Coldness on his part was met by a spirit of resistance on mine.  Pride came in to my assistance.  A dispute arose one evening, at the finale of which I gave him to understand that if I could not live quietly under his roof, I would quit it.  He calmly recommended me to do so, little supposing that I should have taken his advice.  I left the room, banging the door after me, packed up a few changes of linen, and took my departure, unperceived by any one, with my bundle on my shoulder, and about sixteen shillings in my pocket.

Here was a great mismanagement on the part of my father, and still greater on mine.  He was anxious to get me afloat again, and I had no sort of objection to going; but his impatience and my pride spoiled all.  Reflection soon came to me, but came too late.  Night was fast approaching:  I had no house over my head, and my exchequer was in no very flourishing condition.

I had walked six miles from my father’s house, when I began to tire.  It became dark, and I had no fixed plan.  A gentleman’s carriage came by; I took up a position in the rear of it, and had ridden four miles, when, as the carriage was slowly dragging up a hill, I was discovered by the parties inside; and the postilion, who had dismounted and been informed of it, saluted me with two or three smart cuts of his whip, intimating that I was of no use, but rather an incumbrance which could be dispensed with.

My readers know that I had long since adopted the motto of our northern neighbours, Nemo me, &c.; so waiting very quietly till the driver had mounted his horses, at the top of the hill, that he might be more at my mercy, I discharged a stone at his head which caused him to vacate his seat, and fall under his horse’s belly.  The animals, frightened at his fall, turned short round to the right, or they would have gone over him, and ran furiously down the hill.  The post-boy, recovering his legs, followed his horses without bestowing a thought on the author of the mischief; and I made all the haste I could in the opposite direction, perfectly indifferent as to the fate of the parties inside of the carriage, for I still smarted with the blows I had received.

“Fools and unkind,” muttered I, looking back, as they disappeared at the bottom of the hill, with frightful velocity, “you are rightly served.  I was a trespasser, ’tis true, but a civil request would have had all the effect you required—­that of inducing me to get down; but a whip to me—­” And with my blood still boiling at the recollection, I hastily pursued my journey.

In a few minutes I reached the little town of ——­, the lights of which were visible at the time the horses had turned down the hill and run away.  Entering the first inn I came to, I found the large room below occupied by a set of strolling players, who had just returned from a successful performance of “Romeo and Juliet;” and, from the excitement among them, it was easy to perceive that their success had been fully equal to their expectations.  They were fourteen in number, seated round a table, not indifferently covered with the good things of this life; they were clad in theatrical costume, which, with the rapid circulation of the bottle, gave the whole scene an air of romantic freedom, calculated to interest the mind of a thoughtless half-pay midshipman.