5 some were humanely 
 employ'd in lifting off boxes, in order to 
 release the sufferer; others supported his 
 wife, who, though safe from the tall, was in 
 fits for the fate of her husband ; whilst the 
 eight little brats, in scarlet jackets, ran about 
 like dancing dogs, prepared for a stage exhi- 
 bition. Mr. Long's voice was plainly heard, 
 and, after the removal of sundry packages, 
 one of his hands appeared through a hole in 
 the aforesaid door : the sight of this limb, to 
 which five fingers were attached, alarm'd 
 those whom humanity had brought to our 
 assistance; one in particular, starting back, 
 swore he would have nothing farther to do 
 in the business, for there was a mis-shapen 
 man, he might be the devil for ought he 
 knew, who had popp'd out a hand with five
 
 248 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 fingers, and he supposed the cloven foot would 
 follow. 
 
 Poor Long was at length liberated, with 
 no other inconvenience than what was occa- 
 sioned by the suffocating dust arising from 
 the old scenes, which had completely pre- 
 served him from the pressure of the boxes. 
 The only misfortune this accident caused 
 was the death of our watchful mastiff: this 
 noble creature, when the waggon overturned, 
 kept the men at bay, lest his master's pro- 
 perty should be purloined, till a blacksmith, 
 who had been drawn from his anvil, and stood 
 gazing with the sledge hammer on his shoulder, 
 gave the poor animal a blow behind the ear, 
 which put a sudden period to his existence. 
 This callous Cyclop was, at my suit, ar- 
 raigned on the following day before a magis- 
 trate, who acquitted him on the blacksmith's 
 plea of self defence. 
 
 The theatre was a miserably poor place, 
 and, when fiU'd, would scarcely contain 
 twenty pounds. We opened it the following 
 Monday, with the comedy of " The Beaux 
 Stratagem ;" the receipts amounted to bl.', and 
 though the company were much reduced, I
 
 THE ITINERANT. 249 
 
 found a continuance of such receipts would 
 disable me from paying the salaries : the 
 second and third nights were not much better; 
 and the third week, I found myself under 
 the unpleasant necessity of addressing the 
 company, and placing them on the old esta- 
 blishment. The houses, instead of improving, 
 went from bad to worse : dissatisfaction ge- 
 nerally prevailed ; *' the sharing was not an 
 existence/' This I very readily allowed, but 
 surely no blame could be attached to me; 
 in vain I urged the small receipts, and 
 heavy disbursements. One, more witty than 
 the rest, chose to exercise his humor at 
 my expense, and, on the following day, was 
 seen walking down the street, with his 
 five shilling share in a canvass purse, at 
 the end of his stick, placed over his right 
 shoulder; jocularly informing every one who 
 enquired, that his last week's share was so 
 heavy, his arm ached with its weight. This 
 sarcasm hurt me greatly; I determined to 
 convince the company of the real state of 
 affairs, and that, instead of sharing five 
 shillingSj had I acted with the prudence 
 that became my situation, there would have 
 been nothing. For this purpose I con- 
 vened the male part of the company to a
 
 250 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 tavern, where I attended with the stock book 
 for public inspection ; but, strange to tell ! 
 though I was every thing bad behind my 
 back, not a creature had spirit enough to open 
 it 5 all was amicable, all was right. 
 
 Ludlow races now approach'd, and great 
 expectations were formed ; overflowing houses 
 were promised, and I vainly hoped it would be 
 in my power to make amends for the miserable 
 pittance they had hitherto received. But here, 
 as in most of my undertakings, fortune dash'd 
 down the cup of hope, just as I was raising it 
 to my lip. 
 
 On the first race night, a ball oppose<l 
 the theatre, and the receipts were so trifling, 
 it was not thought proper to perform. To 
 make amends for this, I applied to tbe stewards 
 to patronize the next night ; but this could not 
 be effected : the grand ordinary dinner was to 
 be that evening, and would detain the company 
 till a late hour. 
 
 As there were only two days races, I was 
 now at my wits' end : the only probable way of 
 drawing them to the theatre, was to perform 
 in the morning. Again I waited on the
 
 THE ITINERANT. 251 
 
 Stewards, and obtainM their consent, and 
 promised attendance. Accordingly " The Castle 
 of Andalusia" was advertised, by desire of the 
 st-ewards of the race, to begin at eleven o'clock. 
 
 This new and unpleasant time of performance 
 was particularly irksome : to shut out daylight, 
 to substitute candles for the glorious sun on a 
 hot summer's morn, appeared little better 
 than sacrilege ; but there was no alternative 
 between this and empty benches. The time 
 arrived, and, with this astonishing patronage, 
 we raided eleven pounds! This was an effort 
 on the part of the town that was natural- 
 ly followed by additional depression. The 
 gaiety and fatigue of tivo days races com- 
 pletely overwhelmed the theatre. The benefits 
 were now our only resource, and even that bore 
 a melancholy aspect ; but they would just fill 
 up the time, previous to Worcester races, the 
 profits of which, I was told, never failed to be 
 great. 
 
 At this time I received a letter from Mr. 
 Smith, one of the proprietors of Wolver- 
 hampton theatre, couched in terms of strong 
 persuasion ; he was certain, if I brought my
 
 252 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 company to the fair, my receipts could not 
 be less than two hundred pounds. This was a 
 strong temptation ! A means of making good 
 all our losses now presented itself; yet, if it 
 failed, the expense of removing such a body of 
 people was what I had it not in my power to 
 sustain. I consulted the performers : they 
 were sanguine as myself, and, as I never look'd 
 on the dark side of things, I speedily embark'd 
 in this troublesome and expensive undertaking; 
 but the anxiety of mind that attended the re- 
 moval of this unfortunate company, with their 
 still more unfortunate manager, is indescribable I 
 
 We arrived without accident, and the 
 theatre was advertised to open on the Mon- 
 day. Had I been as well acquainted as I am 
 now with the description of people who 
 attend fairs, especially merry - making fairs, 
 I should never have undertaken this disas- 
 trous journey. A play is by much too re- 
 fined and expensive an entertainment to suit 
 either the taste or pockets of gaping country 
 people, who, in general, have not an idea be- 
 yond a mountebank, or a puppet show. Of 
 this, I had every night woful experience : 
 three, four, and five pounds, were the cus-
 
 THE ITINERANT. 253 
 
 tomary receipts. In a state of mind border- 
 ing on distraction, I went over to Birming- 
 ham, and by way of forcing a house, for the 
 last night, engaged Messrs. Grist, Banks, and 
 Barrymore, to perform in ^^ Othello,'* and 
 *^ Rosina,*' for which I was to give them each 
 a guinea, and pay the chaise hire. 
 
 The receipts of that night, with all this 
 great acting, amounted to seven po«nds!!! out 
 of which I had to pay these gentlemen three 
 guineas, besides travelling expenses 111 
 
 I have known actors, aye, and poor ones 
 too, who would have received the three guineas 
 with some appearance of regret ; nay, there 
 are those who would not have taken them at 
 all : but these great people were superior to 
 such little prejudices ; they not only received 
 them with ease, and good humor, but the 
 greatest man of the three made a famous good 
 story of it, to the great delight of his audi- 
 tors, in the Birmingham green-room next day. 
 
 Yet, so blind was I to the narrowness of 
 their conduct, that the supper bill (no small 
 one, it may be supposed, when 'tis recollected 
 VOL. I. M
 
 254 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 who composed the party) I discharged, under 
 an idea of gentlemanly hospitality ; a prejudice 
 which ought to have died with my shipwrecked 
 fortune. 
 
 The hour of departure arrived, and thirty 
 pounds, the whole of the week's receipts, were 
 all I had to satisfy the actors, by lending 
 each a little, and a long train of inciden- 
 tal expenses, incurr'd by the journey, beside 
 chaises to carry us back, and maintenance on 
 the road. 
 
 This was the greatest difficulty I had ever 
 experienced ; to wait upon the different trades- 
 men with apologies instead of money, was, 
 to a man of my temperament, grating beyond 
 all description : however, there was no al- 
 ternative. When I told my story, they were 
 gentle and kind, and would patiently wait my 
 own time of payment. Credit for chaises to 
 transport us back was likewise cheerfully 
 granted, and we left Wolverhampton, after 
 this inauspicious week, minus about fifty 
 pounds ! 
 
 The benefits immediately commenced at 
 Ludlow, and each performer contrived to
 
 THE ITINERANT. 255 
 
 clear a trifle j but Bonny Long outdid them 
 all. He was a decent actor, and had a most 
 
 retentive memory, which render'd him highly 
 useful J above all, he was an honest, good tem- 
 pered man. As soon as his benefit was an- 
 nounced, Mrs. Long wash'd her eight chil- 
 dren, and dress'd them in their scarlet spencers, 
 which never made their appearance, except 
 at benefits^ and their first arrival in a town. 
 At the head of this little tribe, she paraded 
 the 'street^,' in' her Scotch plaid, with a large 
 bundle of play bills, and solicited custom at 
 every respectable dwelling. The novelty of 
 these little red runabouts, added to the good 
 hunior and affability of the father, brought 
 an overflowing house j and so much was 
 honest Bonny respected, there was not an 
 individual in the theatre who did not rejoice 
 at his success. 
 
 On this evening, one of Long's children, 
 about six years old, was advertised to speak an 
 address, written for the occasion. At the end 
 of the play, the curtain drew up — out waddled 
 the rickety baby, and began, '* Ladies and gen- 
 tlemen" — here was d long pause — the mother 
 held up her hand, in a threatening posture, and 
 call'd out, ^* Go on, you slut V* — but it would
 
 256 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 not do. The little thing scratched her head — 
 began to sidle and pout, and at last ex- 
 claim'd, loud enough to be heard by the 
 whole house, " I want ' to ha — ha I" Thus 
 ended the address, and down dropp'd the 
 curtain. 
 
 I had now been nine months joint and 
 sole manager, and had incurred debts to the 
 amount of a hundred pounds. — Pero's first 
 payment was due, and ruin stared me in the 
 face. 
 
 I forgot to mention the departure of Tony 
 Lebrun. His benefit, at Worcester, had been 
 unproductive : he apologized to me, as usual, 
 and left us, to join his old friend Watson at 
 Cheltenham ; where the Duke of Buccleugh 
 would certainly patronise his benefit, and 
 then I should be paid. Poor Tony ! he was a 
 famous castle-builder, and enjoy'd things in 
 perspective, which were never realiz'd, but added 
 much, I believe, to his happiness. 
 
 My present forlorn situation brought Tony's 
 advice to mind. I found I was not cast in a 
 managerical mould; but there was no retreating : 
 —sink or swim, I must go on.
 
