I had, through the interference of my new acquaintances, got introduced to the Manager of the Theatre at Edinburgh, who was pleased with my manner and appearance. The day was fixed on which I was to make my trial. I had now attained the summit of my first ambition. I had not the most distant doubt of my success. Universal applause, crowded houses, and wealth, all danced before my imagination. Intoxicated with joy, I went home to my parents. Never shall the agony of their looks be effaced from my memory. My mother’s grief was loud and heart-rending, but my father’s harrowed up my very soul. It was the look of despair--the expression of his blasted prospects he had so long looked forward to, with hopes and joy,--hopes, that had supported him in all his toil and privations, crushed in the dust. It was too much; his eyes at length filled with tears, and, raising them to heaven, he only said, or rather groaned, “God, thy ways are just and wise--thou hast seen it necessary to punish my foolish partiality and pride. But, O God! forgive the instrument of my punishment.” Must I confess, I turned upon my heel and said, with the most cool indifference, (so much had the indulgence of my former life blunted my feelings towards my parents,) “When I am courted and praised by all, and have made you independent, you will think otherwise of my choice.” “Never, never,” he replied,--“you bring my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave."--“Thomas, Thomas, you will have our deaths to answer for,” was all my mother could say;--tears and sobs choked her utterance. I was immoveable in my resolves. The bills were printed, and I had given my word. This was the last time I ever saw them both. The scene has embittered all my former days, and still haunts me in all my hours of thought. Often, like an avenging spirit, it starts up in my most tranquil hours, and deprives me of my peace. Often, in the dead of night, when on duty, a solitary sentinel, has it wrung from my breast a groan of remorse. Scarce had I left the house, when a sensation of horror at what I had done pierced my heart. I thought the echo of my steps sounded, “You will have our deaths to answer for."--I started, and turned back to throw myself at the feet of my parents, and implore their forgiveness.--Already I was at the door, when I met one of my new acquaintances, who inquired what detained me? I said, “I must not go; my parents are against my going, and I am resolved to obey them.” He laughed at my weakness, as he called it. I stood unmoved. Then, with an affected scorn, he said I was afraid, conscious I was unable to perform what I had taken upon me. Fired by his taunts, my good resolves vanished, and I once more left my parents’ door, resolved to follow the bent of my own inclinations.