he greatest actor and the truest gentleman our
English stage has ever seen--John Philip Kemble."

And he raised his hat with sincere reverence. We too had heard--at
least John had--of this wonderful man.

I saw the fascination of Mr. Charles's society was strongly upon him.
It was no wonder. More brilliant, more versatile talent I never saw.
He turned "from grave to gay, from lively to severe"--appearing in all
phases like the gentleman, the scholar, and the man of the world. And
neither John nor I had ever met any one of these characters, all so
irresistibly alluring at our age.

I say OUR, because though I followed where he led, I always did it of
my own will likewise.

The afternoon began to wane, while we, with our two companions, yet sat
talking by the brook-side. Mr. Charles had washed his face, and his
travel-sore, blistered feet, and we had induced him, and the man he
called Yates, to share our remnants of bread and cheese.

"Now," he said, starting up, "I am ready to do battle again, even with
the Thane of Fife--who, to-night, is one Johnson, a fellow of six feet
and twelve stone. What is the hour, Mr. Halifax?"

"Mr. Halifax"--(I felt pleased to hear him for the first time so
entitled)--had, unfortunately, no watch among his worldly possessions,
and candidly owned the fact. But he made a near guess by calculating
the position of his unfailing time-piece, the sun.--It was four o'clock.

"Then I must go. Will you not retract, young gentlemen? Surely you
would not lose such a rare treat as 'Macbeth,' with--I will not say my
humble self--but with that divine Siddons. Such a woman! Shakspeare
himself might lean out of Elysium to watch her. You will join us?"

John made a silent, dolorous negative; as he had done once or twice
before, when the actor urged us to accompany him to Coltham for a few
hours only--we might be back by midnight, easily.

"What do you think, Phineas?" said John, when we stood in the
high-road, waiting for the coach; "I have money--and--we have so little
pleasure--we would send word to your father. Do you think it would be
wrong?"

I could not say; and to this minute, viewing the question nakedly in a
strict and moral sense, I cannot say either whether or no it was an
absolute crime; therefore, being accustomed to read my wrong or right
in "David's" eyes, I remained perfectly passive.

We waited by the hedge-side for several minutes--Mr. Charles ceased his
urging, half i