I was born to very little property, but to great expectations; which is perhaps one of the most unlucky fortunes that a man can be born to. My father was a country gentleman, the last of a very ancient and honorable, but decayed family, and resided in an old hunting lodge¹ in Warwickshire. He was a keen sportsman and lived to the extent of his moderate income, so that I had little to expect from that quarter; but then I had a rich uncle by the mother’s side, a penurious², accumulating curmudgeon³, who it was confidently expected would make me his heir; because he was an old bachelor; because I was named after him, and because he hated all the world except myself.  
He was, in fact, an inveterate⁵ hater, a miser⁶ even in misanthropy, and hoarded⁷ up a grudge⁸ as he did a guinea. Thus, though my mother was an only sister, he had never forgiven her marriage with my father, against whom he had a cold, still, immovable pique¹⁰, which had lain at the bottom of his heart, like a stone in a well, ever since they had been school boys together. My mother, however, considered me as the intermediate being that was to bring every thing again into harmony, for she looked upon me as a prodigy—God bless her. My heart overflows¹¹ whenever I recall her tenderness: she was the most excellent, the most indulgent of mothers. I was her only child; it was a pity she had no more, for she had fondness of heart enough to have spoiled a dozen!
 
I was sent, at an early age, to a public school, sorely against my mother’s wishes, but my father insisted that it was the only way to make boys hardy¹². The school was kept by a conscientious¹³ prig of the ancient system, who did his duty by the boys intrusted to his care; that is to say, we were flogged soundly when we did not get our lessons. We were put into classes and thus flogged on in droves along the highways of knowledge, in the same manner as cattle are driven to market, where those that are heavy in gait or short in leg have to suffer for the superior alertness or longer limbs of their companions.
 
For my part, I confess it with shame, I was an incorrigible¹⁵ laggard¹⁶. I have always had the poetical¹⁷ feeling, that is to say, I have always been an idle fellow and prone¹⁹ to play the vagabond. I used to get away from my books and school whenever I could, and ramble²⁰ about the fields. I was surrounded by seductions for such a temperament²². The school-house was an old-fashioned, white-washed mansion²³ of wood and plaister, standing²⁴ on the skirts of a beautiful village. Close by it was the venerable church with a tall Gothic spire²⁵. Before it spread a lovely green valley, with a little stream glistening²⁶ along through willow²⁷ groves²⁹; while a line of blue hills that bounded the landscape gave rise to many a summer day dream as to the fairy land that lay beyond.
 
In spite of all the scourgings I suffered at that school to make me love my book, I cannot but look back upon the place with fondness. Indeed, I considered this frequent flagellation as the common lot of humanity, and the regular mode in which scholars were made. My kind mother used to lament³¹ over my details of the sore trials I underwent in the cause of learning; but my father turned a deaf ear to her expostulations. He had been flogged through school himself, and swore there was no other way of making a man of parts; though, let me speak it with all due reverence³², my father was but an indifferent illustration of his own theory, for he was considered a grievous blockhead.
 
My poetical temperament evinced itself at a very early period. The Village church was attended every Sunday by a neighboring squire³³—the lord of the manor³⁴, whose park stretched quite to the village, and whose spacious³⁵ country seat seemed to take the church under its protection. Indeed, you would have thought the church had been consecrated³⁶ to him instead of to the Deity³⁷. The parish clerk bowed low before him, and the vergers humbled³⁸ themselves into the dust in his presence. He always entered a little late and with some stir, striking his cane³⁹ emphatically on the ground; swaying his hat in his hand, and looking loftily to the right and left, as he walked slowly up the aisle⁴⁰, and the parson, who always ate his Sunday dinner with him, never commenced service until he appeared. He sat with his family in a large pew gorgeously lined, humbling⁴² himself devoutly⁴³ on velvet⁴⁴ cushions, and reading lessons of meekness⁴⁵ and lowliness of spirit out of splendid gold and morocco prayer-books. Whenever the parson spoke⁴⁶ of the difficulty of the rich man’s entering the kingdom of heaven, the eyes of the congregation would turn towards the “grand pew,” and I thought the squire seemed pleased with the application.
 
The pomp of this pew and the aristocratical air of the family struck My imagination wonderfully, and I fell desperately⁴⁸ in love with a little daughter of the squire’s about twelve years of age. This freak of fancy made me more truant⁴⁹ from my studies than ever. I used to stroll about the squire’s park, and would lurk⁵⁰ near the house to catch glimpses of this little damsel at the windows, or playing about the lawns, or walking out with her governess.
 
I had not enterprise or impudence⁵¹ enough to venture from my concealment⁵²; indeed, I felt like an arrant⁵³ poacher, until I read one or two of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, when I pictured myself as some sylvan⁵⁴ deity, and she a coy wood nymph of whom I was in pursuit. There is something extremely delicious in these early awakenings of the tender passion. I can feel, even at this moment, the thrilling of my boyish bosom⁵⁶, whenever by chance I caught a glimpse of her white frock fluttering among the shrubbery. I now began to read poetry. I carried about in my bosom a volume of Waller, which I had purloined⁵⁷ from my mother’s library; and I applied⁵⁸ to my little fair one all the compliments lavished⁵⁹ upon Sacharissa.
 
At length I danced with her at a school ball. I was so awkward a booby, that I dared scarcely speak to her; I was filled with awe⁶⁰ and embarrassment⁶¹ in her presence; but I was so inspired that my poetical temperament for the first time broke out in verse; and I fabricated some glowing lines, in which I be-rhymed the little lady under the favorite name of Sacharissa. I slipped the verses, trembling and blushing, into her hand the next Sunday as she came out of church. The little prude handed them to her mamma; the mamma handed them to the squire, the squire, who had no soul for poetry, sent them in dudgeon to the school-master; and the school-master, with a barbarity worthy⁶² of the dark ages, gave me a sound and peculiarly humiliating flogging for thus trespassing⁶⁴ upon Parnassus.
 