 THE ITINERANT. 257 
 
 Worcester race-week netted about fifty 
 pounds, thirty of which I appropriated to 
 the Hquidation of my debts at Ludlow, and 
 then prepared for an encampment at Glou- 
 cester. 
 
 Powel, who had play'd with us during 
 this week, proposed accompanying us, and if 
 he could be of any service in looking after 
 the property : — *^ You know, my dear boy^'* 
 said he, " I am to be depended upon." I ac- 
 cepted his offer, with thanks 5 and, as a first 
 mark of his attention, he caird me aside on 
 the last play night, and said, " My dear fel- 
 low, I have hit on a plan of conveyance to 
 Gloucester, which will save considerable ex- 
 pense." 
 
 As I had no great opinion of his travelling 
 arrangements, the business of the returned 
 chaise at that moment recurring to my re- 
 collection, I formed no flattering expecta- 
 tions from this scheme. . However, I re- 
 quested to hear it. 
 
 '^Why, I have, my dear boy, engaged a 
 hackney-coach. Now, you know, hackney
 
 258' THE ITINERANT. 
 
 means common, and what is common is ge- 
 nerally cheap. This said coach will take 
 both our families for thirty shillings ; where- 
 as, two chaises would cost two pound ten — 
 and twenty shillings saved is a serious consi- 
 deration. That's the way to look at the mat- 
 ter ; only leave it to me — I'll take care of the 
 main chance/' 
 
 Accordingly I left it to him ; and at sevea 
 o'clock on the following morning, an old, 
 crazy-looking vehicle, in which were Powel, 
 his wife, and two children, stopp'd at our lodg- 
 ings ; whence we set off, at a very slow rate, 
 for Upton-upon-Severu/' 
 
 About half way, we observed a lusty, 
 portly looking man, standing at the door of 
 a decent-looking public house, in a travelling 
 dress. Powel no sooner saw, than he recog- 
 nized him : — " My dear fellow,*' said he, 
 **your fortune's made; that gentleman is 
 Lord Surrey's steward, a person of great in- 
 fluence in Gloucester." He now stopp'd the 
 coach, and, both getting out, I was formally 
 introduced to his Lordship's steward, as ma- 
 nager of the theatre; and, over a large bowl
 
 THE ITINERANT. 259 
 
 of milk punch, Povvel was elaborate in praise 
 of the company, and my spirit and liberality as 
 conductor of it. We had lost nearly an hour 
 in this interview, when I reminded my lo- 
 quacious companion of the females in the 
 coach. — *^ #«lso ! that's well thought of* — 
 and, desiring me to pay, we resum'd our jour- 
 ney. 
 
 *^ Now, my dear fellow,** said Powel, ^' we 
 have done more good than you are aware of. 
 L.ord Surrey will bespeak a play, by which 
 you will get twenty pounds, and all for two 
 bowls of milk punch ! — That*s the way to look 
 at the matter!'* 
 
 From this delay, and the weakness of tb€ 
 two poor horses, it was twelve o'clock ere we 
 reached Upton, where we order*d dinner, 
 and, whilst it was preparing, Powel conducted 
 our party to a cider loft, where he had per- 
 formed with Mrs. Siddons : it was a most in- 
 convenient place, and so low, that my head 
 nearly reached the ceiling. There was some 
 comfort, though of a negative kind, in hearing 
 that the first people in the profession had 
 struggled through difficultie3 as well as my- 
 self.
 
 260 
 
 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 Two managers, by the names of Crump and 
 Chamberlain, formerly travell'd, with a small 
 itinerant company, through this part of Eng- 
 land. The former was a blunt, morose, 
 brutish, character; the latter, sly and cun- 
 ning; they were commonly known by the 
 names of Fox and Bruin, In the early part 
 of John Kemble's theatrical career, he was 
 unfortunate enough to be a member of this 
 company. After much mental and pecuniary 
 suffering, he made a precipitate retreat, leaving 
 the following couplet chalked upon the theatrical 
 bayn door : 
 
 " I fly to shun impending ruin, 
 
 " And leave the Fox to fight with Bruin.** 
 
 It was ten o'clock ere we reached our desti- 
 nation, and, including milk punch and the 
 dinner expenses, had cost more than posting, be- 
 sides the tediousness of the conveyance and loss 
 of time; in short, the expedition was one of 
 Powel's eccentricities, and answer'd in the usual 
 way. 
 
 The Gloucester Theatre was, at this time, 
 in Barton Street, a melancholy, inconvenient 
 place, which, when filled, would not hold
 
 THE ITINERANT. 261 
 
 more than thirty-five pounds. To this dun- 
 geon it was difficult to draw the people 5 but, 
 that no attraction might be wanting, I en- 
 gaged Mrs. Hasker, Miss Scrace, (since Mrs. 
 Bates, of Drury Lane) and Mr. Blanchard, 
 from the Bath theatre, being then the vaca- 
 tion. They were all three of first rate abi- 
 lities ; but, alas ! Death has long since seized 
 her victims — so long, that perhaps the two 
 former are scarcely remembered in the annals 
 of the drama, except by professors. The 
 latter was universally known, and will be re- 
 membered with regret by all those who prefer 
 nature to art. He was, indeed, Nature's own 
 child ; his style has never been equalled since 
 the time of Weston, nor will it ever be sur- 
 passed. Poor Tom ! *^ I knew him well — a 
 fellow of infinite jests, of most excellent fan- 
 cy. Where are all your flashes of merri- 
 ment that used to set the table on a roar?" — 
 Alas ! we may trace to that source, perhaps, 
 his early fate ! Habits of dissipation not only 
 destroy the constitution, but the amiable, so- 
 cial, domestic virtues sink before it. But for 
 this one fault, poor Tom filanchard might now 
 have been an ornament to the stage, and an 
 amiable member of society : for both stations he 
 was equally qualified. 
 
 m2
 
 262 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 Near the close of his life, about ten 
 years subsequent to this period, Stephen 
 Kemble engaged him to perform a few nights 
 at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and, knowing that 
 little dependance could be placed on poor 
 Blanchard's sobriety, he invited him, on the 
 first play day, to a tite-a-tite dinner in the 
 green room, determined not to lose sight of 
 him till the play was over. " Hodge'* was 
 the part he had to perform, in which no 
 one could surpass him. Two glasses of bran- 
 dy and water after dinner were cheerfully al- 
 lowed ; but no entreaty could prevail for a 
 third, and all Tom*s hopes of intoxication 
 iwere at an end. Stephen was *^ fit for trea- 
 sons, stratagems, and spoils 5" in other words, 
 he had no music in his soul (a family fail- 
 ing). Blanchard knew this ; he likewise 
 knew that he could execute a plaintive ditty 
 in a composing style ; and, after his budget 
 of anecdote was nearly exhausted, he deter- 
 mined to try its effects on the manager. It 
 answered to his wish : before the second 
 verse of Lullaby was finish'd, Stephen was 
 in the arms of Somnus, and Tom at the 
 brandy bottle : when the former awoke, he 
 found the latter reeling about the room, and 
 the prohibited flask empty. Sense is fre-
 
 THE ITINERANT. 263 
 
 quently sacrificed to sound, but, in this in- 
 stance, music was completely triumphant. 
 
 Miss Scrace (sister to Mrs. Smith, who, 
 some years ago, was well known as a gen- 
 teel comic actress) was a young lady of first 
 rate abilities ; she was extremely elegant in 
 the woman ,of fashion, and very fascinating 
 when habited en cavalier, 
 
 Mrs. Hasker had great vocal powers : both 
 these ladies died young, and the stage mourns 
 their loss. 
 
 For the short time these three exotics 
 remain'd, our theatre was respectably attend- 
 ed, and the sharing amounted to a guinea 
 per week. They had each a good benefit, 
 and left us to work our passage through the 
 remainder of the season as well as we could : 
 bad enough it proved, and I determined tp 
 cut it short, according to Powel's advice. 
 ^' Cut and run," said he; "it won't do — the 
 property will be injured : if they won't come 
 and see us here, let us go elsewhere — That's 
 the way to look at the matter, my boy." The 
 benefits were very indifferent; even the red
 
 264 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 spencers were without attraction : mine was 
 the only one that produced any thing of 
 consequence, and that was chiefly owing to 
 the new opera of " Robin Hood," and the 
 last night of performing. Thirty-four pounds 
 was a great house in Barton- street, and, 
 though it was only as a drop of rain to a 
 bason of water in my multifarious wants, yet 
 it did some good. 
 
 At this time, the institution of Sunday 
 schools was first suggested by Mr. Raikes, prin- 
 ter, in Gloucester. Excellent man ! I think 
 of him with gratitude, and mention his name 
 "With respect, almost bordering on adoration. 
 
 Oft have I seen this philanthropic being 
 walk to church at seven in the morning, 
 foUow'd by at least an hundred children, who, 
 but for him, might have lived and died in 
 ignorance, with all its attendant vices. The 
 clergy, strange to say! opposed him 5 the peo- 
 ple in general scarcely approved the plan, or 
 lent assistance towards its success. As an 
 instance, I proposed a benefit play for the 
 charity, and five pounds was the whole receipt 
 of the house 1 ! !
 
 THE ITINERANT, 265 
 
 At the end of the season, I was indebted to 
 Mr. Raikes twenty pounds for printing : upon 
 disclosing the state of my treasury, he took me 
 by the hand, and eased my full heart, by " re- 
 questing his debt might not add to my uneasi- 
 ness : if convenient, he begg'd to hear from me 
 at Worcester, and in the mean time wish'd me 
 health and success.'* 
 
 It strikes me now, with wonder and amaze- 
 ment, that I never attempted to effect an esta- 
 blishment in some of the respectable neigh- 
 bouring towns. Theatres then were by no 
 means so common as they are now : many 
 places of much greater extent and popularity 
 than Ludlow were not accommodated with 
 theatricals, and I make no doubt would joy- 
 fully have received and rewarded our exer- 
 tions; but I suppose it was not then the custom 
 to extend the limits of a circuit, else Powel, 
 who was an experienced veteran, would have 
 recommended that measure : for my own part, 
 such a thing never entered my imagination. 
 These four miserably bad theatrical towns 
 were all I seem'd to have any right or in- 
 terest in ; so, as a forlorn hope, we return'd 
 to Worcester some weeks sooner than the 
 commencement of the usual season : this
 
 266 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 may, perhaps, account for the additional ill 
 fortune by which I was attended ; even the 
 
 elements conspired against me. The first 
 
 night, the snow was so deep, and the wea- 
 ther so intense, no one but through neces- 
 sity would leave their houses, of course we 
 did not perform ; the second night we dre\¥ 
 up the curtain to ten shillings, half price in- 
 creased it to three pounds. 
 
