nd acute that it was very
long before I could turn the medal round and read it on the reverse.
There, indeed, was matter for vainglory! "It was but t'other day,"
thought I, "and Lord Keldrum and his friends fancied I was their
intimate acquaintance, Jack Burgoyne; and though they soon found out the
mistake, the error led to an invitation to dinner, a delightful evening,
and, alas! that I should own, a variety of consequences, some of which
proved less delightful. Now, however, Fortune is in a more amiable
mood; she will have it that I resemble a prince. It is a project which I
neither aid nor abet; but I am not childish enough to refuse the _role_
any more than I should spoil the Christmas revelries of a country-house
by declining a part in a tableau or in private theatricals. I say, in
the one case as in the other, 'Here is Potts! make of him what you will.
Never is he happier than by affording pleasure to his friends.' To
what end, I would ask, should I rob that old lady upstairs at No. 12,
evidently a widow, and with not too many enjoyments to solace her old
age,--why should I rob her of what she herself called the proudest
episode in her life? Are not, as the moralists tell us, all our joys
fleeting? Why, then, object to this one that it may only last for a few
days? Let us suppose it only to endure throughout our journey, and the
poor old soul will be so happy, never caring for the fatignes of the
road, never fretting about the inn-keepers* charges, but delighted to
know that his Royal Highness enjoys himself, and sits over his bottle of
Chambertin every evening in the garden, apparently as devoid of care as
though he were a bagman."

I cannot say how it may be with others, but, for myself, I have always
experienced an immense sense of relief, actual repose, whenever I
personated somebody else; I felt as though I had left the man Potts
at home to rest and refresh himself, and took an airing as another
gentleman; just as I might have spared my own paletot by putting on a
friend's coat in a thunderstorm. Now I _did_ wish for a little repose, I
felt it would be good for me. As to the special part allotted me, I took
it just as an obliging actor plays Hamlet or the Cock to convenience the
manager. Mrs. Keats likes it, and, I repeat, I do not object to it.

It was evident that the old lady was not going to communicate her secret
to her companion, and this was a great source of satisfaction to me.
Whatever delusions I t