prudent enough to throw away two shillings for a
seat in the gallery, which left him with only ninepence in
his pocket. Wishing your work success,

"I am yours obediently,

"_An old friend of John Hodgkinson._"

Upon mentioning this to another most intimate friend of the deceased in
this city, he said that he was sure the fact was so, as H. had more than
once mentioned it to him in the chitchat of their convivial hours.

Of his theatrical employment while a boy at Bristol, he was not in the
habit of mentioning particulars. Either there was nothing interesting in
it as a story, or it was so low that he felt no pleasure in dwelling
upon it. He helped to make up the crowd in a spectacle and occasionally
delivered letters and short messages on the stage: but his most
important and useful occupation was singing in choruses. In the dirge in
Romeo and Juliet he had a part allotted him, and never could forget the
mortification he felt when a person of consequence inquired of the
manager which of the _ladies_ it was that so far exceeded all the rest
in the power and sweetness of her voice. The praises bestowed on his
voice were poison to his ambitious young heart, when coupled with an
impeachment of his manhood.

There is one anecdote, however, of which though this writer has but an
obscure recollection, he thinks worth mentioning, as it serves to throw
a small ray of light upon one of H's characteristic foibles. One
evening, being in full glee, and talking of his early life to this
writer and three or four more of his acquaintances, he said that the
first time he ever received, specifically on his own account, the
slightest mark of applause was on this occasion. He had a letter to
deliver in a certain play or farce of the name of which the writer has
not at this moment the slightest recollection. The person to whom he was
to give the letter was, according to the plan of the piece, in very
ridiculous circumstances, scuffling with his wife, which he vainly
endeavoured to conceal. After handing him the letter it was H's business
to retire; but the comedian acted his part so naturally and looked so
ridiculously rueful, that it completely discomposed the boy's nerves, so
that just as he got to the side wing, and was about to disappear, he
could not help turning about and looking back at the man, and in spite
of him burst into a fit of laughter, which he endeavoured to suppress by
putting hi