xcitement. Such was the
case with me for some time. I had now been under Bramble's tuition for
more than a year and a half, and was consequently between fifteen and
sixteen years old. The years from 1800 to the end of 1804 were of this
description in my stream of life, unmarked by any peculiar or stirring
events worthy of occupying the attention of my readers. It is therefore
my intention, in this chapter, to play the part of the chorus in the old
plays, and sum up the events in few words, so as not to break the chain
of history, at the same time that I shall prepare my readers for what
subsequently took place.

I will first speak of myself. Up to the age of nineteen I continued my
career under the care of Bramble; we seldom remained long on shore, for
neither Bramble nor I found home so agreeable since little Bessy had
been sent to school, and Mrs. Maddox, assisted by a little girl, had
charge of the house; indeed, Bramble appeared resolved to make all the
money he could, that he might the sooner be able to give up his
profession. Mrs. Maddox I have spoken little of, because I had seen but
little of her; now that she was downstairs, I will not say I saw, but I
certainly heard too much of her, for she never ceased talking; not that
she talked loud or screamed out--on the contrary, she was of a mild
amiable temper, but could not hold her tongue. If she could not find any
_one_ to talk to she would talk to any _thing_; if she was making the
fire she would apostrophize the sticks for not burning properly. I
watched her one morning as she was kneeling down before the grate:

"Now, stick, you must go in," said she; "it's no use your resisting, and
what's more, you must burn, and burn quickly too--d'ye hear? or the
kettle won't boil in time for breakfast. Be quick, you little
fellow--burn away and light the others, there's a good boy." Here she
knocked down the tongs. "Tongs, be quiet; how dare you make that noise?"
Then, as she replaced them, "Stand up, sir, in your place until you are
wanted. Now, poker, your turn's coming, we must have a stir directly.
Bless me, smoke, what's the matter with you now? can't you go up the
chimney? You can't pretend to say the wind blows you down this fine
morning, so none of your vagaries. Now, fender, it's your turn--stand
still till I give you a bit of a rub. There, now you're all right.
Table, you want your face washed--your master has spilled his grog last
night--there now, you look as