now exceed my confusion upon seeing the gentleman and his lady enter, nor was their surprize at finding such company and good cheer, less than ours.Gentlemen," cried the real master of the house to me and my companion, "my wife and I "are your most humble servants; but I protest this "is so unexpected a favour, that we almost sink "under the obligation.' However unexpected our company might be to them, theirs, I am sure, was still more so to us, and I was struck dumb with the apprehensions of my own absurdity, when whom should I next see enter the room but my dear Miss Arabella Wilmot, who was formerly designed to be married to my son George; but whose match was broken off as already related. As soon as she saw me, she flew to my arms with the utmost joy.

"My dear sir," cried she, "to what happy acci"dent is it that we owe so unexpected a visit? I "am sure my uncle and aunt will be in raptures "when they find they have the good Dr. Primrose "for their guest. Upon hearing my name, the old gentleman and lady very politely stept up, and welcomed me with most cordial hospitality. Nor could they forbear smiling upon being informed of the nature of my present visit: but the unfortunate butler, whom they at first seemed disposed to turn away, was at my intercession forgiven.

Mr. Arnold and his lady, to whom the house belonged, now insisted upon having the pleasure of my stay for some days, and as their niece, my charming pupil, whose mind in some measure had been formed under my own instructions, joined in their entreaties, I complied. That night I was shewn to a magnificent chamber, and the next morning early Miss Wilmot desired to walk with me in the garden, which was decorated in the modern manner. After some time spent in pointing out the beauties of the place, she enquired with seeming unconcern, when

last

66

last I had heard from my son George. "Alas!
"Madam," cried I," he has now been nearly three
"years absent, without ever writing to his friends
66 or me. Where he is I know not; perhaps I
"shall never see him or happiness more. No, my
"dear Madam, we shall never more see such pleas-
ing hours as were once spent by our fire side at
"Wakefield. My little family are now dispersing
very fast, and poverty has brought not only want,
"but infamy upon us. The good-natured girl let
fall a tear at this account; but as I saw her possessed
of too much sensibility, I forebore a more minute
detail of our sufferings. It was, however, some con
solation to me to find that time had made no altera-
tion in her affections, and that she had rejected seve-
ral offers that had been made her since our leay-
ing her part of the country. She led me round all
the extensive improvements of the place, pointing
to the several walks and arbours, and at the same
time catching from every object a hint for some
new question relative to my son. In this manner we
spent the forenoon, till the bell summoned us in to
dinner, where we found the manager of the strolling
company that I mentioned before, who was come
to dispose of tickets for the Fair Penitent, which
was to be acted that evening, the part of Horatio by
a young gentleman who had never appeared on any
stage. He seemed to be very warm in the praises of
the new performer, and averred that he never saw
any who bid so fair for excellence. Acting, he ob-
served was not learned in a day;
"But this gen-
"tleman," continued he, "seems born to tread the
"stage. His voice, his figure, and attitudes are
"all admirable. We caught him up accidentally
"in our journey down." This account, in some
measure, excited our curiosity, and at the entreaty
of the ladies, I was prevailed upon to accompany
them to the play-house, which was no other than
a barn.

a barn. As the company with which I went was incontestably the chief of the place, we were received with the greatest respect, and placed in the front seat of the theatre; where we sate for some time with no small impatience to see Horatio make his appearance. The new performer advanced at last, and let parents think of my sensations by their own, when I found it was my unfortunate son. He was going to begin, when turning his eyes upon the audience, he perceived Miss Wilmot and me, and stood at once speechless and immoveable. The actors behind the scene, who ascribed this pause to his natural timidity, attempted to encourage him; but instead of going on, he burst into a flood of tears, and retired off the stage. I don't know what were my feelings on this occasion; for they succeeded with too much rapidity for description: but I was soon awaked from this disagreeable reverie by Miss Wilmot, who pale and with a trembling voice desired me to conduct her back to her uncle's. When got home, Mr. Arnold, who was as yet a stranger to our extraordinary behaviour, being informed that the new performer was my son, sent his coach and an invitation for him; and as he persisted in his refusal to appear again upon the stage, the players put another in his place, and we soon had him with us. Mr. Arnold gave him the kindest reception, and I received him with my usual transport; for I could never counterfeit false resentment. Miss Wilmot's reception was mixed with seeming neglect, and yet I could perceive she acted a studied part. The tumult in her mind seemed not yet abated: she said twenty giddy things that looked like joy, and then laughed loud at her own want of meaning. At intervals she would take a sly peep at the glass, as if happy in the consciousness of irresistible beauty, and often would ask questions without giving any manner of attention to the answers.

CHAP.

CHAP. XX.

The history of a philosophic vagabond pursuing novelty, but losing content.

AFTER we had supped, Mrs. Arnold politely offered to send a couple of her footmen for my son's baggage, which he at first seemed to decline; but upon her pressing the request, he was obliged to inform her, that a stick and a wallet were all the moveable things upon this earth that he could boast of. Why, ay my son,' cried I, you left me but 'poor, and poor I find I find you are come back; and yet I make no doubt you have seen a great deal of the world.'--'Yes, Sir,' replied my son, 'but travelling after fortune is not the way to secure her; and indeed, of late I have desisted from the pursuit.'-'I fancy, Sir,' cried Mrs. Arnold, that the account of your adventures 'would be amusing: the first part of them I have ' often heard from my niece; but could the company prevail for the rest, it would be an additional obligation.' Madam,' replied my son, I promise you the pleasure you have in hearing, will 'not be half so great as my vanity in repeating them, and yet in the whole narrative I can scarcely pro'mise you one adventure, as my account is rather ' of what I saw than what I did. The first misfor'tune of my life, which you all know, was great ; ' but though it distressed, it could not sink me. No person ever had a better knack at hoping than I. The less kind I found fortune at one time, the 'more I expected from her another, and being now at the bottom of her wheel, every new revolution might lift, but could not depress me. I proceeded,

6

there

therefore, towards London in a fine morning, no 'way uneasy about to-morrow, but cheerful as the birds that carolled by the road, and comforted 'myself with reflecting, that London was the mart ⚫ where abilities of every kind were sure of meeting 'distinction and reward.

Upon my arrival in town, Sir, my first care was to deliver your letter of recommendation to our 'cousin, who was himself in little better circumstances than I. My first scheme you know, Sir, 'was to be usher at an academy, and I asked his • advice on the affair. Our cousin received the proposal with a true Sardonic grin. Ay, cried he, this is indeed a very pretty career, that has ‹ been chalked out for you. I have been an usher < at a boarding school myself; and may I die by an anodyne necklace, but I had rather be an under turnkey in Newgate. I was up early and late: I was brow-beat by the master, hated for my ugly face by the mistress, worried by the boys within, • and never permitted to stir out to meet civility ‹ abroad. But are you sure you are fit for a school? Let me examine you a little. Have you been bred apprentice to the business? No. Then you won't do for a school. Can you dress the boys' hair? No. Then you won't do for a school. Have you had the small-pox? No. Then you won't do for a school. Can you lie three in a bed? No. Then you will never do for a school. Have you got a good stomach? Yes. Then you will by no means do for a school. No, Sir, if you are for a genteel easy profession, bind your'self seven years as an apprentice to turn a cutler's 'wheel; but tavoid a school by any means. 'come, continued he, I see you are a lad of spirit and some learning, what do you think of commencing author, like me? You have read in 'books, no doubt, of men of genius starving at

No.

Yet

the