 When a man is sinking in the stream of 
 adversity, how rarely is a hand stretched 
 forth to his relief! On the contrary, while 
 he is catching at every twig, how many will 
 rather cut away his old, and, with apathetic 
 unconcern, see him overwhelm 'd by the tide 
 of destruction I I am no misanthrope — my 
 heart expands at the distresses of a fellow- 
 creature, or any ether of God's creatures; 
 and my hand, though feeble in power, is, to 
 the extent of its abilities, rais'd to succour 
 the oppressed. That friendship is a word of- 
 tener express'd than understood, I think will 
 he generally allow 'd, particularly amongst 
 the commercial part of our species. , Trade, 
 I am sorry to say, has a tendency to narrow 
 the heart, and circumscribe its feelings j it 
 gives a man habits of deception — makes him
 
 THE ITINERANT. 267 
 
 suspicious ; in short, it is a grand enemy to 
 the social and moral virtues. I would not, 
 by this philippic, infer that all men of busi- 
 ness are thus depraved — God forbid ! There 
 are, to my narrow knowledge, men in trade 
 who are an honor to their country and them- 
 selves ; but they are as one to a thousand.
 
 268 
 
 CHAP. XV, 
 
 "'TIS WELL ITS NO WORSE." 
 
 BICKERSTAFF. 
 
 ** I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse. 
 Borrowing only lingers and lingers it out j but the disease is 
 incurable." henry iv. part ii. 
 
 ** A great man, Til warrant— —I know by the picking of 
 his teeth." 
 
 ** But 1 had not so much of man in me. 
 But ail my mother came into mine eyes. 
 And gave me up to tears." hekry v. 
 
 A.S when, before a dreadful storm, the clouds 
 collect, ponderous and opaque, the affrighted 
 mariner awaits, in awful silence, the dreadful 
 burst that menaces destruction, — so I, as pi- 
 lot of my theatric bark, saw a storm ap- 
 proaching, impossible to weather, and in its 
 destructive effect most certain. 
 
 The theatre had been open a fortnight, 
 and the receipts barely sufficient to pay for
 
 THE ITINERANT. 269 
 
 lights and bills ; the prospect in view gave 
 
 no ray of cheering hope all was gloomy 
 
 meditation and despair. Pero's first hundred 
 pounds had been due some time, and he 
 was importunate. Mr. Gosli, of Stamford, 
 wrote by the same post, to say, the rents 
 vv^ere due, and I must prepare to pay them in 
 a week. To complete distress, and add a cli- 
 max to misery, my Worcester friendy and 
 Weston, in no very conciliating terms, de- 
 manded payment. Like a baited bull — turn 
 which way I would — despair, with haggard 
 aspect, faced me; and, as if my own imme- 
 diate miseries were not heavy enough to crush 
 me, the supplications of the poor actors drove 
 me almost to a state of frenzy. 
 
 Ann's spirit, hitherto invulnerable, sunk 
 beneath such complicated misfortunes. In 
 this forlorn state, without a friend to lend 
 me a guinea — at least none offer'd, and, tho' 
 poor, I was too proud to ask — for the first 
 time I made application to a pawnbroker 5— 
 not without some degree of false shame, I 
 confess — false, I am convinced it is ; for 
 where is the disgrace of raising money on 
 bur property ? It it not done daily, though
 
 270 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 upon a much larger scale, under the title of 
 * Mortgage P' Upon my Ann's gold watch, 
 and several articles of valuable plate, I borrowed 
 forty pounds, part of u'hich I disburs*d among 
 the actors who had families 3 for their case was 
 piteous indeed. 
 
 By way of raising one decent house, and 
 jshewtng the inhabitants, if possible, the way 
 to the theatre — which, from disuse, I almost 
 thought they had forgotten — I endeavor'd to 
 get a play patronis'd; and as luck — whether 
 good or bad, time must discover — but as 
 luck would have it, the Earl of , and se- 
 veral other persons of distinction, were then 
 at the Hop Pole, where, I understood, they 
 intended to remain a few days. This incident 
 completely routed the Blue Devils, who had of 
 late been my constant companions. I dress'd 
 myself in a handsome suit of black, with my 
 best laced ruffles ; my hair was put into the 
 most exact trim, and into Foregate-streel I bent 
 my way. 
 
 I have always remark'd, that the time to 
 carry a point, which depends merely on good 
 humor, is about half an hour after the cloth
 
 THE ITINERANT. 271 
 
 is drawn. I hit this period to a nicety : every 
 vestige of dinner was removed, and the great 
 folks as merry over their fruit and wine as health 
 and prosperity could make them. 
 
 I follow'd a puppy-looking servant up stairs, 
 and heard him announce me as Mr. Romney, 
 manager of the theatre : upon which the whole 
 company hurst into an immoderate fit of laugh- 
 ter, at the same time repeating the word ' Ma- 
 nager !' in a manner that gave me to understand 
 they entertain'd no great reverence for the cha- 
 racter. "Oh, the ma-na-ger !" continued his 
 drawling lordship, when laughter would permit: 
 *^ shew the ma-na-ger in : — ^he is a queer bitchy 
 I dare say. — We shall have some fun, my lady," 
 ii-j:. 
 
 ^ My situation may be better imagined 
 than described. I had frequently address'd 
 persons of rank, and generally found a cheer- 
 ing suavity of manners the characteristic of 
 true nobility ; but now, as if fate was deter- 
 inin'd to oppress me at every point, my feel- 
 ings were to be harass'd by foppish lordlings, 
 tooth-picking Sir Tommys, and lolling ladies of 
 quality.
 
 272 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 Fill'd with the contempt that what I 
 heard so justly inspired, I was turning to 
 make a precipitate retreat, when the servant 
 threw open the door, and discover'd me, 
 '* Walk in, Mr. Ma-na-ger, if you please,*' 
 cried his lordship, nodding significantly at a 
 baronet, who sat at the bottom of the table, 
 and who was leisurely picking his teeth, 
 whilst he turn'd round in his chair to stare 
 at me. The company consisted of eight 
 gentlemen and four ladies. A degree of dis- 
 appointment was apparent, when they found 
 their promised source of mirth in some mea- 
 sure defeated. I dare say they had painted 
 the manager as a motley-dress'd man, adorn'd 
 with tinsel, who would servilely cringe and 
 bow, for the favor of being insulted by such 
 honorable brutes. Perceiving their mistake— 
 for I felt so truly indignant, that I almost 
 look'd down upon them with contempt, and 
 long'd for an opportunity of shewing it— 
 they stared at each other, astonished, no 
 doubt, at my effrontery, as, with a bold, 
 steady step, and much self-possession, I 
 walk'd up to my lord, and laid before him a 
 list of plays.
 
 THE ITINERANT. 278 
 
 " Oh ! aye ! plays — My lady, will you be^ 
 speak a play ?" 
 
 *' Why really, my Lord, I have no idea of 
 strollers: pray, Mr. Manager, what sort of a 
 set are yours ? — sad wretches I suppose. Pray, 
 did you ever see Kemble ? I am vastly fond of 
 Kemble," — " So am I, my lady,*' replied the 
 picktooth Baronet ; " Kemble is a very fine 
 singer indeed ; I have heard him often at the 
 Opera." During this time, her ladyship's eye, 
 through a quizzing glass, was fixed upon me 
 with steady effrontery. The Baronet continued : 
 " Have you any fine girls in your troop, 
 
 Mr. : what's your name ?" — ^* Oh, fie. 
 
 Sir Thomas!" cried her ladyship ; ^* how can 
 you name such creatures before me ?" 
 
 '^ Don't be angry, my lady ; Mr. Manager 
 here will put us all in good humor, I dare say : — 
 what can you do that is comical?— Can you 
 conjure ?" 
 
 Unable longer to brook such treatment, 
 I retreated towards the door, and thus ad- 
 dress'd his Lordship : — ^^ My Lord, I throw 
 myself on your protection ; I am, it is true,
 
 274 Tan ITINERANT. 
 
 manager of a company of players ; 'tis als« 
 true that I have seen better days, and my 
 feelings may be somewhat more acute on 
 that account. I am well aware, my Lord, that 
 superior rank is not always accompanied by 
 superior abilities ; but I should think, that edu- 
 cation> the natural consequence of noble birth, 
 would, at least, so far enlarge the mind, and 
 liberalize the manners, that the unfortunate 
 would always meet encouragement and support ; 
 sympathy, and not insult. My situation at 
 present is very uncomfortable, and attended with 
 a degree of humiliation I am ill calculated to 
 sustain ; — your Lordship will therefore pardon 
 my abrupt departure.'* 
 
 I had not been at home ten minutes, when 
 the following note arrived : — 
 
 " To Mr. RoMNEY, Manager of the Theatre. 
 
 ** The Honorable Miss , who bad the misfortune 
 
 to witness the inhospitable and unfeeling reception Mr. 
 R experienced at the Hop-Pole, acknowledges 
 
 herself highly pleased with his proper and spirited con- 
 duct, and begs his acceptance of the inclosed."
 
 THE ITINERANT. 2JB 
 
 The inclosure was a lOZ. bank bill, and 
 the approving note, written by the hand of a 
 beautiful young woman ; such, upon inquiry, 
 I found her. Though these little applica- 
 tions gave ease for a moment, the diseasfc 
 was too deeply rooted to be cured by com- 
 mon remedies. 
 
 Since my arrival at Worcester, I had be- 
 come suspiciously apprehensive that some of 
 my creditors would arrest me ; a circumstance 
 I thought of with much dread. 
 
 One night, I had just finished my part to 
 an almost empty house, and was preparing to 
 return home, when I received the following 
 note written with a pencil on the back of a 
 playbill : — 
 
 " Whilst I am writing this, a Bailiff stands close 
 by me ; he has a writ against you, and waits to serve 
 it. Go out the back way, and I will favor your 
 escape." 
 
 Good heaven ! what was to be done ? If 
 I even got away from them now, the toil was 
 spread, and finally would enclose me : how- 
 ever, caution commanded me to keep out of 
 it as long as possible 3 I therefore put the
 
 276 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 timely warning in my pocket, and, through 
 back lanes and alleys, got safe to my lodging. 
 Alarm must have been visibly painted on my 
 countenance, for Ann absolutely started at the 
 sight of me. After an explanation, we were 
 lost in conjecture respecting the identity of 
 the friendly writer. The note was examined ; 
 it was apparently written in the dark, from 
 the crookedness of the lines, and the little con- 
 nexion some of the words had with each other. 
 After various unsatisfactory conjectures, Ann, 
 starting up, exclaimed, " My God ! 'tis Camel- 
 ford y* On comparing his former letters with 
 the note, the characters were visibly traced by 
 the same hand, with the difference only of good 
 writing and bad. 
 
