Yet I must pay the tribute of thanks to those performers in this and other companies, who, on similar occasions, have zealously exerted themselves (and amongst the number is the present Mr. Richard Jones of Covent-Garden Theatre) to save from the fiat of disgrace the humble bantling of a brother performer.

It is common in the benefit-season to be asked in some way to oblige; and I cannot remember to have ever denied that favour to those, who have laboured to injure the character, they knew they could not consistently with gratitude refuse to undertake, as a reciprocal obligation. However, I have the happy consolation to know, though it cost me many a struggle to bring them before the public, that my writings were asked

4

for perusal by many respectable friends; and that my Haunted Village was thought deserving the closet of the learned Dr. Orme, of Louth in Lincolnshire, with a compliment from him, of which a less humble author might be proud, and tempted to proclaim.

During one winter I passed in this respected town of Louth, there existed that friendly intercourse between the different ranks of the country town, that enlivened each and, in my opinion, degraded none. During the hours of a long evening in winter, from whose ennui thousands in other country towns have flown to cards, to drink, or to scandal, a society of no little respectability was established in Louth, under the presidency of an elderly clergyman, for the debate of questions on moral and philosophical subjects. This amusement of time, and I hope improvement of the mind, was not less elevated by the erudition and genius of some sensible members, than won into a profound decency of order by the age, the impartiality, and temperance of its venerable president, upon whose quitting the chair at an early hour, the amateurs of music adjourned to another apartment, and enjoyed with moderation the charms of an hour or two's amicable conversation in supplement to the strains of Phoebus. Some

time after this, I have also to record the kind and never-to-be-forgotten notices of the late Lord Galway in Yorkshire, owing, as I had learned, to some poetry of his humble servant's accidentally meeting his perusal.

Soon after, in a smart little cottage, I enjoyed awhile the tranquil blandishments of seclusion, a mile out of the town in which I playedanother scene of rustic peace, order, and cleanliness, where the family-china in a corner cupboard was of itself a feast for contemplation, where

"Cup faces cup, each saucer has its brother,
"And half the sideboard just reflects the other."

Here I indulged a reverie, undisturbed by clamorous cries, or the curious eye of affected visitors: it was here I had the happiest opportunity of lifting my thoughts and gratitude to heaven. The sprightly lark was the only visitor I saw, and by him I was often reminded to sing my poetic diversions to the glory of the enlivening sky. He reminded me of Cowley's lines, which I applied to my own humility and praise; and

"Above the clouds let my proud music sound,
"My humble nest built on the ground.”

Here I sighed not for riches, but enough to support the necessities of nature, and but little else; for I was ever of Addison's mind in that"The middle station of life seems to be the most advantageously situated for the gaining of wis"dom. Poverty turns our thoughts too much upon the supplying of our wants, and riches upon enjoying our superfluities:" and with Dryden I ever noticed, that

"Rarely they rise by virtue's aid, who lie
"Plunged in the depths of helpless poverty."

My rural retreat was at last interrupted by the noisy nocturnal rides and contention of smugglers; and these suggested to me the folly of their ventures, and the following lines:

The false step, that violates the laws of our country, of

ten leads to irretrievable ruin.

'Ho! Kate: come hither, darling wench.
'When ruthless fate did from us wrench
'Nell, your mother and your likeness too,
'I gave her on her death-bed, dove,
'Another vow of Hubbard's love-
"Never to wed a second wife,
'At least while you had life.

"You then was sick, and cradled lay,
'Grasping two shells I'd brought away

From foreign shores for baby Kate,
'Who seem'd diverted by her prate.
"Your mother seem'd revived to hear

The promise of her Hubbard dear;
'Knew from a lad, thro' every storm,
'Never could this oaken heart deform
'A lie: it was my father's boast;

' And every neighbour, on either coast,
'Would cry—“Safer than key and cupboard
"Is the word of Sampson Hubbard.”
'Ay! your mother-nay, do not weep,-

She strove to kiss me, but sleep,