whether it would suit him to play one of the songs of Lionel? Certainly, he replied, which of them? "Oh dry those Tears," said our juvenile hero: a murmur escaped them all, as if they thought his vanity was carrying him too far. "Try him, by all means try him," said Mr. K.—The boy sung—their surprise was now raised to astonishment—and Mr. K. patting him on the head, emphatically said to him, "My boy, you'll never be a candle snuffer. For the present, however, you may carry a letter—or something more perhaps." He then interrogated him—"have you ever been about a theatre:—perhaps your parents are?"—"No sir, I never had the sole of my foot on a stage till now." "Where then did you first learn to sing?" "In our church sir." "Your church! where is your church?" Here finding that he had got into a dilemma, he hesitated and blushed: "a number of other boys and I practised music together, sir." "But where?"—then perceiving the boy's distress, Mr. K. shifted the question and said, "So much for your singing, but where, in God's name, did you learn to accompany your singing with such action; which I declare, said he, turning to the people on the stage, wants little to be what I should call perfect for a singer?" "We boys, sir, acted plays together." "And you played—" "Several parts, sir." "You surprise me, boy!" "Well," said he, "call upon this gentleman tomorrow morning betimes, and he will converse with you." He then turned to the person who was acting as prompter, and whispered him, when Hodgkinson, after getting the gentleman's direction, made his bow. As he was going down the passage a lad followed him and told him the manager had sent to let him know that if he pleased he might come on the stage that evening during the performance.

Never before had our adventurer experienced such transporting sensations. To use his own words, his head whirled and sung again with delight. Instead of going straight back to Broad-mead, he walked about the square plunged in a delicious reverie—perfectly insensible of hunger or fatigue he continued on the stride, up the river side and down, then about the square again—then here, then there, in short he knew not whither nor why, wholly forgetful of home, dinner, and every thing till some time after the playhouse opened, when going to the stage-door he was admitted, and when he got behind the scenes, was kindly accosted by some, questioned very impertinently, and curiously by others, and stared at by all. The after-piece for the night was "the Contrivances," which he had never seen or heard of before. He was vastly taken with the song of "Make haste and away my only dear;" and as he passed down from the stage, hummed it to himself; on which one of the gentlemen of the band who was near him accosted him, "Hah, master Henry, is it you?—you have practised every piece on the stage, one would think—and the Contrivances has not escaped you." "My name is not Henry, sir—my name is John." "Well, Master John then, I beg your pardon, but you have been at Rover I see." "No, sir, I never saw or heard of the Contrivances till this night's performance." "You can't say so," said the other, "you have learned that song before, assuredly!" "Upon my word it is a truth, sir; I never heard it before tonight." "Do me the favour to hum it over again for me," said the musician. Hodgkinson complied. "Why you have the words of the song as well as the air." "Of one verse only, sir: but the next time, I shall catch the whole of it." The musician expressed his astonishment, and asked the boy where he lodged; to which John replied, "Off this way, sir," and ran away as fast as he could to Broad-mead, where he was resolved it should not be known, for sometime, at least, that he had any connexion with the theatre.

When he reached his hospitable landlord and family, he found that they had all been in great consternation at his absence. He had that morning spoken to his friend John the ostler, about selling his silver buckles, in order to pay his bill, and the generous souls were all afraid that he was in distress. "Hast thee eat nothing since breakfast," said the good man; "Lauk! why thee must be famished—what bewitched thee to stay away from thy meals, child," cried the wife, "tis very bad for a young thing like thee to fast," said another: and numberless other kind and tender expostulations were uttered by the good people one and all, while ostler John who was more frightened about him than any of them, and could not get the naughty players out of his head, coming in said with affectionate surliness, "Soh! thee'st come back, be thee?—Ecod thee deservst to ha thee jacket trimmed, so thee dost—a young tuoad like thee to stay out, God knows where, to this time o' night?" "Dont be angry John," replied our adventurer, "dont be angry—and as to trimming, John, it is not in thy jacket, to trim my jacket John—so go to your hayloft and dont make a fool of thyself!" In saying this he mimicked John's clownish lingo so nearly that the family burst out laughing, and John went off, growling out that he believed the devil or his imps the player fellers had got possession of the boy.

"John is thy friend," said the landlord, "he was quite down o' the mouth about thee." "And I love and thank John," said Hodgkinson, "but I could not help making fun of him for his talking of beating me. I accidentally met with a friend who offered to bring me to the play, and I was so glad I never thought of dinner." "Well come now," then said the good man, "pay away upon that beef—lay in dinner and supper at once, my boy, and thee shall have a cann of as good yeal as any in Somersetshire, and moreover than all that it shall cost thee nothing but the trouble of drinking it—so here's to thee, my boy." The worthy man drank, and his wife drank, and son and daughter, and all drank, and H. told them all about the play, and sung, "Make haste and away my only dear," for them, to their great delight. He was then too innocent and too young to direct it to the young lady of the house, or it is more than probable that she would have been more delighted with it, than any of them.

The next morning early he waited on Mr. ——,[B] the prompter, who told him that Mr. K—— desired that he would keep about the theatre, and make himself as useful as he could in anything that might occur, till something could be done for him. He accordingly attended it diligently, examining and watching every thing done and every body that did it, and storing his young mind with useful knowledge of the profession. What his pittance was, he never told this writer, who therefore concludes it must have been very small, particularly as he sold his buckles, and plumed himself upon not parting with the silver seal given him by his old friend at Manchester.

(To be continued.)