This was a sad outset for a votary⁶⁵ of the muse⁶⁶. It ought to have cured me of my passion for poetry; but it only confirmed it, for I felt the spirit of a martyr⁶⁷ rising within me. What was as well, perhaps, it cured me of my passion for the young lady; for I felt so indignant at the ignominious⁶⁸ horsing I had incurred⁶⁹ in celebrating her charms, that I could not hold up my head in church.
 
Fortunately for my wounded sensibility, the midsummer holydays came on, and I returned home. My mother, as usual, inquired into all my school concerns, my little pleasures, and cares, and sorrows; for boyhood has its share of the one as well as of the others. I told her all, and she was indignant at the treatment I had experienced. She fired up at the arrogance⁷⁰ of the squire, and the prudery of the daughter; and as to the school-master, she wondered where was the use of having school-masters, and why boys could not remain at home and be educated by tutors, under the eye of their mothers. She asked to see the verses I had written, and she was delighted with them; for to confess the truth, she had a pretty taste in poetry. She even showed to them to the parson’s wife, who protested they were charming, and the parson’s three daughters insisted on each having a copy of them.
 
All this was exceedingly balsamic, and I was still more consoled and encouraged, when the young ladies, who were the blue-stockings of the neighborhood, and had read Dr. Johnson’s lives quite through, assured my mother that great geniuses never studied, but were always idle; upon which I began to surmise⁷¹ that I was myself something out of the common run. My father, however, was of a very different opinion, for when my mother, in the pride of her heart, showed him my copy of verses, he threw them out of the window, asking her “if she meant to make a ballad⁷² monger of the boy.” But he was a careless, common-thinking man, and I cannot say that I ever loved him much; my mother absorbed all my filial affection.
 
I used occasionally, during holydays, to be sent on short visits to the uncle, who was to make me his heir; they thought it would keep me in his mind, and render him fond of me. He was a withered⁷³, anxious-looking old fellow, and lived in a desolate⁷⁴ old country seat, which he suffered to go to ruin from absolute niggardliness⁷⁵. He kept but one man-servant, who had lived, or rather starved, with him for years. No woman was allowed to sleep in the house. A daughter of the old servant lived by the gate, in what had been a porter’s lodge, and was permitted to come into the house about an hour each day, to make the beds, and cook a morsel⁷⁶ of provisions.
 
The park that surrounded the house was all run wild; the trees grown out of shape; the fish-ponds stagnant⁷⁷; the urns⁷⁸ and statues fallen from their pedestals and buried among the rank grass. The hares and pheasants were so little molested⁷⁹, except by poachers, that they bred in great abundance, and sported about the rough lawns and weedy avenues. To guard the premises⁸⁰ and frighten off robbers, of whom he was somewhat apprehensive⁸¹, and visitors, whom he held in almost equal awe, my uncle kept two or three blood-hounds, who were always prowling round the house, and were the dread⁸² of the neighboring peasantry. They were gaunt and half-starved, seemed ready to devour⁸³ one from mere⁸⁴ hunger, and were an effectual check on any stranger’s approach to this wizard castle.
 
Such was my uncle’s house, which I used to visit now and then during The holydays. I was, as I have before said, the old man’s favorite; that is to say, he did not hate me so much as he did the rest of the world. I had been apprised⁸⁵ of his character, and cautioned to cultivate his good-will; but I was too young and careless to be a courtier; and indeed have never been sufficiently⁸⁶ studious of my interests to let them govern my feelings. However, we seemed to jog on very well together; and as my visits cost him almost nothing, they did not seem to be very unwelcome. I brought with me my gun and fishing-rod, and half supplied the table from the park and the fishponds.
 
Our meals were solitary⁸⁷ and unsocial. My uncle rarely spoke; he pointed⁸⁸ for whatever he wanted, and the servant perfectly⁸⁹ understood him. Indeed, his man John, or Iron John, as he was called in the neighborhood, was a counterpart of his master. He was a tall, bony old fellow, with a dry wig⁹⁰ that seemed made of cow’s tail, and a face as tough as though it had been made of bull’s hide. He was generally clad in a long, patched livery coat, taken out of the wardrobe of the house; and which bagged loosely about him, having evidently belonged to some corpulent predecessor⁹¹, in the more plenteous days of the mansion. From long habits of taciturnity, the hinges of his jaws⁹² seemed to have grown absolutely rusty⁹³, and it cost him as much effort to set them ajar, and to let out a tolerable sentence, as it would have done to set open the iron gates of a park, and let out the family carriage that was dropping to pieces in the coach-house.
 
I cannot say, however, but that I was for some time amused with my uncle’s peculiarities⁹⁴. Even the very desolateness⁹⁵ of the establishment had something in it that hit my fancy. When the weather was fine I used to amuse myself, in a solitary way, by rambling⁹⁶ about the park, and coursing like a colt across its lawns. The hares and pheasants seemed to stare with surprise, to see a human being walking these forbidden grounds by day-light. Sometimes I amused myself by jerking stones, or shooting at birds with a bow and arrows; for to have used a gun would have been treason. Now and then my path was crossed by a little red-headed, ragged⁹⁷-tailed urchin⁹⁸, the son of the woman at the lodge, who ran wild about the premises. I tried to draw him into familiarity, and to make a companion of him; but he seemed to have imbibed⁹⁹ the strange, unsocial character of every thing around him; and always kept aloof¹⁰⁰; so I considered him as another Orson, and amused myself with shooting at him with my bow and arrows, and he would hold up his breeches with one hand, and scamper¹⁰¹ away like a deer.
 
