way by writing to your father:  and do you stay here till you hear from me.  I should wish for the pleasure of your company at ——­ Hall; but your father has prior claims; and I hardly need tell you, that once restored and reconciled to him, I expect as long a visit as you can afford to pay me.  Think on what I have said; and, in the meantime, as I daresay your finances are not very flourishing”—­(thinks I, you are a witch!)—­“allow me to leave this ten-pound note in your hands.”  This part of his request was much more readily complied with than the other.

He left the room, as he said, to pay the bill; but I believe it was to give his fair daughter an opportunity of trying the effect of her eloquence on my proud spirit, which gave no great promise of concession.  A few minutes with her, did more than both the fathers could have effected, the most powerful motive to submission being the certainty that I could not visit at her father’s house until a reconciliation had taken place between me and mine.  I therefore told her that, at her solicitation, I would submit to any liberal terms.

This being agreed to, her father observed that the carriage was at the door, shook hands with me, and led his lovely daughter away, whose last nod and parting look confirmed all my good resolutions.

Reader, whatever you may think of the trifling incidents of the last twenty-four hours, you will find that they involved consequences of vast importance to the writer of this memoir.  Pride induced me to quit my father’s house; revenge stimulated me to an act which brought the heroine of this story on the stage, for such will Emily Somerville prove to be.  But, alas! by what fatal infatuation was Mr Somerville induced to leave me my own master at an inn, with ten pounds in my pocket, instead of taking me with him to his own residence, and keeping me till he had heard from my father?  The wisest men often err in points which at first appear of trivial importance, but which prove in the sequel to have been fraught with evil.

Left to myself, I ruminated for some time on what had occurred; and the beautiful Emily Somerville having vanished from my sight, I recollected the little fascinating actress from whom I had so suddenly parted on the preceding night; still I must say, that I was so much occupied with the charms of her successor, that I sought the society of the youthful Melpomene more with a view to beguile the time, than from any serious prepossession.

I found her in the large room, where they were all assembled.  She received me as a friend, and evinced a partiality which flattered my vanity.  In three days, I received a letter from Mr Somerville, inclosing one from my father, whose only request was, that I would return home, and meet him as if nothing unpleasant had occurred.  This I determined to do; but I had now been so long in the company of Eugenia (for that was the actress’s name), that I could not very easily part with her.  In fact, I was desperately in love, after my fashion; and though perhaps I could not with truth say the same of her, yet that she was partial to my company was evident.  I had obtained from her the history of her life, which, in the following chapter, I shall give in her own words.