 Here was a new field for speculation ! This 
 strange man was again come to light, but, 
 though he had favoured my escape now, 
 'twas out of his power essentially to serve 
 me, for he was as poor as myself — perhaps not, 
 — " aye, there's the rub •/' — perhaps rich — un- 
 lawfully so. — The more I thought of this won- 
 derful being, the more I feared him, although 
 he held an exalted place in my esteem. T 
 found, on mature reflection, that, if I wished 
 to avoid incarceration, perhaps for life, I
 
 THE ITINERANT, 277 
 
 must quit Worcester. To struggle any longer 
 were vain : one writ I knew was issued ; per* 
 haps there were detainers. 
 
 During the three days I confined myself, I 
 pondered on various plans for future subsistence, 
 and endeavored to arrange matters for our dc* 
 parture. 
 
 " The world was all before us, where to 
 choose," but money was wanting to facilitate 
 that choice. Half a guinea was the extent of 
 my finances, and five shillings of that were 
 destined for Long's nine children ; — however, 
 money must be had. We had still some super- 
 fluous articles of former grandeur ; these, to- 
 gether with an excellent violin, were packed 
 off to the pawnbroker's, and produced ten 
 guineas. 
 
 I was extremely anxious to see Camelford 
 before my departure, but he came not, and 
 that evening fixed on for our elopement. — 
 When the servant returned from Bonny 
 Long's, she rushed precipitately into the a- 
 partment, and informed us, that a black-look- 
 ing man, on crutches, whom she had seen 
 about the house several times that day, ac- 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 27S tMfi ITINERANT. 
 
 costed her with questions relating to me, and, 
 when she was closing the door^ said, " Tell your 
 master to fear nothing — I will protect him j — 
 but he must away to-night.** 
 
 In a moment I guessed the beggar to be 
 Camelford* As our departure • was previously 
 arranged for that evening, little further prepa- 
 ration was necessary : our packages were safely 
 lodged at the coach-office, though the route was 
 undetermined. In the afternoon, a friendly 
 attorney called to tell me there were three writs 
 out, and the bailiffs waiting in every avenue 
 leading to the house. In my own person, to 
 escape them was impossible. As a woman, 
 though somewhat of the tallest, in the dark, per- 
 haps, I might elude their vigilance. A petticoat, 
 a grey cloth cloak, and bonnet, were procured ; 
 
 and, having sent Mrs. R to the inn, some 
 
 time before, at eight o'clock I sallied forth, hold- 
 ing by the servant's arm. The deception seem'd 
 to answer; for we pass'd close to one of my ene- 
 mies, without notice. But my usual ill luck 
 prevailed — my evil genius still pursued me. Poor 
 little Fan, whom her mistress, in the agitation 
 of the moment, had forgotten, was left behind. 
 The faithful animal had been our constant com- 
 panion for twelve years, and to desert her now
 
 THE ITINEftAHT. 279 
 
 was impossible ; accordingly the servant was 
 sent back to fetch her. 
 
 Whether I had before been suspected by 
 the bailiff, whom we had just pass'd, or whe- 
 ther my creeping into a dark corner rais'd sus- 
 picion, I know not — 'but at that moment he 
 cross'd to where I stood, and whistled to his 
 companion : at the same instant the maid arrived 
 with the dogj which was generally known to be 
 mine. This confirmed what before was only sur- 
 mise : a lantern, which the other fellow brought, 
 was held up to my face, and a discovery, fatal, 
 as I thought, to my future freedom, was the 
 consequence. One hold of each arm, I was 
 draggM along with brutual rudeness 5 and a pe- 
 tition, that I might carry my little dog, was 
 answer'd by damning both the dog and me. 
 The poor thing, however, follow'd> at humble 
 distance, its master, whom a prison was yawning 
 to receive. 
 
 Arrived at the spunging-house, one of the 
 men was preparing to knock at the door, when 
 three sturdy beggars, in accents of petition, as- 
 sailed us — " A halfpenny, masters, for the love 
 of heaven ! — have compassion on a poor blind 
 sailor, who lost his precious sight in America * 
 
 •^
 
 280 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 — pray, bestow your charity!" ^^Aye, that 
 
 we will," said one of my conductors, and aim'd 
 a blow at the man next him, who appear'd to be 
 lame ; but, nimbly avoiding it, he sprang like a 
 lion upon his prey, and with one stroke laid him 
 prostrate. The light was extinguished in the 
 scuffle, and, the spunging-house being situ- 
 ated in a retired court, there were no witnesses 
 to the affray. 
 
 The stoutest of my conductors lay motion- 
 less, and whilst two of the beggars seized the 
 other, who still held me by the arm, the third, 
 by tripping up his heels, released and dragg'd me 
 away. " Fly^'' said he, in well known accents, 
 *' as you value your liberty ; throw off those 
 disgraceful habiliments, and fly." — *^ Oh, Ca- 
 melford !" cried I, grasping his hand, " how 
 can I repay you ?" 
 
 *^By your obedience j" — and as he pull'd rac 
 along, he said, ^' Have you got the ring ?'* 
 
 " Yes !" 
 
 ((' 
 
 Then, still preserve it. Set off instantly 
 for Bristol ; and when you arrive at the Bush, in- 
 quire for * the Marquis ;' — you'll find me there. 
 —Farewell !"
 
 THE ITINERANT, 281 
 
 1 found my wife at the Blue Bell^ extremely 
 agitated at my delay, which was not lessened 
 when informed of the cause. The loss of poor 
 Fanny, too, was an aggravation of our misery. 
 We anticipated every evil that could possibly 
 befal the poor creature, thus torn from her early 
 protectors. 
 
 The clock struck ten — we were summon'd 
 to the coach, and the first object that greeted 
 us was our faithful dog ! One of our fellow tra- 
 vellers informed us that a sailor-looking man had 
 put her in at the window, just before we came, 
 saying that she belonged to a gentleman and lady 
 who had taken places.
 
 282 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 '^ THE RUNAWAY.'' 
 
 MRS. COWLEY, 
 
 *' And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held % 
 pouncet-box, which, ever and anon, he gave his nose.** 
 
 HENRY IV. 
 
 xwAs in the spring of 1785 when we took 
 leave of Worcester. Not a word pass'd the lips 
 of any one till dawn next morning. — My 
 companions, from certain nasal symptoms, 
 I conjectured, were buried in the arms of sleep. 
 Happy state ! Thoughts of the past, and anxiety 
 for the future, kept my senses awake. 
 
 Camelford's last words, so big with mys- 
 tery, were constantly sounding in my ears, 
 and seem'd to be the governing principle, 
 the rallying point, towards which my con- 
 ,templations tum'd 3 for, though I endeavor'd
 
 THE ITINERANT. 283 
 
 to drive him from my thoughts, and fix them 
 upon something more nearly connected with 
 our future plans, still they reverted back to 
 him : he seem'd to be the magnet which at 
 present governed my destiny. 
 
 When darkness no longer covered the 
 face of the earth, I discovered our compa- 
 nions in the coach to consist of two males, 
 and one female; the latter, a portly lady, 
 between forty and fifty, with much apparent 
 majesty in her demeanor, from conscious 
 dignity of birth — a matter, in her estima- 
 tion, of the greatest importance. She had 
 lately left her mother country, and retain'd 
 enough of the brogue to convince us where it 
 lay. 
 
 On the other side, and opposite to me, 
 set an elderly gentleman, in figure much re- 
 sembling that respectable personage, ^ Mr, 
 Punch/ His hair was grey, and queu'd at 
 some length — a small cock*d hat finished his 
 head ; his clothes were a complete suit, 
 uearly white, with silver buttons, and long 
 mffles. He took a great deal of snuflT out of 
 an elegant box; and a handsome ring deco- 
 
 m
 
 284 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 rated his little finger, which he turn'd up, in 
 great style, when administering the titilating 
 particles to his cock-up nose. He appeared 
 a man of knowledge and liberality ; but cen- 
 sured severely, and that in direct terms, any 
 appearance of undue pride or affectation, which 
 he held in utter abhorrence. 
 
 The reader will not suppose I drew these 
 characters from the first superficial view, but 
 as they unfolded themselves during the journey. 
 Between these two personages sat a thief- 
 catcher, from Worcester 5 he had formerly 
 been employed in Bow-street, and retainM all 
 the slang of St. Giles's. 
 
 The sun now began to infuse a little spirit 
 into the company. The old gentleman took 
 out his snuff-box, and handed it round. I 
 begg'd leave to admire the neatness and ele- 
 gance of the workmanship, whilst the Irish 
 lady, drawing up, and settling her shoulders 
 and hips in proper form for the day, noticed 
 the box slightly — and remembered, when the 
 Duke of Leinster came from the Currough, 
 lie presented the Duchess with just such ano-. 
 ther; and « that very day, as I was taking
 
 f-HB ITINERANT. 285 
 
 day with her Grace, she shew'd it me. Och I 
 it was ilegant.'* This grand display of na- 
 tional pride call'd forth a significant shrug, and 
 a smile from the old gentleman, who, to 
 xhange the discourse, turned to the thief- 
 catcher, and ask'd him, *' What news? — had 
 he lately bten in town ?" " Fy, sir," he re- 
 plied, squirting the tobacco-tainted saliva out of 
 the coach wmdow, *' I lives now in the city of 
 Vorcester, but Tm still on the old lay^ and inahs 
 a few now and then." 
 
 ^^ The old lay !" exclaim'd the gentleman — 
 ^' what the devil is that ? — Oh 1 you are in the 
 law, I suppose ?" 
 