There was something in all this loneliness and wildness strangely pleasing to me. The great stables, empty and weather-broken, with the names of favorite horses over the vacant stalls; the windows bricked and boarded up; the broken roofs, garrisoned¹⁰³ by rooks and jackdaws; all had a singularly forlorn appearance: one would have concluded the house to be totally uninhabited, were it not for a little thread of blue smoke, which now and then curled up like a corkscrew, from the centre of one of the wide chimneys, when my uncle’s starveling meal was cooking.
 
My uncle’s room was in a remote corner of the building, strongly secured and generally locked. I was never admitted into this strong-hold, where the old man would remain for the greater part of the time, drawn¹⁰⁶ up like a veteran spider in the citadel¹⁰⁷ of his web. The rest of the mansion, however, was open to me, and I sauntered about it unconstrained. The damp and rain which beat in through the broken windows, crumbled¹⁰⁸ the paper from the walls; mouldered¹¹⁰ the pictures, and gradually destroyed the furniture. I loved to rove about the wide, waste chambers¹¹¹ in bad weather, and listen to the howling of the wind, and the banging about of the doors and window-shutters. I pleased myself with the idea how completely, when I came to the estate, I would renovate¹¹⁴ all things, and make the old building ring with merriment, till it was astonished at its own jocundity¹¹⁵.
 
The chamber¹¹² which I occupied on these visits was the same that had been my mother’s, when a girl. There was still the toilet-table of her own adorning¹¹⁷; the landscapes of her own drawing. She had never seen it since her marriage, but would often ask me if every thing was still the same. All was just the same; for I loved that chamber on her account, and had taken pains to put every thing in order, and to mend all the flaws in the windows with my own hands. I anticipated the time when I should once more welcome her to the house of her fathers, and restore her to this little nestling-place of her childhood.
 
At length my evil genius, or, what perhaps is the same thing, the muse, inspired me with the notion of rhyming again. My uncle, who never went to church, used on Sundays to read chapters out of the Bible; and Iron John, the woman from the lodge, and myself, were his congregation. It seemed to be all one to him what he read, so long as it was something from the Bible: sometimes, therefore, it would be the Song of Solomon; and this withered anatomy¹¹⁸ would read about being “stayed with flagons and comforted with apples, for he was sick of love.” Sometimes he would hobble, with spectacle on nose, through whole chapters of hard Hebrew names in Deuteronomy; at which the poor woman would sigh and groan¹¹⁹ as if wonderfully moved. His favorite book, however, was “The Pilgrim’s Progress;” and when he came to that part which treats of Doubting Castle and Giant Despair, I thought invariably of him and his desolate old country seat. So much did the idea amuse me, that I took to scribbling¹²⁰ about it under the trees in the park; and in a few days had made some progress in a poem, in which I had given a description of the place, under the name of Doubting Castle, and personified my uncle as Giant Despair.
 
I lost my poem somewhere about the house, and I soon suspected that my uncle had found it; as he harshly intimated to me that I could return home, and that I need not come and see him again until he should send for me.
 
Just about this time my mother died.—I cannot dwell upon this circumstance; my heart, careless and wayworn as it is, gushes¹²¹ with the recollection. Her death was an event that perhaps gave a turn to all my after fortunes. With her died all that made home attractive, for my father was harsh, as I have before said, and had never treated me with kindness. Not that he exerted any unusual severity towards me, but it was his way. I do not complain of him. In fact, I have never been of a complaining disposition¹²². I seem born to be buffeted¹²³ by friends and fortune, and nature has made me a careless endurer of buffetings.
 
I now, however, began to grow very impatient of remaining at school, to be flogged for things that I did not like. I longed for variety, especially now that I had not my uncle’s to resort to, by way of diversifying¹²⁵ the dullness of school with the dreariness¹²⁶ of his country seat. I was now turned of sixteen; tall for my age, and full of idle fancies. I had a roving, inextinguishable desire to see different kinds of life, and different orders of society; and this vagrant¹²⁷ humor had been fostered in me by Tom Dribble¹²⁸, the prime wag and great genius of the school, who had all the rambling propensities¹²⁹ of a poet.
 
I used to set at my desk in the school, on a fine summer’s day, and instead of studying the book which lay open before me, my eye was gazing through the window on the green fields and blue hills. How I envied the happy groups seated on the tops of stage-coaches, chatting, and joking, and laughing, as they were whirled by the school-house, on their way to the metropolis¹³⁰. Even the wagoners trudging¹³² along beside their ponderous¹³³ teams, and traversing the kingdom, from one end to the other, were objects of envy to me. I fancied to myself what adventures they must experience, and what odd scenes of life they must witness. All this was doubtless the poetical temperament working within me, and tempting¹³⁴ me forth¹³⁵ into a world of its own creation, which I mistook for the world of real life.
 
While my mother lived, this strange propensity¹³⁶ to roam was counteracted¹³⁷ by the stronger attractions of home, and by the powerful ties of affection, which drew me to her side; but now that she was gone, the attractions had ceased; the ties were severed¹³⁸. I had no longer an anchorage ground for my heart; but was at the mercy of every vagrant impulse. Nothing but the narrow allowance on which my father kept me, and the consequent penury¹³⁹ of my purse, prevented me from mounting the top of a stage-coach and launching myself adrift on the great ocean of life.
 
