(548 Memoirs of u Bashful Irishman. [Dec 



extent and frequency of my appetite — an ungenerous insinuation, whicli 

 at the time sensibly affected me. 



Just at this crisis of my affairs, when it became too manifest that I 

 must, ere long, swell the list of fashionable arrivals at the King's Bencli, 

 I received a visit from my old ship acquaintance, the Bath actor, who, 

 after listening to a detail of my misfortunes, advised me to accompany 

 him on a strolling tour through Ireland. Needs must when the devil 

 drives, and accordingly we set forward on our expedition. Our success, 

 like our abilities, was various. In one place we picked up a few pounds 

 by our Hamlets, Romeos, and Pierres, in another, by eating fire, and 

 catching two brass balls between our teeth, and, in Coi-k, gained im- 

 mortal credit by our imitations of a squeaking pig. 



But by far the most amusing adventure that befel us, was one which took 

 place at a village barn near Limerick. We had announced for representa- 

 tion a melo-drame, in which was to be introduced — painted expressly for 

 the occasion — a view of the Lakes of Killarney. The announcement took 

 prodigiously, and on the appointed niglit, the house was crowded to 

 suffocation. So far all was well ; but, unluckily, just at the moment 

 when we were preparing to draw up the curtain, we discovered that our 

 scene-painter, in revenge for some real or fancied affront offered him by 

 the manager, had inoculated the entire landscape with pitch ; and, not 

 content with this lively sample of independence, had actually eloped 

 from the scene of action, and, accompanied by the treasurer, carried off 

 with him the night's proceeds. Here was a pretty dilemma ! What, in 

 the name of fortune, was to be done } This question Ave kept perpe- 

 tually asking each other, but, alas ! not one of us could answer it. 



IMeantime the audience became clamorous for the curtain to draw up. 

 Oaths, squalls, shouts of laughter and threats of vengeance, rung in every 

 direction, and even the orchestra — notwithstanding it consisted of two 

 fiddles and a hurdy-gurdy — failed to allay the storm. In this predica- 

 ment our manager proposed an appeal to the audience. But here again 

 a difficulty presented itself. Who was to be the spokesman ? Each 

 declined the honour in favour of the other, until, at length, it was re- 

 solved nem. con,, that we should, all of us, attempt our escape out of a 

 window in the rear of the stage, such being the only secret mode of exit 

 that presented itself. The manager was the first to make the experi- 

 ment, and being, in consequence of the failure of the last year's crop of 

 potatoes, of a thin spare habit, he succeeded to his heart's content. The 

 rest followed in rotation, vuitil it came to the manager's wife's turn, who, 

 unlike her husband, was an immensely fat woman, of singular exuber- 

 ance in the rear, and who consequently stuck fast in the window with Iier 

 neck and shoulders out, but the rest of her person hanging suspended 

 over the stage. In this grotesque condition she kicked, shoved, and 

 strove to wriggle herself through the aperture, but in vain, her obesity 

 put a veto on all hopes of emancipation. I think I never saw a closer 

 fit : she seemed actually made for the window. 



At this juncture I was the only one left ujion the stage. There was 

 evidently no chance of escape ; so, as a last resource — for the audience 

 had now become furious — I resolved to make a virtue of necessity, and 

 indulge them with the promised exhibition. Summoning, therefore, the 

 orchestra to my assistance, I bid them strike up " St. Patrick's Day," 

 and then ringing a dustman's bell, which our manager had borrowed 

 for the use of the prompter, drew up the curtain, advanced in front of 