 *' No, I heen't — Vm a good friend to the 
 lawers, though, and find 'em plenty o' vorlc* 
 Fm a thief- tdker, sir — vat ve calls in Limnun 
 2i Runner ; — and if they don't give me the ^o, 
 I shall shew a spice of my office before ve 
 reaches Bristol.'* 
 
 " Aye!" replied the other, putting up his 
 gold snuff-box, in some alarm, *^ is there 
 danger of our meeting with robbers on this 
 road }" 
 
 n2
 
 286 TilE ITIN?RA):^T. 
 
 ^^ Fi/f sir, as to robbers, I can't say much 
 about that there ; but, if I beett't mistaken, 
 there is three murderers now on the top of the 
 cqach/' 
 
 The lady began to fidget, and begg'd leave 
 to come over to our side — " This was the first 
 time she had ever been in a stage-coach, and it 
 should be the last. People of every description 
 w^re admitted — and persons of family *' 
 
 ^^ D — n family I" cried the old gentleman ; 
 
 " what has it to do with this man's story ? ^ 
 
 What were you saying about murder V* 
 
 *^ Vy, sir, I'll tell you. Last night, about 
 half past eight, two men vas attack'd, and 
 left for dead — nay, they he dead by this time, 
 i suppose— by spme people in the disguise of 
 beggars : an old voman vas of the party, and 
 thty ali escap'd together : three of them vas 
 traced to this coach, and I'm dispatch'd to se- 
 cure 'em, vich I shall do the moment I arrives 
 at Bristol, and can get assistance; for I under^ 
 stands they be desp'rate dogs, and is now in 
 the disguise of sailors at the top of this here 
 €oach."
 
 THB ITINERANT. 287 
 
 To describe my sensations during this ha- 
 rangue would be impossible. Ann desir'd me^ 
 in a language peculiar to ourselves, to keep my 
 handkerchief to my face, in order to hide the 
 various passions which but too plainly ^poke 
 my feelings. Camelford on the top of the 
 coach ! — liable to imprisonment for murder ! — 
 and on my account ! — What was to be done ? 
 Something 1 was determined to effect that 
 would give him intelligence ; and, whilst the 
 old gentleman enlarged on the danger of at- 
 tacking three such desperate fellows, I took a 
 leaf from my pocket-book, and wrote with 
 a pencil, 
 
 " You are Suspected— a myrmidon of the 
 law is in the coach. — Escape immediately, or at th« 
 next stage you will be seiz'd. 
 
 « S. W. n.'* 
 
 Pretending to look out of the coach, I 
 puird the skirt of a sailor^s jacket, which 
 hung over the window, at the same time 
 holding up the paper, which was immediately 
 seiz'd, and, fortunately, without notice ; for 
 my companions were too deeply engaged on the 
 same subject that engrossed my thoughts, to ob- 
 serve my actions.
 
 288 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 When I could again attend to the discourse^ 
 the old gentleman was informing this limb of 
 the law " that he was himself a magistrate, 
 and would lend his assistance towards the com- 
 mitment of the culprits." 
 
 In half an hour we reached the place ap- 
 pointed for breakfast. The justice and the 
 runner took the landlord aside, but soon 
 join'd us, exclaiming, '^ The birds are flown !*' 
 '' Aye/' continues Kiddy, '' Coachee must have 
 been in league, or how could they have smoked 
 my being in this here coach ? But I'll do 'em 
 at Bristol." 
 
 We soon resum'd our seats, when the fat 
 lady enlarg'd on " the superior comforts of 
 travelling in Ireland, where people of condi- 
 tion were not promiscuously intermingled 
 with the lower orders of society : for her part, 
 she had never associated with thief- takers be- 
 fore." 
 
 At the conclusion of this pompous ha- 
 rangue, the justice, striking the top of his 
 box with uncommon energy, took out a 
 pinch, and, cramming it, with his thumb, up
 
 THE ITINERANT. 289 
 
 the left nostril, exclaim'd, " I don't know, 
 madam, exactly what you mean by the supe- 
 rior comforts of travelling in Ireland. I have 
 been a traveller for five and forty years, fre- 
 quently in my own carriage ; but I prefer the 
 variety that a stage-coach aifords. The unna- 
 tural distance that family pride and imaginary 
 dignity, arising from birth, create, as if the 
 virtue of the parents was handed down to their 
 children, like their sins, is the bane of all ra- 
 tional society, and I generally treat it with the 
 contempt it deserves. As to your talking of 
 the inconvenience of travelling in England, it is 
 quite ridiculous, madam ; on the contrary, its 
 comforts and conveniences are proverbial all 
 over Europe; and it is a common saying 
 abroad, that ' an EngUsh plebeian travels like 
 a foreign prince.' But, perhaps, madam, you 
 are partial to the jaunting car — a vehicle I 
 have often seen in Ireland ; but, not being a 
 person of condition^ never had the honor of rid- 
 ing in one." 
 
 ^' Impertinent V* cried the lady, with an 
 indignant toss of the head ; — ^* but what else 
 can one expect from thief-takers and their as- 
 sociates ?*'
 
 290 THE ITIHBRANT. 
 
 Luckily, the officer of justice said nothing, 
 but seeni'd to enjoy this warfare of words, 
 by putting his tongue m his cheek, an^i winking 
 at me, at the same time saying, " Ttvig the 
 old one r* To give the conversation a turn, 
 lest the justice should again o'erleap the bound* 
 of good manners, I observed, that " thf con- 
 venience of English travelling was allow'd to 
 excel any thing we hear or read of in other 
 countries; yet, is it not obtain'd at the ex- 
 pense of humanity ?" 
 
 ^^ How so, sir ?— how so }** 
 
 '^ If it were possible to calculate the mor- 
 tality of horses, we should find, upon compa- 
 rison, an awful increase during the last thirty 
 years, and chiefly owing to the velocity with 
 which we fly over the country. I should not 
 wonder^ if the horses that are kill'd exceed 
 the number of those which die a natural 
 death — a melancholy reflection ! when we con- 
 sider the strength, the nobleness, the gener- 
 osity, of that superior animal, who strains 
 every nerve, under the merciless coachman's 
 lash, till his eyeballs start ; foaming perspi- 
 ration drops from every hair, whilst, with 
 wide- extended nostrils, he courses over hill
 
 THE ITINERANT. 291 
 
 and dale, even till his wind cracks, to procure 
 pleasure for those wha never pity him," 
 
 At the conclusion of this observation, the 
 justice shut his snuff box, put it leisurely into 
 his pocket, and, with his handkerchief, dis- 
 lodged the dusty particles from his little nose, 
 
 at the same time looking at me with a 
 
 kind of pleasing, astonishment. " Young man,'' 
 said he, *^ your ideas do more credit to your 
 heart than your head. Does not every day's 
 experience convince you, that habit has so 
 hardened the human mind, so fill'd it with 
 callosity, that even the distresses of our fel- 
 low-creatures scarcely excite pity ; and the 
 stripes, applied to the quivering fibres of the 
 generous horse, are applauded, even by fe-^ 
 male passengers, and an additional reward 
 given to the brutal coachman for his cruel 
 expedition? Since, then, feeling is out of 
 fashion, the wise man and the philosopher 
 shut their eyes, and ears occasionally, and 
 say to themselves, ^ 'Tis folly to grieve for what 
 we cannot alter." 
 
 The runner, rolling his quid, and giving 
 his head a knowing motion, as much as to
 
 292 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 say, * I know more of this subject than you/ 
 now spoke : — 
 
 <« Fy, look you, gemmen : ven I vas groom 
 to Lord Sandvich, if so be I saw a horse over- 
 vork'd, I alvays threw in a disbursement against 
 such goings-on — ^ Coachee,* says I, ' this here 
 vorlc von't do — stag the leader, he'll lose his 
 glim, and then vat vill my Lord say ?* ' Vafs 
 that there to thee?* says he — so then I gives 
 proper inflamation .' — my Lord vou'd not be 
 queer*d : he vas in a bloody passion, and coachee 
 vas forced to sherry.'* 
 
 This speech produced a smile from the 
 old gentleman ; who, after repeating the last 
 words, ^' forced to sheriij /" sarcastically ob- 
 served, '' What a wonderful difference was 
 given to the character and conversation of 
 individuals though the channel of education ! 
 Oxford, Cambridge, Edini)urgh, Glasgow, 
 Aberdeen, and St. Omer's, had each their 
 peculiar modes of instruction ; — now you, I 
 should suppose, are a pupil of St. Giles's, 
 which differs from all the rest, not so much 
 in morals, perhaps, as in pronunciation ; for, 
 I am sure, your last speech would puzzle
 
 THE ITINERANT. 293 
 
 the square-caps to construe^ as much as if it had 
 been spoken in High Dutch." 
 
 At this moment we enter'd the environs 
 of Bristol, and the officer bej^an to form 
 plans for the apprehension of the men, shew- 
 ing much respect to the justice, who might 
 greatly assist in the undertaking: — "That I 
 will, to the utmost of my power," replied he; 
 '* but we must be cautious. — I reside in Bris- 
 tol, and, in my capacity of magistrate, am 
 acquainted with people whose business it is 
 to Jook after the police, and secure culprits 
 like those you are in search of; so that, amongst 
 you, if the rogues are in Bristol, they cannot 
 escape," 
 
 The coach stopp'd at the Bush, and the 
 waiter addressM the old gentleman by the 
 title of " Alderman," who immediately re- 
 tired with the thief-taker, and left Mrs. 
 
 JR , myself, and the Irish lady, to amuse 
 
 ourselves as well as we could ; and a very 
 irksome task it was, in my then frame of 
 mind, to support any thing like conversation; 
 for, to my own distresses, were now added 
 fear and anxiety for Camelford^ I was soon^
 
 294 THE ITINERANT, 
 
 however^ released by the arrival of a Bristol shop- 
 keeper, who greeted this formal piece of family 
 pride, and who, from the airs she had given her- 
 self, might have passM for a duchess, by the 
 appellation of '^ Mrs. O'Learyj'' at the same 
 time informing her, that " the family were gone 
 up to town — that the steward was at Bristol the 
 day before, and desired him to meet her at the 
 coach, with a strict charge from her lady to keep 
 good fires in her absence/' 
 
 This discovery, so jnal-^-propos, had an 
 electric effect upon Mrs. Housekeeper : she hur- 
 ried out of the room, foUow'd by her friend, and 
 left us to the enjoyment of a much-desired tite" 
 d-tete ; for, though we had no comfort to com- 
 municate, we had much to talk of regarding the 
 peculiarities of our own situation, and very much 
 to wonder at, and regret, respecting Camelford, 
 though we had some faint hopes that he would 
 have prudence enough to avoid Bristol, 
 
 The retrospect of the past was painful, and 
 there w as no prospect in future, but poverty and 
 wretchedness 1 Almost heart-broken, " even to 
 play the woman with my eyes,'* I found a 
 cheering comforter in my Ann j she flattered—
 
 THE ITINERANT. 295 
 
 cherish'd— and prophesied good fortune — nay, if 
 a ^situation could be found, would endeavor to do 
 something herself towards a maintenance on the 
 stage, where assiduity should supply the place of 
 talent. Oh, happy state 1 Avaunt, ye scoffers ! 
 This blessed bond of union between the sexes 
 brings with it a solace for sorrow, exalts the 
 mind, and leaves no sting behind : whilst the 
 fair hand of Affection wipes away the tear of 
 Sensibility, it even transforms adversity into 
 transport^ by a heavenly mingle of congenial 
 souls.
 