Just about this time the village was agitated¹⁴⁰ for a day or two, by the passing through of several caravans¹⁴³, containing wild beasts, and other spectacles for a great fair annually¹⁴⁴ held at a neighboring town.
 
I had never seen a fair of any consequence, and my curiosity was Powerfully awakened¹⁴⁵ by this bustle¹⁴⁶ of preparation. I gazed with respect and wonder at the vagrant personages who accompanied these caravans. I loitered about the village inn, listening with curiosity and delight to the slang talk and cant¹⁰² jokes of the showmen and their followers¹⁴⁷; and I felt an eager desire to witness this fair, which my fancy decked out as something wonderfully fine.
 
A holyday afternoon presented, when I could be absent from the school from noon until evening. A wagon¹³¹ was going from the village to the fair. I could not resist the temptation, nor the eloquence¹⁴⁸ of Tom Dribble, who was a truant to the very heart’s core. We hired seats, and set off full of boyish expectation. I promised myself that I would but take a peep at the land of promise, and hasten back again before my absence should be noticed.
 
Heavens! how happy I was on arriving at the fair! How I was enchanted¹⁴⁹ with the world of fun and pageantry around me! The humors of Punch; the feats¹⁵⁰ of the equestrians¹⁵¹; the magical tricks of the conjurors! But what principally caught my attention was—an itinerant¹⁵² theatre; where a tragedy, pantomime, and farce¹⁵³ were all acted in the course of half an hour, and more of the dramatis personae murdered, than at either Drury Lane or Covent Garden in a whole evening. I have since seen many a play performed by the best actors in the world, but never have I derived¹⁵⁴ half the delight from any that I did from this first representation.
 
There was a ferocious¹⁵⁵ tyrant¹⁵⁶ in a skull¹⁵⁷ cap like an inverted¹⁵⁸ porringer, and a dress of red baize, magnificently embroidered¹⁵⁹ with gilt¹⁶⁰ leather; with his face so be-whiskered and his eyebrows¹⁶¹ so knit and expanded with burnt cork¹⁰⁵, that he made my heart quake within me as he stamped about the little stage. I was enraptured¹⁶² too with the surpassing beauty of a distressed¹⁶⁴ damsel, in faded pink silk, and dirty white muslin, whom he held in cruel captivity¹⁶⁵ by way of gaining her affections; and who wept and wrung¹⁶⁶ her hands and flourished a ragged pocket handkerchief from the top of an impregnable tower, of the size of a band-box.
 
Even after I had come out from the play, I could not tear myself from the vicinity of the theatre; but lingered, gazing, and wondering, and laughing at the dramatis personae, as they performed their antics, or danced upon a stage in front of the booth, to decoy a new set of spectators.
 
I was so bewildered by the scene, and so lost in the crowd of sensations that kept swarming¹⁶⁷ upon me that I was like one entranced. I lost my companion Tom Dribble, in a tumult¹⁶⁸ and scuffle that took place near one of the shows, but I was too much occupied in mind to think long about him. I strolled about until dark, when the fair was lighted up, and a new scene of magic opened upon me. The illumination of the tents and booths; the brilliant effect of the stages decorated with lamps, with dramatic groups flaunting¹⁶⁹ about them in gaudy¹⁷⁰ dresses, contrasted splendidly with the surrounding darkness; while the uproar¹⁷¹ of drums, trumpets¹⁷², fiddles¹⁷³, hautboys, and cymbals¹⁷⁵, mingled¹⁷⁶ with the harangues¹⁷⁷ of the showmen, the squeaking¹⁷⁸ of Punch, and the shouts and laughter of the crowd, all united to complete my giddy distraction¹⁷⁹.
 
Time flew without my perceiving it. When I came to myself and thought of the school, I hastened to return. I inquired for the wagon in which I had come: it had been gone for hours. I asked the time: it was almost midnight! A sudden quaking seized me. How was I to get back to school? I was too weary to make the journey on foot, and I knew not where to apply for a conveyance¹⁸⁰. Even if I should find one, could I venture to disturb the school-house long after midnight? to arouse that sleeping lion, the usher¹⁸¹, in the very midst of his night’s rest? The idea was too dreadful for a delinquent¹⁸² school-boy. All the horrors of return rushed upon me—my absence must long before this have been remarked—and absent for a whole night? A deed of darkness not easily to be expiated¹⁸³. The rod of the pedagogue¹⁸⁴ budded forth into tenfold terrors before my affrighted fancy. I pictured to myself punishment and humiliation¹⁸⁵ in every variety of form; and my heart sickened at the picture. Alas¹⁸⁶! how often are the petty ills of boyhood as painful to our tender natures, as are the sterner evils of manhood to our robuster minds.
 
I wandered about among the booths, and I might have derived a lesson from my actual feelings, how much the charms of this world depend upon ourselves; for I no longer saw anything gay or delightful¹⁸⁷ in the revelry around me. At length I lay down, wearied and perplexed¹⁸⁸, behind one of the large tents, and covering myself with the margin¹⁸⁹ of the tent cloth to keep off the night chill, I soon fell fast asleep.
 
