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mercilessly inflicted, and I remember I was treated with indignity by the very same big boys who had seduced me from my allegiance.

My great amusement in my summer holidays at Birmingham was in seeing plays and in acting some of my own composition with my brother and sisters. In my father's dressing-room I had a glimpse of King, dressed as Lord Ogleby, of which character he was the original representative, and distinguished for its performance in Garrick's day. The grand deportment and beauty of Mrs. Siddons were engraven on my boyish memory, though then unable justly to estimate her powers. Lewis's face, then seen, I have never forgotten, although what I have known of his acting has been entirely from description. I had the opportunity, too, of hearing the great songstress of her day, Mrs. Billington. For a week the theatre was every night crowded, as people say, to suffocation, but I can only recall the figure of a very lusty woman, and the excitement of the audience, when the orchestra struck up the symphony of Arne's rattling bravura, 'The Soldier tired,' in the opera of 'Artaxerxes.'

But one evening (in giving me a sight of the man with whose fame all Europe rang, and who will for ever rank first among the first of our country's naval heroes) stands out in my memory as marked with golden letters. During the short peace of Amiens, Nelson made a tour through several of our provincial towns-a recreation apparently innocent enough, but which was harshly reflected on in the House of Lords. Birmingham was one of those he visited, and I believe my memory does not err in stating that the people drew his carriage, or attempted to draw it, from the suburbs to his hotel. The news of his arrival spread like wildfire, and when his intention of going to the theatre got wind, all who heard of it, as might have been expected, flocked there to behold, and do him honour. The play was Shakespeare's 'Merry Wives of Windsor,' for the benefit of a player of the name of Blissett, who had some repute in the part of Falstaff. At my father's request Lord Nelson consented to bespeak for the next night the play of 'King Henry IV.,' wishing to see Blissett again in Falstaff. The box-office was literally besieged early the next morning, and every place soon taken. At the hour of commencement my father was waiting with candles to

conduct the far-famed hero through the lobby, which went round the whole semicircle of the lower tier, to his box. The shouts outside announced the approach of the carriage: the throng was great, but being close to my father's side, I had not only a perfect view of the hero's pale and interesting face, but listened with such eager attention to every word he uttered, that I had all he said by heart, and for months afterwards was wont to be called upon to repeat "what Lord Nelson said to your father." This was in substance to the effect that the universal esteem in which his, my father's, character was held in the town made it a pleasure and a duty to render him any assistance.

Nothing of course passed unnoticed by my boyish enthusiasm: the right-arm empty sleeve attached to his breast, the orders upon it, a sight to me so novel and remarkable; but the melancholy expression of his countenance and the extremely mild and gentle tones of his voice impressed me most sensibly. They were indeed for a life's remembrance. When with Lady Hamilton and Dr. Nelson he entered his box, the uproar of the house was deafening, and seemed as if it would know no end. The play was at length suffered to proceed, after which was a sort of divertisement in honour of the illustrious visitor, from one song of which I can even now recollect one couplet! Oh sacred Nine, forgive me while I quote it!

"We'll shake hands, and be friends; if they won't, why, what then? We'll send our brave Nelson to thrash 'em again.

Derry Down," &c.

The crowded house was frantic in its applause at this sublime effusion. Lady Hamilton, laughing loud and without stint, clapped with uplifted hands and all her heart, and kicked with her heels against the foot-board of the seat, while Nelson placidly and with his mournful look (perhaps in pity for the poet) bowed repeatedly to the oft-repeated cheers. Next day my father called at the hotel to thank his Lordship, when Nelson presented him with what he intended to be the cost of his box wrapped in paper, regretting that his ability to testify his respect for my father was so much below his will. My father never told me the amount, but purchased with it plate that he retained to his death in memory of the donor. I should not omit to mention that in the hall of the hotel were

a piece of

1793-1808.

LEAVES DR. EDGELL'S SCHOOL.

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several sailors of Nelson's ship waiting to see him, to each of whom the great admiral spoke in the most affable manner, inquiringly and kindly, as he passed through to his carriage, and left them, I believe, some tokens of his remembrance.