 296 
 
 CHAP. XVII. 
 *^ THE DOUBLE DISGlHgE/* 
 
 MUR>RY. 
 
 ** This man's brow, like titled leaf, 
 Foreteis the nature of a tragic volume." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 It was now seven o'clock, the evening was 
 dark, we were at an expensive inn, and our 
 stay must not exceed the morning. But 
 whither go ? No matter — here we must not, 
 could not stay : — I went into the coach 
 office to engage a place — to go I knew not 
 whither. — At that instant, the Bridgewater 
 coach arrived. It is very odd — I am no pre- 
 destinarian, yet I firmly believe, a wise and 
 all- seeing hand frequently guides the ways 
 of silly mortals for their good, when they 
 least expect it ; for I no sooner set eyes on 
 the Bridgewater coachman, than I deter- 
 mined to question him ; and well it was I 
 did so, or heaven only knows what would
 
 THE ITINERANT. 297 
 
 have become of us. I enquired if there were 
 players at Bridgewater ? And, to my great 
 joy, the coachman replied in the affirmative, 
 adding, '^ The name of the manager is Wil- 
 liams." I immediately recollected that Mr. 
 and Mrs. Nunns, formerly u'ith me at Worces- 
 ter, left us to join this said Williams. With- 
 out hesitation, I took two places in the morn- 
 ing coach, and ran to communicate the tidings 
 to my wife. 
 
 " Did not I tell you," said she, with her 
 usual sprightliness, '^ that Providence would 
 point out something for us ? Come ; now 
 this terrible load is taken from your mind, let 
 us talk of poor Camelford : though I hope, 
 for his own sake, he is far from Bristol, there 
 can be no harm or risk in enquiring for him, 
 as he directed, under the assumed title of 
 Marquis,'* 
 
 *^ Ah, my love 1 what may not such a 
 question lead to ? Perhaps our disgrace, and 
 his ruin." But Ann's curiosity prevailed 
 over every other consideration : I rang the 
 bell, and, in a faltering voice enquired, if 
 the Marquis was within ? To my astonish- 
 ment, he replied, ** Oh, yes, sir ; he has beea
 
 298 THK ITINERANT, 
 
 out of town a few days, but return'd just be- 
 fore dinner/' 
 
 The waiter was dismissed for a card, and 
 writing materials. I looked at my wife ; she 
 returned the scrutiny with interest ; but, ere 
 we had time fcfr oral communication, the writ- 
 ing apparatus was brought. '^ Will the Mar- 
 quis admit a friend?"' was all I thought proper 
 to say, and gave it into the hands of the waiter, 
 who instantly returned with '^ the Marquis's 
 best respects, and should esteem himself honored 
 by the gentleman's company." 
 
 Certain of a welcome, I took my wife under 
 my arm, and we were ushered into an elegant 
 parlour, Camelford flew to receive us ; his ap- 
 pearance was in all points the same as on our 
 first introduction at Carlisle. Two middle aged, 
 well-dressed gentlemen sat on his right hand ; 
 and on his left I discovered, in the features of an 
 elegant girl, the gipscy Fanny of Furness Abbey ! 
 
 Surely such a combination of ideas never 
 struck one man as I now experienced ; me- 
 mory brought forward, in a moment, my se- 
 veral interviews with this extraordinary man ; 
 but the two last were heightened by contrast :
 
 THE ITINERANT. 299 
 
 the battle of beggars last night at Worcester, and 
 now the elegant Marquis, surrounded by luxury 
 at the Bush- inn, at Bristol. 
 
 As I observed before, Camelford had the 
 address of a courtier — there was a fascination 
 about him, I never remember to have seen 
 equalled by any other person. As soon as 
 we entered the room, he gracefully bowed to 
 Mrs. Romney, and then, taking her hand, 
 placed her by the side of Fanny, saying, 
 '^ Madam, I introduce you to Mrs. Camel- 
 ford^ one who, like yourself, deserves a 
 better fate than the stars seem to have al- 
 lotted, when they united your destinies with 
 that of two unfortunates. Romney, give me 
 your hand ; — the best affections of my heart 
 you have long had. When first I saw you 
 at Carlisle, nine years ago, I set you down 
 for one whose unsuspicious temper would 
 lay you open to the designs of the fraudulent. 
 My knowledge of human nature enabled me, 
 stimulated by the most urgent necessity, to 
 take advantage of your credulity, which, 
 though done without any ultimate view of 
 injury, gave me pain inexpressible. The 
 motives which governed me you shall, ere 
 long, be in possession of. The first and only
 
 300 THE ITINERANT, 
 
 time I had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. 
 
 R was at the Bush in Carlisle, where I 
 
 received a benefit that will live in my re- 
 membrance ; andj now, we are at the Bush 
 in Bristol, where I am not backward in ac- 
 knowledging it. Give me leave to intro- 
 duce you to my tried friends, Thompson and 
 Lillo ; men who, like myself, change shapes 
 as often as Proteus, but whose hearts are im- 
 mutably stamped with the characters of honest 
 
 I implicitly believed the whole of this 
 speech, though it certainly required a degree 
 of faith almost super-human ; and, cordially 
 taking his friends by the hand, made my 
 acknowledgments for my deliverance at Wor- 
 cester, *' for which, gentlemen, I suspect, 
 I am indebted to your joint endeavors." 
 " You are,'* replied Camelford ', ^^ I have 
 always, since you became a public man, 
 obtained a knowledge of your residence 
 through the medium of the papers, not only 
 from the regard I bear you, but from the 
 sacred deposit you have in your possession-— 
 a deposit placed there, from an high opi- 
 nion of your integrity, and a confidence, 
 that in my keeping there was a doubt of its
 
 THE ITINERANT. 30 1 
 
 safety, from the many unavoidable changes 
 both of situation and apparel our itinerancy 
 exposed us to. Circumstances have, in some 
 respects, bettered my condition, and I de- 
 termined to surprise you by a visit at Wor- 
 cester, little fore^eeilig the desperate state of 
 your affairs, which the first enquiry fully 
 if»formed.me of ; and, as I found flight or im- 
 pris<;)inraen3t your, only alternative, we happily 
 succeeded in procuring you the former,* 
 though I hope not at the dreadful price of 
 murder. 
 
 '' I fancy the officer of justice has been, 
 prematurely sent in search of us : one of the 
 bailiffs, I am certain, is uninjured ; the other 
 I conceive to have merely been stunned by 
 the fall, with the addition of a few ^esh. 
 wounds, '* 
 
 An excellent supper interrufpted the dis- 
 course, where the kind attention of Camel- 
 ford and his Fanny, with the sensible, well 
 bred remarks of Thompson and Lillo, made 
 me for awhile forget our forlorn and desti- 
 tute condition. On a sudden, Camelford 
 became thoughtful; leaned his head upon his 
 hand m meditative silence; then, heaving a 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 302 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 deep sigh, rose up, and requested me to follow 
 him. When we got into a retired apartment, he 
 shut the door, and thus addressed me : — 
 
 '^ Romney, you have long, no doubt, 
 wished to know who, and what, the mysteri- 
 ous character is, who for years has haunted 
 you, rather, I trust, as your good than evil 
 genius. The period is now arrived : I have 
 from time to time, at stated intervals, noted 
 down the most material occurrences of my 
 life. Read it," said he, putting a manuscript 
 into my hand, *^ and you will find, that, 
 however appearances have told against me, 
 I have not been intentionally criminal. Deep 
 the anguish that has for years corroded my 
 heart; but it is not remorse of conscience, 
 it is not a self-condemning monitor, that 
 draws from me the heavy sigh, or throws a 
 gloom on my once cheerful countenance — 
 No ! it is not these : it is the heart-rending 
 reflection, that the parent who bore me, the 
 being to whom I owe my existence, lost her's 
 by this arm. — Start not, my friend : you will 
 find, that, though my sword pierced the 
 bosom that fostered me, it was unintentional ; 
 it was — I will not say chance — it was the 
 hand of Providence that chose to make me
 
 THE ITINERANT. 303 
 
 the miserable instrument of punishment. — Alas, 
 my mother ! thy death is amply revenged ! For 
 fifteen years, one hour's real comfort has never 
 cheered the breast of the unfortunate Camelford : 
 — A wretched wanderer — a persecuted outcast — 
 involving in his fate the best of women and of 
 friends !'' 
 
 Camelford, to hide his emotion, walked to the 
 other end of the room, and, putting the manu- 
 script into my pocket, I was preparing to speak a 
 word of consolation, when the waiter enter'd, and 
 
 informed the Marquis, that Mr. Alderman , 
 
 and an ill- looking man, had inquired for his 
 lordship, and were then in the parlor. 
 
 Camelford shew'd no surprise, but, when 
 the servant retired, confess'd a suspicion that 
 his visitors were come on no friendly errand. 
 On seeing my agitation, he smiled, and, with 
 much coolness, askgd me, ^^ if the gipsevs of 
 the North were to be outwitted by an old 
 woman P'* Follow me," said he; then, lead- 
 ing me up to his dressing-room, he opened a 
 large chest, in which were a variety of habits 
 of different kinrls, but all tending to disguise 
 the real person of the owner — who, in a mo-
 
 304 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 ment, transform'd himself into a spruce, so- 
 ber-looking citizen, in a brown bob- wig, a 
 cock'd hat flapp'd before, boots, great coat, 
 and whip — which gave him the appearance 
 of a traveller just arrived. He next dis- 
 guised me in a drab frock, a scratch-wig, 
 blue boot stockings, and a knowing kind of. 
 round hat ; then, placing a brace of pistols in 
 my pockets, he bade me follow him, but not to 
 speak a word, 
 
 Down stairs we went, and, by the tradesman- 
 like air he assumed, would have deceived even 
 his most intimate acquaintance ; and convinced 
 me, that, had Camelford turn'd his thoughts to 
 the stage, he would have cut a very considerable 
 figure. 
 
 He threw open the parlor door, exclaim- 
 ing, ^^ Where is his lordship?" Then, turn- 
 ing to me, said, '^ Officer, guard that door — 
 let no one stir out of the room, at your peril !'* 
 The little justice was seated, with the Wor-n 
 cester thief-taker by his side; Thompson, 
 Lillo, and Fanny, were at the table, taking 
 their wine with much composure — whilst my 
 share of the female pi^operty look'd round
 
 THE ITINERANT. 305 
 
 Upon the different groups with amazement 
 and terror, neither discovering Camelford 
 nor me. 
 
