Whilst the ship was lying at Limehouse, my Father and another of the apprentices obtained leave, on a Sunday, to go on shore and visit the great Metropolis, where they met with another, and to them a previously unknown, species of adventure. On reaching the city they were accosted by a man dressed in regimentals (apparently a serjeant), who, pretending that he was a Yorkshireman and knew them, contrived to insinuate himself into their confidence, and offered to guide them in their object of sight-seeing, remarking particularly that they had a fine opportunity of seeing the King, who was about to attend a general review in Hyde Park. Catching at a suggestion so naturally pleasant, they, without an idea of mistrust, put themselves under his, apparently, friendly guidance, and proceeded in the direction of the Park. On reaching Temple Bar he invited them to accompany him into an eating-house, where he ordered refreshments. But the landlady, on making her appearance—a respectable and benevolent person, as they subsequently had good reason to know—observed and surveyed the little party with a very unusual kind of scrutiny, first looking the soldier sternly in the face, and then, with an expression relaxed into compassion, turned her gaze on his youthful and obviously too confiding associates. Repeating her scrutiny of their pretended friend till assured of his identity, she addressed him with an air of stern authority, and commanded him to leave the house. The man affecting surprise, and ‘presuming that she must have mistaken him,’ endeavoured, by a well-practised self-possession, to avoid the threatened defeat of his insidious purpose. But she, persisting in her knowledge and accusation of him, and threatening to call in a constable to her aid, succeeded in causing him to feel that it might be for his safety to take himself off. On his departure she turned to the wondering young sailors, and to this effect addressed them:—“I perceive, young men, you are from the country, and are strangers in London. I am from the country myself, but I know that man to be a villain. Not long since he stole some articles from this very house, and I am fully assured he will wait for you to get you trepanned; you shall therefore not leave my house this night.” They accordingly remained her guests till the morning, when she allowed them to depart for their ship; but on offering her compensation for her kindness, she refused to take anything more than was barely sufficient to pay for their moderate refreshments. “This act of generous friendship,” remarks the writer of the Memoir, “deserves to be recorded on three accounts: first, for the honour of our common nature; secondly, to be contrasted with the villany of the pretended soldier; and thirdly, to illustrate the watchful Providence of God.” * * * * *