, and cracking a bottle with "mine host," he will
have missed one of those days he would not have failed to mark with a
white stone.

Soberly, I do not remember ever to have met with a face and figure
which, were I a painter, I would so readily adopt for a _beau-ideal_ of
the profligate son of mirth and mischief as those of mine host o' th'
Eagle. He has a fellow feeling too with "lean Jack," is as well read in
Shakspeare as most good men, quotes him fluently and happily, honours
and loves him as he should be loved and honoured, and in himself
possesses much of the humour, much of the native wit, but not a single
trait of the less admirable portions of the fat knight's character.

Indebted to Mr. Crutenden for many pleasant hours, I will offer no
excuse for making this indifferent sketch of him here, since it in no
way trenches upon the rule I hold sacred of eschewing comment on private
persons, or details of social intercourse, where indeed, men speak
oftener from the heart than from the head. Mr. C. I look upon as a
public character, and thus I am enabled to say how much I esteem him.
Should he be wroth, I vow, if I ever should visit Albany again, never to
make one at the "Feast of Shells." On the contrary, I'll fly the Eagle;
forswear "the villanous company" of mine host; I'll disclaim him,
renounce him, "and d--n me if ever I call him Jack again."

The theatre here is a handsome building, and well adapted to the
purpose for which it was designed; but is, I believe, worse supported
than any other on this continent. I had been advised not to visit the
city professionally; but being strongly solicited by the worthy manager,
"mischief lay in my way, and I found it."

I feel compelled in honesty to state the facts of this trip, though no
way flattering to my powers of attraction: however, if there be anything
unpleasant to relate, I ever find it better to tell of oneself, than
leave it to the charity of good-natured friends. The only disagreement I
ever had with an audience, in fact, occurred here, and roundly, thus it
happened.

On the evening when I was advertised to make my _debut_ to an Albany
audience, I at my usual hour walked to the house, dressed, and was
ready; but when, half an hour after the time of beginning, I went on to
the stage, there were not ten persons in the house. The stage-director
and myself now held a consultation on the unpromising aspect of our
affairs. He ascribed the unusually deserted co