vehicle, the theatre, which hurries down the rough road of
life a load of passengers quite as promiscuous and impatient. The odor
of the summer-fields gave me less delight than that which exhaled from
the foot-lights; and the wild forest-scenes were less enchanting than
those transitory views which honest John Leslie nightly presented to
the audience, too often "few" if not "fit." There is something, too,
in the off-hand, taking-luck-as-it-comes sort of life among actors,
which to me was especially attractive; and I was not long in making
the acquaintance of many. But the memory of one among the number
lingers with me still, with more mingled feelings of pain and pleasure
than that of any other. Poor Penn--, I will not write his name in
full, lest, should he be living, it might meet his eye and give his
good-natured heart a moment's discomfort. To him more than any other
my nature warmed, as did his to me, until we were cemented in
friendship. What pleasant rambles of summer-afternoons, after
rehearsal; what delightful nights when the play was done, what songs,
recitations and professional anecdotes were ours, no one but ourselves
can know. The character he most loved to play was Crack, in the
"Turnpike Gate." Poor Penn--! I can see him yet--"Some gentleman has
left his beer--another one will drink it!" How admirably he made that
point! But that is gone by, and he may ere this have made his last
point and final exit. After six months of the closest intimacy, I
suddenly missed my hitherto daily companion, and all inquiries at his
boarding-house and the theatre proved fruitless. For days I frequented
our old haunts, but in vain; he had vanished, leaving no trace to tell
of the course he had taken. I seemed altogether forsaken--utterly
lost--and felt as if I looked like a pump without a handle--a cart
with but one wheel--a shovel without the tongs--or the second volume
of a novel, which, because somebody has carried off the first, is of
no interest to any one. At last a week went by, and I sauntered down
to the ferry, and stepping aboard the boat suffered myself to be
conveyed to the opposite shore. On the bank stood the United States
barracks, and gathered about were groups of soldiers, looking as
listless and unwarlike as if they had just joined the "peace-league."
But their present quiet was only like that of a summer sea, which
would bear unharmed the slightest shallop that ever maiden put from
shore, but when battling