stand she was dealing hardly with me--the money was paid and gone,
and there was an end of it. Now, at the end of '62, I remember Harry
sent over a considerable remittance for the purchase of his promotion,
begging me at the same time to remember that he was in my debt, and to
draw on his agents if I had any need. He did not know how great the need
was, or how my little capital had been swallowed.

Well, to take my brother's money would delay his promotion, and I
naturally did not draw on him, though I own I was tempted; nor, knowing
my dear General Lambert's small means, did I care to impoverish him by
asking for supplies. These simple acts of forbearance my worthy brewer
must choose to consider as instances of exalted virtue. And what does
my gentleman do but write privately to my brother in America, lauding me
and my wife as the most admirable of human beings, and call upon
Madame de Bernstein, who never told me of his visit indeed, but who,
I perceived, about this time treated us with singular respect and
gentleness, that surprised me in one whom I could not but consider as
selfish and worldly. In after days I remember asking him how he had
gained admission to the Baroness? He laughed: "De Baroness!" says he.
"I knew de Baron when he was a walet at Munich, and I was a
brewer-apprentice." I think our family had best not be too curious about
our uncle the Baron.

Thus, the part of my life which ought to have been most melancholy was
in truth made pleasant by many friends, happy circumstances, and strokes
of lucky fortune. The bear I led was a docile little cub, and danced
to my piping very readily. Better to lead him about, than to hang round
booksellers' doors, or wait the pleasure or caprice of managers! My wife
and I, during our exile, as we may call it, spent very many pleasant
evenings with these kind friends and benefactors. Nor were we without
intellectual enjoyments; Mrs. Foker and Mrs. Warrington sang finely
together; and sometimes when I was in the mood, I read my own play of
Pocahontas, to this friendly audience, in a manner better than Hagan's
own, Mr. Foker was pleased to say.

After that little escapade of Miles Warrington, junior, I saw nothing
of him, and heard of my paternal relatives but rarely. Sir Miles was
assiduous at court (as I believe he would have been at Nero's), and
I laughed one day when Mr. Foker told me that he had heard on 'Change
"that they were going to make my uncle a Beer."--"A Be