At Dublin he was soon threatened with seizure for having broken his apprenticeship, and though his friends offered to buy his freedom, he had received a letter from his dearest at York, saying he was expected there, and he could not resist the opportunity of meeting her again. His friends were much concerned at parting with him so soon, “but my unlucky whelp that had torn my new hat to pieces seemed no wise affected by my taking boat; so I let the rascal stay with my dear parents, who were fond of him for my sake, as he was of them for his own.” After a stay of a few months at York, he came to London, resolved to scrape and save money enough to warrant him offering a home to “Mrs. Alice Guy,” and in 1817 he became free of the City of London, and set to work in grim earnest, “many times from five in the morning till twelve at night, and frequently without food from breakfast till five or six in the evening, through hurry with hawkers;” for at times he was in a ballad-house, now toiling at case, now writing “last words and confessions,” now reporting sermons “for a crown piece and a pair of breeches”--(profitable penny-a-lining that!)--again printing treasonable papers, for which he was seized by the authorities; and pirating and abridging “Robinson Crusoe,” the first part of which appeared in 1717, for which greater crime he went scot free. Occasionally he went home, but scarcely found it worth his while to stay in Dublin, and his parents’ “melting tears caused mine to flow, and bedewed my pillow every night after that I lodged with them. ‘What, Tommy,’ my mother would sometimes say, ‘this English damsel of yours, I suppose, is the chiefest reason why you slight us and your native country! Well,’ added she, ‘the ways of Providence are unsearchable.’” Gent, however, “provident overmuch,” made the heart of his English damsel sick with hope deferred--and “yet” he writes, “I could not well help it. I had a little money, it is very true, but no certain home wherein to invite her. I knew she was well fixed; and it pierced me to the very heart to think if through any miscarriage or misfortune I should alter her condition for the worse instead of the better. Upon this account my letters to her at this time were not so amorously obliging as they ought to have been from a sincere lover; by which she had reason, however she might have been mistaken, to think that I had failed in my part of those tender engagements which had passed between us.”