When we got into Holborn, Mr. Vallancey,
still the same specious plausible man as ever,
clapped me on the back, and expressed his
unlimited delight at seeing me.

"My dear boy," he said, "I left you a votary
of Melpomene, I find you a slave of Themis, but
rejoice, exult, my son, Fortune has turned the
wheel. I am now part owner of the Royal
Finsbury Theatre, which will open with
unprecedented attraction three weeks hence. We
want you—you, Mortimer—once more to delight
the world, once more to cast your coruscations
of fancy upon the great suburb of a mighty
imperial city—yes, sir, a city not inferior to Rome,
and surpassing in riches Babylon, the mother of
nations. Come, my son, home to the old
congenial motley profession, and gladden the heart
of Montague Vallancey, manager."

I yielded to the manager's blandishments and
flattery, and asked if he could oblige me with
an instant advance; but Vallancey at once
assumed the voice of Hamlet's ghost, and the
deprecating attitude of irritated Brutus.

"No," said he—"no, my son, that cannot be
done; it can't, indeed. The pale drudge
between man and man is wanted for scenery and
decorations; but this day three weeks I will
pour gold at your feet—yes, sir, gold."

I agreed to wait till then, and resumed my
work. Thelluson envied my future fame, and
secretly mourned over my intended departure.

In the mean time we plunged into theatricals,
and got up an amateur performance at the Lord
Rodney. I was to play Zanga, and Thelluson,
to his intense delight, was to play the lover in
Miss in her Teens to my Billy Fribble, the
cowardly fop, a part of which I was particularly
proud. At the Royal Wliitby Theatre our
manager had cultivated the old school of comedy
and farce. Thelluson pleaded very hard for Box
and Cox, but to no avail, for my party at the
Lord Rodney outvoted him.

The night before I gave notice to the firm, I
had planned a full-dress rehearsal at the office,
after hours. It was to be at seven. Messrs.
Fox, Shackle, and Blakeney always leaving
punctually at six. We had got our dresses lent us for
two hours, on leaving a deposit at Mr. Abraham
Levi's, the owner of those fascinating articles.

We had even let old Hill into our secret, and
persuaded him to stay and see our performance.
He was not in the least aware that I had ever
been a real actor. I anticipated some fun from
the surprise of the old fellow, whose
reminiscences of the stage had ceased in the time of
Edmund Kean.

The night came, and we all duly left the office
at the usual hour. A short time after, I and
Thelluson stole back with our bundles, lit the
gas, and began to dress. I looked very well in
my cut-away coat, knee-breeches, cocked-hat,
and long white embroidered satin waistcoat.
Thelluson would have looked well in an old
militia uniform, hat and feathers, and
ponderous sword, but unfortunately they were all
much too large for him. Just as we were
dressed, in came old Hill, smiling, but rather
ashamed of having given his consent,
entreating us to keep the gas low, and not to
make any noise that could be heard by Messrs.
Docket and Dolson, next door.

I opened the meeting by moving as a
resolution that some Welsh ale be instantly sent
for, together with a tin to warm it in, and
materials for mulling it. The motion was
seconded by Samuel Thelluson, Esq., and
carried unanimously; old Hill undertaking not
merely to serve as jury and audience, but to
mull the ale. One thing only he protested
against in the sternest way, and that was pipes;
but as for prompting, he would do that if it
consisted in nothing more than giving the word
when anybody hesitated and forgot his part.

The fire burnt up, the ale bubbled in the tin
extinguisher; old Hill beamed on us over his
spectacles, and we began now to astonish him.

We took the scene in Miss in her Teens where
Fribble recounts to the lady of whom he is
enamoured his recent misadventures.

Thelluson, to deceive old Hill, pretended to
treat me as a novice.

"Now you'll see," said he, "the more brass a
man has, the sooner he breaks down in theatricals.
O, it is frightful standing up before two hundred
eyes, all glaring at you as if you were in the
pillory. By George, sir, it paralyses me. I don't
think I shall ever pull through; and doesn't
your memory go all of a sudden!"

I began by dashing into my part. I minced
my words, I ogled old Hill with an immense
plated eye-glass, I walked in an ostentatiously
imbecile way on my toes, I kept bowing and
making ridiculous faces.

Old Hill laughed till he let the ale boil over.

"Excellent, excellent!" he cried.

I went on, still without speaking. I ogled,
I put my hand to my heart, I whisked about my
handkerchief, I sighed; at last I began:

"'There was a club of us young fellows, all
bachelors, who met every Wednesday to discuss
the fashions and cut out patterns for the ladies;
it is not generally known that the useful
invention of knotting is to be attributed to the joint
exertions of our little community.'"

"Why, he does not seem to want prompting.
The ale's ready, gentlemen," said old Hill.

But my first success was quite outshone, when
we had each had a glass of mulled ale, by the
aurels I gathered when I went on to dilate on
my misfortunes:

"'Do you know, Miss Biddy, that t'other day,
coming out of the club, says one of those
hackney-coach fellows to me, "Does your honour
vant a coach?" "No," says I, with all the civility
imaginable. With that the insolent dog fell a
laughing. "Drat me, man," says I, "but I'll
trounce ye." Upon which the vulgar wretch
tipped me with the lash of his whip over the
nail of the little finger of my left hand, and gave
me such exquisite torture that I fainted; and if
you'll believe it, Miss Biddy, when I came to
myself I found that the mob had picked my
pocket of my mocha smelling-bottle and my
housewife.'"