the wall, and as the actors and people of the
theatre passed by to rehearsal, I made a bow of my head to those whose
countenances and manners seemed most promising. For several days not one
of them took the least notice of me. There was one of them who looked so
unpromising that I should hardly have given him the honour of my bow, if
it were not for his superior age and venerable aspect; and I believe
when I did give it to him, it was but a mutilated affair. There was a
starched pompous man, too, whose aspect was, to my mind, so forbidding
and repulsive that I never _condescended_ to take much notice of him.
From a loquacious, good-natured and communicative old Irish woman who
sold fruit at the door I gained the intelligence that the former of
these was Mr. Keasberry the manager--the other Mr. Dimond. That Mr. D.
said I to her, seems to be a proud man. "Och, God help your poor head!"
said my informant; "it's little you know about them; by Christ, my dear,
there's more pride in one of these make-games that live by the shilling
of you and me, and the likes of us, than in all the lords in the
parliament house of Dublin, aye and the lord-lieutenant along with them,
though he is an Englishman, and of course you know as proud as the devil
can make him:--not but the old fellow is good enough, and can be very
agreeable to poor people," My first act of extravagance in Bristol was
giving this poor woman three half-pence for an orange, and making her
eat a piece of it; a favour which many years after she had not
forgotten."

"I believe it was on the fourth day of my standing sentinel," continued
H. "that the old gentleman passing by me, I made him a bow of more than
ordinary reverence. The Irishwoman's character of him had great weight
with me, and my opinions and feelings were transferred to my salute. He
walked on a few steps, halted, looked back, muttered something to
himself and went on. I thought he was going to speak, and was so dashed,
I wished myself away; yet when he did not speak, I was more than ever
unhappy. He returned again with two or three people about him in
conversation; his eye glanced upon me, but he went on without speaking
to me, and I left the place--for, said I to myself, if this man does not
notice me, none of them will. Discouraged and chop fallen I returned to
Broad-mead, and on my way began, for the first time, to reflect with
uneasiness upon my situation.

"Next day, however, I returned to the charge,