I had not slept long, when I was awakened by the noise of merriment within an adjoining booth. It was the itinerant theatre, rudely constructed of boards and canvas. I peeped through an aperture¹⁹⁰, and saw the whole dramatis personae, tragedy, comedy, pantomime, all refreshing¹⁹¹ themselves after the final dismissal of their auditors¹⁹². They were merry and gamesome, and made their flimsy theatre ring with laughter. I was astonished to see the tragedy tyrant in red baize and fierce whiskers, who had made my heart quake as he strutted¹⁹³ about the boards, now transformed into a fat, good humored fellow; the beaming porringer laid aside from his brow, and his jolly face washed from all the terrors of burnt cork. I was delighted, too, to see the distressed damsel in faded silk and dirty muslin, who had trembled under his tyranny, and afflicted¹⁹⁴ me so much by her sorrows, now seated familiarly on his knee, and quaffing¹⁹⁵ from the same tankard. Harlequin lay asleep on one of the benches; and monks¹⁹⁶, satyrs, and Vestal virgins¹⁹⁷ were grouped together, laughing outrageously¹⁹⁸ at a broad story told by an unhappy count, who had been barbarously murdered in the tragedy. This was, indeed, novelty to me. It was a peep into another planet. I gazed and listened with intense curiosity and enjoyment¹⁹⁹. They had a thousand odd stories and jokes about the events of the day, and burlesque²⁰⁰ descriptions and mimickings of the spectators who had been admiring them. Their conversation was full of allusions²⁰¹ to their adventures at different places, where they had exhibited; the characters they had met with in different villages; and the ludicrous difficulties in which they had occasionally been involved. All past cares and troubles were now turned by these thoughtless beings into matter of merriment; and made to contribute to the gayety of the moment. They had been moving from fair to fair about the kingdom, and were the next morning to set out on their way to London.
 
My resolution was taken. I crept from my nest, and scrambled²⁰² through a hedge into a neighboring field, where I went to work to make a tatterdemalion of myself. I tore my clothes; soiled them with dirt; begrimed my face and hands; and, crawling near one of the booths, purloined an old hat, and left my new one in its place. It was an honest theft, and I hope may not hereafter rise up in judgment²⁰⁴ against me.
 
I now ventured to the scene of merrymaking, and, presenting myself before the dramatic corps²⁰⁵, offered myself as a volunteer. I felt terribly agitated and abashed²⁰⁶, for “never before stood I in such a presence.” I had addressed myself to the manager of the company. He was a fat man, dressed in dirty white; with a red sash fringed with tinsel, swathed round his body. His face was smeared²⁰⁷ with paint, and a majestic²⁰⁸ plume²⁰⁹ towered from an old spangled black bonnet²¹⁰. He was the Jupiter tonans of this Olympus, and was surrounded by the interior gods and goddesses of his court. He sat on the end of a bench, by a table, with one arm akimbo and the other extended to the handle of a tankard, which he had slowly set down from his lips as he surveyed me from head to foot. It was a moment of awful scrutiny²¹¹, and I fancied the groups around all watching us in silent suspense²¹², and waiting for the imperial nod.
 
He questioned me as to who I was; what were my qualifications; and what terms I expected. I passed myself off for a discharged servant from a gentleman’s family; and as, happily, one does not require a special recommendation to get admitted into bad company, the questions on that head were easily satisfied. As to my accomplishments²¹³, I would spout²¹⁴ a little poetry, and knew several scenes of plays, which I had learnt at school exhibitions. I could dance—, that was enough; no further questions were asked me as to accomplishments; it was the very thing they wanted; and, as I asked no wages, but merely meat and drink, and safe conduct about the world, a bargain was struck in a moment.
 
Behold²¹⁵ me, therefore transformed of a sudden from a gentleman student to a dancing buffoon²¹⁶; for such, in fact, was the character in which I made my debut²¹⁷. I was one of those who formed the groups in the dramas, and were principally, employed on the stage in front of the booth, to attract company. I was equipped as a satyr, in a dress of drab frize that fitted to my shape; with a great laughing mask, ornamented²¹⁸ with huge ears and short horns. I was pleased with the disguise, because it kept me from the danger of being discovered, whilst we were in that part of the country; and, as I had merely to dance and make antics, the character was favorable to a debutant, being almost on a par¹⁴ with Simon Snug²¹⁹’s part of the Lion, which required nothing but roaring.
 
I cannot tell you how happy I was at this sudden change in my situation. I felt no degradation²²⁰, for I had seen too little of society to be thoughtful about the differences of rank; and a boy of sixteen is seldom aristocratical. I had given up no friend; for there seemed to be no one in the world that cared for me, now my poor mother was dead. I had given up no pleasure; for my pleasure was to ramble about and indulge the flow of a poetical imagination; and I now enjoyed it in perfection. There is no life so truly poetical as that of a dancing buffoon.
 
It may be said that all this argued grovelling²²¹ inclinations²²². I do not think so; not that I mean to vindicate²²³ myself in any great degree; I know too well what a whimsical compound I am. But in this instance I was seduced²²⁴ by no love of low company, nor disposition to indulge in low vices²²⁵. I have always despised the brutally²²⁶ vulgar; and I have always had a disgust at vice⁴¹, whether in high or low life. I was governed merely by a sudden and thoughtless impulse. I had no idea of resorting to this profession as a mode of life; or of attaching myself to these people, as my future class of society. I thought merely of a temporary gratification of my curiosity, and an indulgence of my humors. I had already a strong relish²²⁷ for the peculiarities of character and the varieties of situation, and I have always been fond of the comedy of life, and desirous of seeing it through all its shifting scenes.
 
In mingling²²⁸, therefore, among mountebanks and buffoons²³⁰ I was protected by the very vivacity²³¹ of imagination which had led me among them. I moved about enveloped²³², as it were, in a protecting delusion²³³, which my fancy spread around me. I assimilated to these people only as they struck me poetically²³⁴; their whimsical ways and a certain picturesqueness²³⁵ in their mode of life entertained me; but I was neither amused nor corrupted²³⁶ by their vices. In short, I mingled among them, as Prince Hal did among his graceless associates, merely to gratify my humor.
 
