ed him, as I retired, observing me through a window. Incensed
at this discovery, I went to a coffee-house hard by, and, inclosing his
lordship's letter in one from myself, demanded a categorical answer.
I sent it to his house by a porter, who returned in a few minutes, and
told me Mr. Brayer would be glad to see me at that instant. I obeyed
the summons, and was received with such profusion of compliments and
apologies, that my resentment immediately subsided, and I was even in
pain for the concern which this holiest man showed at the mistake of his
servant, who, it seems, had been ordered to deny him to everybody but
me. He expressed the utmost veneration for his good and noble friend,
Lord Rattle, whom he should always be proud to serve; promised to peruse
the play with all dispatch, and give me a meeting upon it: and, as a
testimony of his esteem, made me a present of a general order for the
season, by which I should be admitted to any part of the theatre. This
was a very agreeable compliment to ma, whose greatest pleasure consisted
in seeing dramatic performances, and you need not doubt that I often
availed myself of my privilege. As I had an opportunity of being behind
the scenes when I pleased, I frequently conversed with Mr. Brayer about
my play, and asked when he meant to put it into rehearsal; but he
had always so much business upon his hands, that it remained with
him unopened a considerable while; and I became very uneasy about the
season, that wasted apace, when I saw in the papers another new play
advertised, which had been written, offered, accepted, and rehearsed,
in the compass of three months. You may easily guess how much I was
confounded at this event! I own to you that, in the first transports of
my anger, I suspected Mr. Brayer of having acted towards me in the most
pitiful perfidious manner; and was actually glad at his disappointment
in the success of his favourite piece, which, by the strength of art,
lingered till the third night, and then died in a deplorable manner. But
now that passion has no share in my reflection, I am willing to ascribe
his behaviour to his want of memory or want of judgment, which, you
know, are natural defects, that are more worthy of compassion than
reproach.

"About this time I happened to be in company with a gentlewoman, who,
having heard of my tragedy, told me, she was well acquainted with the
wife of a gentleman who was very well known to a lady, who had great
inter