 Having, by this time, acquired an intima- 
 tion of the part I was expected to perform, I 
 began to exert my talents of imitation, by shut- 
 ting the door with some force, roHing in my 
 gait in the true St. Giles's style, and guarding 
 the entrance, by shewing the brass ends of the 
 pistols out of each pocket. 
 
 Our sudden appearance, boisterous manner, 
 and the sight of fire-arms, had a visible effect 
 on the little alderman's nervous system, and, 
 in tremulous accents, he inquired^ " What's 
 the matter ?" 
 
 *^ The matter, sir!" said Gamelford, going 
 up to the justice, *^ my money must be paid ; 
 I'll not travel post all the way from London 
 for nothing. Where is the Marquis? The 
 waiters told me I should find him here : per- 
 haps, sir, you are of his suite — his steward, may- 
 hap, and this good-looking person his bailiff:" 
 —then, turning round, he continued, '' Odso 1 
 I beg pardon of this good company : I now sec
 
 306 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 through the whole business — n\y lord is out of 
 town, and you are playing * High Life belmv 
 Stairs' in his absence/' 
 
 The justice, during this speech, made large 
 demands upon his snuff-box, and, at its conclu- 
 sion, said, *^ Really, friend, you do me unme- 
 rited honor. I cannot answer for the rest of this 
 agreeable party; but, in vindication of myself, I 
 must say, your judgment is erroneous ; nor do 
 I think it adds much to the credit of your pene- 
 tration, to mistake an alderman of Bristol for the 
 steward of a culprit, pursued by the officers of 
 justice for murder. I am here in my judicial ca- 
 pacity, and this man hasjourney'd from Worces- 
 ter^ for the purpose of taking him into custody." 
 
 *^ Give me your hand, sir," said Camel- 
 ford ; *' I am come on the same errand : my 
 name is Lawrence Linchpin, of Long-acre — 
 I dare say, you have heard of me : — I am 
 coachmaker to his Royal Highness the 
 Prince of Wales, and shall esteem myself 
 proud of an order from you, sir. The Mar- 
 quis of Valois has dealt with me for many 
 y^ars ; *twas he who first introduced the lan- 
 dau into this country. I must say, his lord-
 
 THE ITINERANT. 307 
 
 ship, beforetime, paid very honorably — many a 
 cool hundred have I touch'd of his money ; and 
 if he had staid in London, or its neighbourhood, 
 I should have been under no anxiety : — but you 
 know, Mr. Alderman, when people take to tra- 
 velling, and flying about from place to place, 
 it's hard work to catch 'em, particularly these 
 foreigners/' 
 
 *^ Vy, lookee, sir," said the runner ; " tho' 
 I be com*d all the vay from Vb'ster about this 
 here bit of hisensy I don't come for to go to 
 pass an aflfront upon a gemmen — I knows bet- 
 ter — and I wish to disgesi a circumstance ; 
 Mr. Justice Fielding used to say, * At your 
 apparel nab the right cul, or quod's your 
 snoozing ken,' So, seeing as how we're got 
 upon the wrong lay, Mr. Alderman, it's best 
 to sherry. The turnpike-man has queer'd 
 us ; but, b — t his eyes if I'm not up to his 
 gossip /" 
 
 Camelford, turning towards the supper- 
 table, said, *' Ladies and gentlemen, I hope 
 no offence ; but I should be obligated if you 
 would tell me where I could find the Mar- 
 ijuis, who stands indebted to me two hundred 
 and fifty pounds for the very carriage which
 
 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 brought him down here ; and, as I have been 
 at a- heavy expense in bringing this man all the 
 way from London, I wo'nt leave the house till 
 I am paid."' 
 
 During this speech, the alderman and 
 his companion whisper'd. When Camelford 
 concluded, the former said, '^ I am afraid we 
 have been led into an error. This person is 
 in pursuit of three men, who committed a 
 murder la&t night, in the city of Worcester, 
 and left that place disguised as sailors. The 
 man at the turnpike says, a post-chaise passed 
 him, containing three men, dress'd as above. 
 We have been at all the principal inns, but 
 can trace no carriage from Malmsbury that 
 at all answers our description, except one to 
 this house, which, the waiter says, brought 
 the Marquis and two more gentlemen. So, 
 conceiving it possible that the title might be 
 an imposition, we have acted accordingly ; 
 for which I am now sorry, as we have such 
 positive assurance of our error, and wish you a 
 good evening." Thus ended this ptrilous ad- 
 venture. 
 
 Having resumed our natural appearance, 
 the conversation took a pleasing turn, enh-»
 
 THE ITINERANT. 309 
 
 vened by Camelford's vivacity, who, so far 
 from entertaining fear from the alderman's 
 visit, rejoiced, he said, in the opportunity of 
 displaying his talents before me, and proving 
 that there were good actors off the stage. 
 ^'' And now, Romney, I would tell you,'' he 
 continued, " by what means our circum- 
 stances are better'd, since last I saw you; 
 but it will, by anticipation, injure the inte- 
 rest I know you will take in perusing the 
 
 manuscript. My dear Mrs. R , your 
 
 husband has in his possession a valuable 
 tokeii of my regard, which, I know, he will 
 faithfully preserve. Here is a small pocket- 
 book — will you honor me by accepting it ? 
 It contains my address, which I request may 
 be made use of, whenever your unsettled for- 
 tune makes an application needful. There is 
 one thing,"*' continued Camelford, '^ I very 
 much wish to know ;— have you the most re- 
 mote idea who the lady was from whom I 
 had the ring?" — I paused, endeavoring, if 
 possible, to charge my memory with the par- 
 ticulars ; but, though I heard the parson men- 
 tion the name inscribed on the card, it had en- 
 tirely escaped my recollection. 
 
 o2
 
 310 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 This seemed visibly to affect Camelford, 
 
 and a pause ensued '^ But though the 
 
 name of the lady Hves not in my remem- 
 brance, from an association of ideas, and a 
 coincidence of circumstances, the residence of 
 that lady does." 
 
 ^^ Where — where is it ?" he eagerly in- 
 quired. 
 
 " At Llandaff, South Wales.^' 
 
 ^^ Thank God ! a gleam of distant hope 
 revives my drooping heart. To Llandaff will 
 we steer our course. Romney, I will re- 
 lieve you from your charge ; the ring must 
 go along — 'twill be necessary towards my in- 
 troduction." 
 
 *^ Alas ! my friend, it is impossible you 
 can have it now : the ring is lock'd up in 
 my trunk, which, on account of its weight, 
 and the heavy expense attending the convey- 
 ance from Worcester, I have sent by the wag- 
 gon, some hours ago, for Bridgewater, whither 
 I mean to go in the morning."
 
 THE ITINERANT. 311 
 
 Camelford shook his head, and ponder'd 
 awhile:— ^' Well, well," said he, at last, ''I 
 know it is safe in your care, and, perhaps, I 
 may gain the necessary information without 
 it — only preserve it, as you would your life ; 
 
 for it was— oh, God 1 — that ring was my 
 
 mother's ! ! She wore it at her death ! Oh, 
 how that word freezes the current of my 
 blood ! It was given her by my father, as a 
 pledge of love ; it bore his name, together 
 with that of a beloved sister, who was car- 
 ried off by a consumption in her twentieth 
 year. These arms received the last breath 
 and benediction of a revered father ; and this 
 
 arm"— with a look of horror " But I will 
 
 not anticipate — you have in your possession 
 a tale of woe — read, and participate in all 
 my sorrow ; I know you will pity, not only 
 me, but these dear friends, and that still 
 dearer woman, who have shared my adverse 
 fortune, and, in sharing, suffered more than 
 pusillanimous natures could have supported. 
 But our country, America, is the land of he- 
 roes. Unused to the enervating luxury and 
 effeminacy enjoyed by Europeans, we are, 
 by education and habit, render'd robust and 
 muscular ; the faculties of the soul partici- 
 pate in this strength -, the energies are con- 
 
 J
 
 312 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 vey'd from the corporeal to the mental powers, 
 and thus we become strong in mind, as the 
 functions of our bodies dilate.*' 
 
 At breakfast, next morning, I inquired if 
 the Marquis was stirring ; and learnt, to my 
 great surprise, that his party left Bristol, in 
 two chaises, at five o'clock, on a tour to the 
 North ! ^^ Did he leave neither letter nor 
 message ?" '^ No, sir." 
 
 Camelford gone — and left me to all the 
 horrors of poverty ! I had not conceived him 
 capable of deserting me in my distress ; his 
 presence secm'd that of a protecting genius, of 
 which his absence entirely deprived me. I felt 
 inyself a poor, deserted being, whom nobodv 
 knew — for whom nobody cared ; in short, I 
 reason'd as though I had a demand upon 
 him, in the neglect of which I found my- 
 self injur'd. 
 
 When we entered the coach for Bridge- 
 
 o 
 
 water, my mind, my every sensation^ were 
 .completely misanthropic ; I look'd around 
 me with disgust, and could have said, with 
 Hamlet, " How weary, stale, flat, and unpro- 
 fitable, seem all the uses of this world I*' —
 
 THE ITINERANT. Sl3 
 
 The passengers, of which there were four, ex- 
 cited not the smallest degree of attention; 
 despair had paralyzed my tongue, and thrown 
 all my faculties into a state of torpor. Not so 
 my wife — Heaven had blessed her with a share 
 of animal spirits, that set vapors at defiance ; 
 she join'd conversation with the gaiety of a mind 
 at ease, nor reflected that one solitary guinea 
 composed the whole of our worldly possessions, 
 without any certain knowledge where another 
 was to be acquired. 
 
 When arrived at our destination, my first 
 mquiry was after the theatre; upon which 
 the waiter gave me a playbill, and, as I sus- 
 pected, the names of Mr. and Mrs. Nunns 
 were conspicuous. After dinner I waited 
 upon them, and was received with great cor- 
 diality and apparent friendship ; but when I 
 described my situation, and the state of my 
 finances, with the absolute necessity of pro- 
 curing immediate employment, an obvious 
 alteration took place " Very sorrv, in- 
 deed — why did I not write to him, to know 
 how the land lay, before T hazarded so lono- 
 a journey ? — Afraid the company was too full to 
 admit of an addition, but would speak to the 
 manager." This he did, and an interview
 
 314 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 took place, which left me in total despair. 
 In short, there was no engagement to be had ; 
 and, indeed, had I consider'd the character 
 and situation of the ambassador I employed 
 to negociate, I might easily have calculated 
 the result. 
 
 Nunns was a man of the world ; a good 
 low comedian, and sung comic songs. As 
 he knew my talents were in the same line, 
 he was the last man in the world to recom- 
 mend a rival. 
 