I did not investigate my motives²³⁷ in this manner, at the time, for I was too careless and thoughtless to reason about the matter; but I do so now, when I look back with trembling to think of the ordeal²³⁸ to which I unthinkingly exposed myself, and the manner in which I passed through it. Nothing, I am convinced, but the poetical temperament, that hurried me into the scrape, brought me out of it without my becoming an arrant vagabond.
 
Full of the enjoyment of the moment, giddy with the wildness of animal spirits, so rapturous in a boy, I capered²³⁹, I danced, I played a thousand fantastic tricks about the stage, in the villages in which we exhibited; and I was universally pronounced the most agreeable monster that had ever been seen in those parts. My disappearance²⁴⁰ from school had awakened my father’s anxiety; for I one day heard a description of myself cried before the very booth in which I was exhibiting; with the offer of a reward for any intelligence of me. I had no great scruple²⁴¹ about letting my father suffer a little uneasiness on my account; it would punish him for past indifference²⁴², and would make him value me the more when he found me again. I have wondered that some of my comrades did not recognize in me the stray sheep that was cried; but they were all, no doubt, occupied by their own concerns. They were all laboring²⁴⁴ seriously in their antic vocations²⁴⁵, for folly²⁴⁶ was a mere trade with the most of them, and they often grinned and capered with heavy hearts. With me, on the contrary, it was all real. I acted con⁴ amore, and rattled²⁴⁷ and laughed from the irrepressible gayety of my spirits. It is true that, now and then, I started and looked grave on receiving a sudden thwack from the wooden sword of Harlequin, in the course of my gambols²⁴⁹; as it brought to mind the birch of my school-master. But I soon got accustomed to it; and bore all the cuffing²⁵⁰, and kicking, and tumbling about, that form the practical wit of your itinerant pantomime, with a good humor that made me a prodigious²⁵¹ favorite.
 
The country campaign of the troupe²⁵² was soon at an end, and we set off for the metropolis, to perform at the fairs which are held in its vicinity. The greater part of our theatrical²⁵³ property was sent on direct, to be in a state of preparation for the opening of the fairs; while a detachment of the company travelled slowly on, foraging²⁵⁴ among the villages. I was amused with the desultory²⁵⁵, hap-hazard kind of life we led; here to-day, and gone to-morrow. Sometimes revelling²⁵⁶ in ale-houses; sometimes feasting under hedges in the green fields. When audiences were crowded and business profitable, we fared well, and when otherwise, we fared scantily²⁵⁷, and consoled ourselves with anticipations²⁵⁸ of the next day’s success.
 
At length the increasing frequency of coaches hurrying past us, covered with passengers; the increasing number of carriages, carts, wagons²⁶⁰, gigs, droves of cattle and flocks of sheep, all thronging²⁶¹ the road; the snug country boxes with trim flower gardens twelve feet square, and their trees twelve feet high, all powdered with dust; and the innumerable seminaries for young ladies and gentlemen, situated²⁶² along the road, for the benefit of country air and rural retirement²⁶³; all these insignia announced that the mighty²⁶⁴ London was at hand. The hurry, and the crowd, and the bustle, and the noise, and the dust, increased as we proceeded, until I saw the great cloud of smoke hanging in the air, like a canopy²⁶⁵ of state, over this queen of cities.
 
In this way, then, did I enter the metropolis; a strolling vagabond; on the top of a caravan¹⁴² with a crew of vagabonds about me; but I was as happy as a prince, for, like Prince Hal, I felt myself superior to my situation, and knew that I could at any time cast it off and emerge into my proper sphere.
 
How my eyes sparkled as we passed Hyde-park corner, and I saw splendid equipages rolling by, with powdered footmen behind, in rich liveries, and fine nosegays, and gold-headed canes²⁶⁶; and with lovely women within, so sumptuously²⁶⁷ dressed and so surpassingly fair. I was always extremely sensible to female beauty; and here I saw it in all its fascination²⁶⁸; for, whatever may be said of “beauty unadorned,” there is something almost awful in female loveliness decked out in jewelled state. The swan-like neck encircled with diamonds; the raven²⁶⁹ locks, clustered with pearls; the ruby²⁷⁰ glowing on the snowy bosom, are objects that I could never contemplate²⁷¹ without emotion; and a dazzling white arm clasped with bracelets²⁷², and taper²⁷³ transparent²⁷⁴ fingers laden²⁷⁵ with sparkling rings, are to me irresistible²⁷⁶. My very eyes ached as I gazed at the high and courtly beauty that passed before me. It surpassed all that my imagination had conceived of the sex. I shrunk, for a moment, into shame at the company in which I was placed, and repined at the vast distance that seemed to intervene between me and these magnificent beings.
 
I forbear to give a detail of the happy life which I led about the skirts of the metropolis, playing at the various fairs, held there during the latter part of spring and the beginning of summer. This continual change from place to place, and scene to scene, fed my imagination with novelties, and kept my spirits in a perpetual state of excitement.
 
As I was tall of my age I aspired²⁷⁷, at one time, to play heroes in tragedy; but after two or three trials, I was pronounced, by the manager, totally unfit for the line; and our first tragic²⁷⁸ actress, who was a large woman, and held a small hero in abhorrence²⁷⁹, confirmed his decision.
 
The fact is, I had attempted to give point to language which had no point, and nature to scenes which had no nature. They said I did not fill out my characters; and they were right. The characters had all been prepared for a different sort of man. Our tragedy hero was a round, robustious fellow, with an amazing voice; who stamped and slapped his breast until his wig shook again; and who roared and bellowed²⁸¹ out his bombast²⁸², until every phrase swelled²⁸³ upon the ear like the sound of a kettle-drum. I might as well have attempted to fill out his clothes as his characters. When we had a dialogue together, I was nothing before him, with my slender voice and discriminating²⁸⁴ manner. I might as well have attempted to parry a cudgel with a small sword. If he found me in any way gaining ground upon him, he would take refuge in his mighty voice, and throw his tones like peals²⁸⁵ of thunder at me, until they were drowned in the still louder thunders of applause from the audience.
 
