fter contemplating it for a
moment, I changed my opinion as to the expediency of getting under that
surface, and walked resolutely off towards London; not with any idea of
seeking my father and mother, but simply with that goal in view, as the
end of my walk.

Half-way thither, however, I became tired, and hot, and hungry, and
perhaps a little daunted by my own undertaking. I have said that between
Craven Hill and Tyburn turnpike there then was only a stretch of open
fields, with a few cottages scattered over them. In one of these lived a
poor woman who was sometimes employed to do needlework for us, and who,
I was sure, would give me a bit of bread and butter, and let me rest; so
I applied to her for this assistance. Great was the worthy woman's
amazement when I told her that I was alone, on my way to London; greater
still, probably, when I informed her that my intention was to apply for
an engagement at one of the theatres, assuring her that nobody with
talent need ever want for bread. She very wisely refrained from
discussing my projects, but, seeing that I was tired, persuaded me to
lie down in her little bedroom and rest before pursuing my way to town.
The weather was oppressively hot, and having lain down on her bed, I
fell fast asleep. I know not for how long, but I was awakened by the
sudden raising of the latch of the house door, and the voice of my aunt
Dall inquiring of my friendly hostess if she had seen or heard anything
of me.

I sat up breathless on the bed, listening, and looking round the room
perceived another door than the one by which I had entered it, which
would probably have given me egress to the open fields again, and
secured my escape; but before I could slip down from the bed and resume
my shoes, and take advantage of this exit, my aunt and poor Mrs. Taylor
entered the room, and I was ignominiously captured and taken home; I
expiated my offence by a week of bread and water, and daily solitary
confinement in a sort of tool-house in the garden, where my only
occupation was meditation, the "clear-obscure" that reigned in my prison
admitting of no other.

This was not cheerful, but I endeavored to make it appear as little the
reverse as possible, by invariably singing at the top of my voice
whenever I heard footsteps on the gravel walk near my place of
confinement.

Finally I was released, and was guilty of no further outrage before my
departure for Paris, whither I went with my mother and Mr