My winter vacations were usually spent at the houses of friends, where my chief diversion was lying on a sofa and reading novels. At the close of the half-year in which this formidable rebellion took place, I was removed from the school by my dear mother, who, if I remember rightly, exerted her spirit in giving a very severe rebuke to my quondam master. She had been of late years an invalid, and had tried the air of different watering-places in the quest of her lost strength; but in vain. She was on her way from Clifton to Bolton-le-Moors, to rejoin my father, resting at Birmingham, from whence, glad to turn my back on the grim Edgell, though with the fear of Rugby before my eyes, I accompanied her. Our mode of travelling, post-chaise and pair, was tedious, when bribes to the postillion could rarely get you beyond seven miles an hour. We reached Congleton at dusk, where my dear mother's illness detained us for the night. I can remember now the agony of heart with which I went into the street of the strange town to find a druggist's shop, where I might buy some ether, choking with tears and running in trembling haste with the medicine. How I recollect the load lifted off my heart when the maid told me she was really better. The next morning she was able to pursue her journey, and passing through Manchester, we reached the town of Bolton-le-Moors, which, I remember, was regarded as a semi-barbarous place. I may be mistaken, but the impression is on my mind that it was not lighted. I recollect the uncouth dialect of the people, and a savage mode the labouring people were said to have of settling their quarrels-viz. by "purring," i.e. the combatant, when his adversary was down, kicking him on the head with his wooden-soled shoe. Lodgings, streets, everything seemed on a low scale; I have little doubt but that now it is a handsome town with its institutions and civic government all en règle.

The small theatre held by my father was nightly filled with people from Manchester to see the comedy of John Bull,'

at that same time performing with great success at Covent Garden. The author, Geo. Colman the Younger, as he subscribes himself, was one evening in the theatre at Bolton, at the representation of his own play. My father had obtained by great favour a copy of the MS. from the proprietors of the Covent Garden Theatre, and boasted of being the only manager out of the metropolis who could give the performance. Colman offered good terms, for his theatre in the Haymarket to three of the actors; but my father stood on his dignity, and not having been first applied to, refused his permission, without which they all three most loyally refused to treat.

From Bolton I was taken by my parents to Dublin, travelling post to Holyhead; I recollect well the comfort of the inns, the good fare, the clean rooms, and the difficulty of the roads, my first view of the sea, of which I had I know not what kind of previous vague idea from reciting at Edgell's school Keate's Address to the Ocean.' A fast-sailing trim-built cutter, with very good cabin, took us over in the course of the night; in the morning we were lying off, waiting for water to cross the bar; but my father took me in a boat, a pull of about two miles, to the Pigeon House. As well as I remember, our visit in Dublin was to my grandfather, a venerable old gentleman, one of the most respectable tradesmen in the city, and greatly esteemed as the father of the corporation. In my short visit there was much to impress my boyish readiness to see wonders in every novelty. The city itself, its squares and streets, so proudly vaunted by my relations, Dame Street, Sackville Street, Stephen's Green, the buildings-Custom House, Four Courts, Rotundo-were all sights to me; but Christ Church and St. Patrick's Cathedral interested me more, by the banners of the knights in the one and the tomb of Strongbow in the other, than the unsightly building called the Castle or Werburgh Church, which was spoken of with peculiar reverence, because attended by the Lord Lieutenant. I was taken twice to the theatre, once on the occasion of a command, and saw there actors whom in my own professional days I met again-Holman, R. Jones of Covent Garden, and others, who remained like limpets stuck to the Dublin Theatre. My grandfather at parting gave me a present which was laid out in plate for me by my dear mother, and my uncle presented me with

1793-1808.

CHESTER-BIRMINGHAM.

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Leland's History of Ireland,' in three volumes, which still keeps its place in my library.

We re-crossed to Holyhead on our return; our journey was marked by no event that rested on my memory beyond the draught I took of St. Winifred's Well at Holywell, and the avidity with which I listened to the number of gallons it gave out per hour, and the innumerable cures it effected, attested as they were by the crutches suspended as votive offerings beneath the groined arches of the Gothic roof above it. At Chester, the races completely filled the city; the streets were swarming as we passed through. Wishing to see friends of my mother's, Captain and Mrs. Harrison, who lived a mile out of the town, my father drove to their house, and giving the post-boy a very large fee to see the luggage put on another chaise, sent me back in the chaise to the hotel to take care that the luggage was all rightly transferred. The post-boy called for horses, but not a horse was to be had-" None in was the answer at the hotel; he unharnessed his own pair, and left me with the luggage in and on the chaise exposed in the open and crowded street. My agony lest the luggage should be stolen and my fear of my father's displeasure were great. I went-obliged to leave the chaise-into the stables at a distance down some dirty lanes, and with tears implored the post-boy to get me horses; but he had got his recompense, and repelled me very brutally. At the hotel they were too much engaged to attend to me. What to do I did not know; in despair at last I set off upon as fast a run as I could make-dreading to see my father, but with no alternative-not knowing my way, but with a faint guess at the direction in which it lay, and remembering the slated side of Captain Harrison's house. The day was a broiling one. Of some of the most good-natured looking I inquired my way, but unsatisfactorily; still I ran on, my face streaming with perspiration, and at last caught sight of the slated side. My mother was astonished at my condition, bathed in tears as I was, and soothing my agitation, bade me explain it all to my father, who received the news very indulgently, and going down to the town, after a long absence returned with a chaise which he had great difficulty in procuring.

Birmingham was the most important of the towns of which my father held the theatres, and there we soon arrived. The