To tell the truth, I suspect that I was not shown fair play, and that there was management at the bottom; for without vanity, I think I was a better actor than he. As I had not embarked²⁸⁶ in the vagabond line through ambition, I did not repine at lack of preferment; but I was grieved to find that a vagrant life was not without its cares and anxieties, and that jealousies²⁸⁸, intrigues²⁸⁹, and mad ambition were to be found even among vagabonds.
 
Indeed, as I become more familiar with my situation, and the delusions²⁹⁰ of fancy began to fade away, I discovered that my associates were not the happy careless creatures I had at first imagined them. They were jealous of each other’s talents; they quarrelled about parts, the same as the actors on the grand theatres; they quarrelled about dresses; and there was one robe of yellow silk, trimmed with red, and a head-dress of three rumpled²⁹¹ ostrich²⁹² feathers, which were continually setting the ladies of the company by the ears. Even those who had attained²⁹³ the highest honors were not more happy than the rest; for Mr. Flimsey himself, our first tragedian, and apparently²⁹⁴ a jovial²⁹⁵, good-humored fellow, confessed to me one day, in the fullness of his heart, that he was a miserable²⁹⁶ man. He had a brother-in-law, a relative by marriage, though not by blood, who was manager of a theatre in a small country town. And this same brother, (“a little more than kin³⁰, but less than kind,”) looked down upon him, and treated him with contumely, because forsooth he was but a strolling player. I tried to console him with the thoughts of the vast applause he daily received, but it was all in vain. He declared that it gave him no delight, and that he should never be a happy man until the name of Flimsey rivalled the name of Crimp.
 
How little do those before the scenes know of what passes behind; how little can they judge, from the countenances²⁹⁸ of actors, of what is passing in their hearts. I have known two lovers quarrel like cats behind the scenes, who were, the moment after, ready to fly into each other’s embraces. And I have dreaded²⁹⁹, when our Belvidera was to take her farewell kiss of her Jaffier, lest she should bite a piece out of his cheek. Our tragedian was a rough joker off the stage; our prime clown the most peevish³⁰⁰ mortal living. The latter used to go about snapping and snarling³⁰¹, with a broad laugh painted on his countenance²⁹⁷; and I can assure you that, whatever may be said of the gravity of a monkey, or the melancholy³⁰² of a gibed³⁰³ cat, there is no more melancholy creature in existence than a mountebank²²⁹ off duty.
 
The only thing in which all parties agreed was to backbite³⁰⁴ the manager, and cabal³⁰⁵ against his regulations. This, however, I have since discovered to be a common trait of human nature, and to take place in all communities. It would seem to be the main business of man to repine at government. In all situations of life into which I have looked, I have found mankind divided into two grand parties;—those who ride and those who are ridden. The great struggle of life seems to be which shall keep in the saddle. This, it appears to me, is the fundamental principle of politics, whether in great or little life. However, I do not mean to moralize; but one cannot always sink the philosopher.
 
Well, then, to return to myself. It was determined³⁰⁷, as I said, that I was not fit for tragedy, and unluckily, as my study was bad, having a very poor memory, I was pronounced unfit for comedy also: besides, the line of young gentlemen was already engrossed³⁰⁸ by an actor with whom I could not pretend to enter into competition, he having filled it for almost half a century. I came down again therefore to pantomime. In consequence, however, of the good offices of the manager’s lady, who had taken a liking³⁰⁹ to me, I was promoted from the part of the satyr to that of the lover; and with my face patched and painted, a huge cravat³¹⁰ of paper, a steeple-crowned hat, and dangling³¹¹, long-skirted, sky-blue coat, was metamorphosed into the lover of Columbine. My part did not call for much of the tender and sentimental³¹². I had merely to pursue the fugitive³¹³ fair one; to have a door now and then slammed in my face; to run my head occasionally against a post; to tumble and roll about with Pantaloon and the clown; and to endure the hearty³¹⁴ thwacks of Harlequin’s wooden sword.
 
As ill luck would have it, my poetical temperament began to ferment²⁸⁷ within me, and to work out new troubles. The inflammatory air of a great metropolis added to the rural scenes in which the fairs were held; such as Greenwich Park; Epping Forest; and the lovely valley of the West End, had a powerful effect upon me. While in Greenwich Park I was witness to the old holiday games of running down hill; and kissing in the ring; and then the firmament³¹⁵ of blooming faces and blue eyes that would be turned towards me as I was playing antics on the stage; all these set my young blood, and my poetical vein³¹⁶, in full flow. In short, I played my character to the life, and became desperately enamored of Columbine. She was a trim, well-made, tempting girl, with a rougish, dimpling face, and fine chestnut³¹⁷ hair clustering all about it. The moment I got fairly smitten³¹⁸, there was an end to all playing. I was such a creature of fancy and feeling that I could not put on a pretended, when I was powerfully affected³¹⁹ by a real emotion. I could not sport with a fiction that came so near to the fact. I became too natural in my acting³²⁰ to succeed. And then, what a situation for a lover! I was a mere stripling, and she played with my passion; for girls soon grow more adroit³²¹ and knowing in these than your awkward youngsters. What agonies had I to suffer. Every time that she danced in front of the booth and made such liberal displays of her charms, I was in torment³²². To complete my misery³²³, I had a real rival in Harlequin; an active, vigorous, knowing varlet of six-and-twenty. What had a raw, inexperienced youngster like me to hope from such a competition?
 
