this gentleman,' continued he, 'seems born
to tread the stage. His voice, his figure, and attitudes, are all
admirable. We caught him up accidentally in our journey down.' This
account, in some measure, excited our curiosity, and, at the entreaty
of the ladies, I was prevailed upon to accompany them to the play-house,
which was no other than a barn. As the company with which I went was
incontestably the chief of the place, we were received with the greatest
respect, and placed in the front seat of the theatre; where we sate for
some time with no small impatience to see Horatio make his appearance.
The new performer advanced at last, and let parents think of my
sensations by their own, when I found it was my unfortunate son. He was
going to begin, when, turning his eyes upon the audience, he perceived
Miss Wilmot and me, and stood at once speechless and immoveable.
The actors behind the scene, who ascribed this pause to his natural
timidity, attempted to encourage him; but instead of going on, he burst
into a flood of tears, and retired off the stage. I don't know what were
my feelings on this occasion; for they succeeded with too much rapidity
for description: but I was soon awaked from this disagreeable reverie by
Miss Wilmot, who, pale and with a trembling voice, desired me to conduct
her back to her uncle's. When got home, Mr Arnold, who was as yet a
stranger to our extraordinary behaviour, being informed that the new
performer was my son, sent his coach, and an invitation, for him; and as
he persisted in his refusal to appear again upon the stage, the players
put another in his place, and we soon had him with us. Mr Arnold gave
him the kindest reception, and I received him with my usual transport;
for I could never counterfeit false resentment. Miss Wilmot's reception
was mixed with seeming neglect, and yet I could perceive she acted a
studied part. The tumult in her mind seemed not yet abated; she said
twenty giddy things that looked like joy, and then laughed loud at
her own want of meaning. At intervals she would take a sly peep at the
glass, as if happy in the consciousness of unresisting beauty, and
often would ask questions, without giving any manner of attention to the
answers.

CHAPTER 20

The history of a philosophic vagabond, pursuing novelty, but losing
content

After we had supped, Mrs Arnold politely offered to send a couple of her
footmen for my son's baggage, which he at first seemed to decli