 Disappointed in my hopes of an engage- 
 ment at Bridgevvater, I knew not what course 
 to steer, and vas brooding over my miseries, 
 when Mrs. Nunns aroused my attention, by the 
 pleasing information, that there was a small 
 company at Taunton-Dean, about twelve miles 
 farther, who, according to the best information, 
 wer« doing extremely well. 
 
 To Taunton I repaired, leaving Ann with 
 Mrs. Nunns, at her request, till I knew the 
 result of this expedition. 
 
 The appearance of this little town is 
 highly in its favor; it is clean and cheerful.
 
 THE ITINERANT. 315 
 
 inhabited by a number of genteel families, 
 who were destinM to shew us a great deal of 
 attention and civility. 
 
 As the coach pass'd along, hopes of im- 
 mediate employment gave me a pleasurable 
 sensation ; I beheld every object with a par- 
 tial eye, and saw an overflowing benefit in 
 each smiling physiognomy. For a wonder, 
 my flattering conjectures were even exceeded 
 by the reality. 
 
 The coach stoppM at the Castle ; and, af- 
 ter a beef-steak dinner, I order'd a bottle of 
 wine, and sent my compliments to Mr. Da- 
 vis, the manager, requesting the honor of his 
 company. Knowing how much depends on 
 a first appearance, I had put on clean linen, 
 and, with my hair handsomely dress*d, cut 
 no despicable figure ; though, as I waited 
 the return of my messenger, I felt a slight 
 degree of alarm, lest the haughty demeanor 
 and grand appearance of this successful 
 '^ king of shreds and patches" might over- 
 awe me. Three or four glasses of wine, how- 
 ever, gave me courage ; and great as I had 
 pictured this man, who was in reality to de- 
 cide my fate^ I determin'd to shew as little
 
 316 THE ITliNERANT. 
 
 anxiety as possible, and, when the waiter an- 
 nounced Mr. Davis, threw niyself into a kind 
 of pick-tooth altitude, and pretended to be 
 reading the paper. I arose, with a bow, to 
 receive the great man, and a request that he 
 would be seated, and take a glass of wine. 
 But, oh, heavens! "what a falling-ofF was 
 here" from the man I had pictured " in 
 my mind's eye !'* With diffidence, and an 
 awkward bow, he advanced, and his costume 
 put me in mind of— what ? — a bum-bailiff! 
 not as these respectable gentleman appear in 
 the present day, but such as they were about 
 thirty years ago. 
 
 He had a cheerful, pleasing countenance, 
 with a person of the middle size, and if 
 washed, comb'd, and decently habited, would 
 have pass'd through the world with little or 
 no observation ; but there was a natural indo- 
 lence perceptible in every motion, that gave 
 a notoriety to his appearance, not exactly 
 prepossessing. 
 
 A thread- bare, greasy, drab great coat 
 cover'd a still more worn-out black one ; 
 a faded scarlet waistcoat, bound with black 
 tape, seemingly of some antiquity 5 velvet
 
 THE ITINERANT. 31? 
 
 small-clothes^ that were originally confined 
 at the knees with buckles, but, for lack 
 of this article, the straps were ingeniously 
 pinned together ; silk stockings, that had once 
 been black, but, from long attachment to 
 their master, were grown brown in the ser- 
 vice, especially about the heel, which rather 
 bagg'd and pucker'd over the shoe, shewing 
 a repugnance to conceal a visible fracture, 
 though often cox'd into compliance. His 
 hair was uncomb'd, and to the powder and 
 pomatum of the last dressing adhered certain 
 particles of down, collected from his pillow, 
 which plainly indicated contempt for that 
 useful appendage called a night-cap. His 
 brows still retained some vestiges of burnt 
 cork, as did his cheeks of rose pink, which 
 had served to beautify him for the last night's 
 play. When I add to this description, un- 
 washed hands, you will have a faithful picture 
 of Manager Davis, as he appeared to my wondeif^ 
 struck eyes at our first meeting. 
 
 After the news of the day had been dis- 
 cuss'd, I made known my wishes, but care- 
 fully kept my wants in the background. The 
 manager listened to me with attention, and 
 I soon found that his company was more
 
 318 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 celebrated for numbers than ability ; in short, 
 
 he agreed that Mrs. R and I should have 
 
 an opening and an engagement, provided v^^e 
 could agree upon salary, which should be the 
 same as the rest of the company — for they 
 were all upon an equality — that is, nine shil- 
 lings per week. Trifling as this sum may 
 appear, I cheerfully agreed to it : a certainty 
 of eighteen shillings per week, to one who 
 had no other visible means of existence, was 
 not to be thrown away with contempt. 
 
 Having finish'd our wine, I found Davis 
 inclined to render me every service in his 
 power : we went in search of a lodging, and 
 took a single room, clean and comfortable, 
 at four shillings a week. The only difficulty 
 now was, to procure money to bring my wife, 
 and this I thought 1 could obviate, by de- 
 siring her to borrow half-a-guinea of Mrs. 
 Nunns. Having dispatched my letter with 
 a light heart, I perambulated this pretty 
 town, and in the evening met the actors at 
 a small public house. They consisted of 
 Messrs. Moneypenny, Duwton, Warren, 
 Wooley, Baynes, Jonathan Davis, and Pin- 
 dar ; Mrs. and Miss Bridges, Miss Francis, 
 Miss Smith, and another young woman.
 
 THE ITINERANT. S19 
 
 whose name I cannot call to mind. Besides 
 these, there was a Mrs. Hall, who was wife 
 to the travelling musician, and received cheques 
 at the door. 
 
 The male part of the company, with the 
 exception of Jonathan Davis and the ma- 
 nager, were all young adventurers. How va- 
 rious have been their fates ! Moneypenny, 
 whose real name was Bignal, some years af- 
 terwards, went to America, where he died; 
 Dowton now holds a respectable situation in 
 Drury-lane theatre; Warren is manager of 
 the theatre in Philadelphia; Baynes keeps a 
 tavern in London; J. Davis and Wooley are 
 no more ; and the last time 1 heard of Pin- 
 dar, he attempted the part of Richardf at 
 the Haymarket, in which he so enraptured 
 the audience, that they encored his dying- 
 speech. 
 
 I press'd my pillow, that night, in a com- 
 parative state of felicity. No one can pro- 
 perly appreciate the comforts oF life, but 
 those who have been deprived of them. I, 
 at this moment, wanted nothing to render 
 mine complete, except my little woman— 
 and she would come by the morning's coach.
 
 320 THE ITINERANT, 
 
 Our establishment was soon settled, and 
 Ann commenced her studies with good hu- 
 mor and alacrity. On inquiring if Mrs. Nunns' 
 had lent the half-guinea cheerfully, she said, 
 ^^ Mrs. Nunns has been very civil and hos- 
 pitable; but, fortunately, 1 managed matters 
 without that humiliation. 'Tis mortification 
 enough to be poor, without exposing our cir- 
 cumstances to people who feel no kind of in- 
 terest in, nor concern about, them. You look 
 surprised ; but you will be more so, when I in- 
 form you how cleverly I conducted the business, 
 without communicating to any one the real state 
 of our affairs." 
 
 '^ Indeed ! I never before, Ann, knew the 
 fall extent of your abilities ; this is your first ap- 
 pearance in the character of financier ; — but, 
 come, open your budget, and inform me how the 
 ways and means were supplied.'' 
 
 *' Feeling myself not quite' in spirits, after 
 your departure," sa,id she, '^ nor much in- 
 clined for conversation, I retired to my own 
 apartment, and, merely for want of other em- 
 ployment, mechanically began to look over 
 the small leather trunk, which, you know, 
 contains the night clothes, and other httle
 
 THE ITINERANT. S21 
 
 articles necessary on a jaiirney, and where I 
 had placed Camelford's present. Curiosity 
 prompted me to examine his address, and 
 likewise the book, which was handsome, and 
 of curious construction ; but judge of my sur- 
 prise, on opening a private pocket, to find a 
 twenty-pound note, accompanied witli these 
 words: — 
 
 " When Romney*s beloved companion and 
 friend opens this book, she will find what may keep the 
 wolf from the door awhile ; 'tis all circumstances will per- 
 mit me to part with at present. Accept it, with the best 
 wishes of 
 
 " Bristol, April, 1785/' Camelford. 
 
 '' Now, Romney," continued Ann, '^ let 
 this caution you against drawing hasty con- 
 clusions in future. With what ungrateful 
 suspicions, and unfriendly conjectures, did 
 you load our benefactor, whose truly delicate 
 manner of conferring an obligation raises him 
 far above the level of mankind in general I 
 and my curiosity to peruse the manuscript 
 cannot much longer be kept within bounds. 
 After my awful debut, to-morrow night, is 
 over — till which, I can think of nothing 
 else — we will be denied to all intruders, and 
 gratify a very natural wish, to know who, 
 and what, our friend Camelford really is."
 
 o22 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 *^ The School for Scandal" was rehearsed 
 with great difficulty, owing to a difference 
 in the copies. My part, of Sir Peter, was 
 from Mr. Sheridan's manuscript ; the others 
 were spurious, unlike the original in every 
 scene, and so altered and mutilated, that the 
 author could scarcely have recognized his 
 own composition. To complete my mortifi- 
 cation, Miss Francis, the Lady Teazle, who 
 was coarse as a dairy-maid, and clumsy as a 
 cart-mare, found herself highly offended, be- 
 cause I objected to a tweak by the nose, 
 and a pull by the ear, which, she said, '^ she 
 always introduced in the fondling scene with 
 Sir Peter,'' The farce was '' The Poor Sol- 
 dier,'' in which I play'd Darby, and Mrs. 
 
 R Norah, with great eff*ect, considering 
 
 it as a first appearance. 
 
 The whole of the night's performance^ 
 and receipts, fully ansvver'd the manager's 
 expectations. He was complimented, by the 
 first people in town, on the acquisition he 
 had made ; and with light hearts, and san- 
 guine hopes, we retired to a repose, render'd 
 sweet and refreshing by the joy which public 
 approbation never fails to bestow.
 
 THE ITINERANT. 
 
 323 
 
 In the morning, Camelford's manuscript 
 was produced; and Ann, who was excellently 
 qualified for the undertaking, read it aloud ; 
 but as it consisted chiefly of notes and me- 
 morandums, drawn up in the form of a jour- 
 nal, I have endeavor'd to modify it, and now 
 commence historian on the part of Charles 
 Caffielford. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 J, CoMPTON, Printer, Middle Street, 
 Cloth Fair, London.
 
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