I had still, however, some advantages in my favor. In spite of my change of life, I retained that indescribable something which always distinguishes the gentleman; that something which dwells in a man’s air and deportment, and not in his clothes; and which it is as difficult for a gentleman to put off as for a vulgar fellow to put on. The company generally felt it, and used to call me little gentleman Jack¹⁰⁴. The girl felt it too; and in spite of her predilection³²⁴ for my powerful rival, she liked to flirt³²⁵ with me. This only aggravated³²⁶ my troubles, by increasing my passion, and awakening⁵⁵ the jealousy³²⁷ of her parti-colored lover.
 
Alas! think what I suffered, at being obliged to keep up an ineffectual chase after my Columbine through whole pantomimes; to see her carried off in the vigorous arms of the happy Harlequin; and to be obliged, instead of snatching her from him, to tumble sprawling³²⁸ with Pantaloon and the clown; and bear the infernal and degrading thwacks of my rival’s weapon of lath; which, may heaven confound him! (excuse my passion) the villain³²⁹ laid on with a malicious³³⁰ good-will; nay³³¹, I could absolutely hear him chuckle³³² and laugh beneath his accursed mask—I beg pardon for growing a little warm in my narration³³³. I wish to be cool, but these recollections will sometimes agitate¹⁴¹ me. I have heard and read of many desperate and deplorable situations of lovers; but none, I think, in which true love was ever exposed to so severe and peculiar⁶³ a trial.
 
This could not last long. Flesh and blood, at least such flesh and blood as mine, could not bear it. I had repeated heartburnings and quarrels with my rival, in which he treated me with the mortifying³³⁴ forbearance of a man towards a child. Had he quarrelled outright³³⁵ with me, I could have stomached it; at least I should have known what part to take; but to be humored and treated as a child in the presence of my mistress, when I felt all the bantam spirit of a little man swelling³³⁶ within me—gods, it was insufferable!
 
At length we were exhibiting one day at West End fair, which was at that time a very fashionable resort, and often beleaguered³³⁷ by gay equipages from town. Among the spectators that filled the front row of our little canvas theatre one afternoon, when I had to figure in a pantomime, was a party of young ladies from a boarding-school, with their governess. Guess my confusion, when, in the midst of my antics, I beheld³³⁸ among the number my quondam flame; her whom I had be-rhymed at school; her for whose charms I had smarted so severely³³⁹; tho cruel Sacharissa! What was worse, I fancied she recollected³⁴⁰ me; and was repeating the story of my humiliating flagellation, for I saw her whispering her companions and her governess. I lost all consciousness of the part I was acting, and of the place where I was. I felt shrunk to nothing, and could have crept into a rat-hole—unluckily, none was open to receive me. Before I could recover from my confusion, I was tumbled over by Pantaloon and the clown; and I felt the sword of Harlequin making vigorous assaults, in a manner most degrading to my dignity.
 
Heaven and earth! was I again to suffer martyrdom in this ignominious manner, in the knowledge, and even before the very eyes of this most beautiful, but most disdainful of fair ones? All my long-smothered wrath³⁴¹ broke out at once; the dormant³⁴² feelings of the gentleman arose within me; stung to the quick by intolerable mortification³⁴³, I sprang on my feet in an instant; leaped upon Harlequin like a young tiger; tore off his mask; buffeted him in the face, and soon shed more blood on the stage than had been spilt upon it during a whole tragic campaign of battles and murders.
 
As soon as Harlequin recovered from his surprise he returned my assault with interest. I was nothing in his hands. I was game to be sure, for I was a gentleman; but he had the clownish advantages of bone and muscle. I felt as if I could have fought even unto the death; and I was likely to do so; for he was, according to the vulgar phrase, “putting my head into Chancery,” when the gentle Columbine flew to my assistance. God bless the women; they are always on the side of the weak and the oppressed.
 
The battle now became general; the dramatis personae ranged on either side. The manager interfered³⁴⁴ in vain. In vain were his spangled black bonnet and towering white feathers seen whisking about, and nodding, and bobbing, in the thickest of the fight. Warriors³⁴⁵, ladies, priests, satyrs, kings, queens, gods and goddesses, all joined pell-mell in the fray³⁴⁷. Never, since the conflict under the walls of Troy, had there been such a chance medley³⁴⁸ warfare³⁴⁹ of combatants, human and divine. The audience applauded, the ladies shrieked³⁵⁰ and fled from the theatre, and a scene of discord³⁵¹ ensued that baffles all description.
 
Nothing but the interference of the peace officers restored some degree of order. The havoc³⁵², however, that had been made among dresses and decorations put an end to all farther acting for that day. The battle over, the next thing was to inquire why it was begun; a common question among politicians, after a bloody³⁵³ and unprofitable war; and one not always easy to be answered. It was soon traced to me, and my unaccountable transport of passion, which they could only attribute to my having run a muck. The manager was judge and jury, and plaintiff in the bargain, and in such cases justice is always speedily administered. He came out of the fight as sublime³⁵⁴ a wreck³⁵⁵ as the Santissìma Trinidada. His gallant³⁵⁶ plumes³⁵⁷, which once towered aloft, were drooping³⁵⁸ about his ears. His robe of state hung in ribbands from his back, and but ill concealed³⁵⁹ the ravages³⁶⁰ he had suffered in the rear. He had received kicks and cuffs³⁶¹ from all sides, during the tumult; for every one took the opportunity of slyly gratifying some lurking³⁶² grudge on his............