will be able to get through it in a short time, therefore will continue it in your hands, and hope you will be so obliging as to _add to it_—No, no, Sir, replied the manager, I shall give myself no farther trouble about it; as for the leaves being torn, some of the servants can give you the best account of them.—If, continued he, there had been a _procession_ in it.—Here he was interrupted, by the arrival of a person with a Harlequin’s dress, and the author laying the mangled play upon the table, took his leave, giving place to _Harlequin_—a circumstance that ought not to give him much pain, as it is no more than what the best dramatic authors both ancient and modern, have frequently done. This tragic gentleman having conducted me home, continued Sable, I was again deposited among my old acquaintance, the _occasional gentlemen_, from whose conversation I received much useful knowledge and rational entertainment. But to proceed—. My next excursion, resumed Sable, was with a person who conducted me from my habitation in Monmouth-Street, to an indifferent apartment in an alley near Chancery-Lane where he adorned himself with the military ensigns, a cockade and sword, and marched with me to a tavern in the city, where being shewn into a room, he left word if any body enquired for an officer, to shew them in to him, and seating himself he drew from his pocket a letter, in which were these words in an excellent woman’s hand.—“Dear cap. —— my papa has received your letter, and tells me he shall meet you at the time and place you have appointed—I shall be impatient to know the result of this interesting conversation, and hope it will prove favourable to you—”. This letter was directed to be left at a coffee-house in the Strand for my companion. He did not wait long before a plain decent looking tradesman was introduced to him—My comrade received him with an affected politeness, which was returned by the stranger, with an aukward civility: being both seated, the coldness of the weather was the first topic of conversation, the tradesman making a sorrowful observation on the dearness of provisions, and that coals were risen that day; the military gentleman joined in lamenting the hardness of the times, and concluded the subject by pitying the poor; the stranger then filled a bumper, and knocking his glass against the captain’s drank to their better acquaintance, which having taken off, Mr. Sirloin, (that being the stranger’s name) after a few minutes silence on both sides, began the discourse, by saying to my companion, that he believed he had received, a letter from him in relation to his daughter Susan. The captain answered, he should make no ceremony in telling him that he professed a regard for the young lady.—Young lady, says Mr. Sirloin, I beg, Sir, you’ll not young lady my daughter.—Susan is a good likely girl for that matter, but as for being a young lady, I don’t know what title she has to that.