In this dilemma, Fielding, having no money, obtained ten or twelves guineas of Tonson, on account of some literary work which he had then in hand. He was returning to Beaufort Buildings, jingling his guineas, when he met in the Strand an Eton chum, whom he had not seen for several years. Question and answer followed quickly as the friends shook each other's hands with beaming eyes, and then they adjourned to a tavern, where Fielding ordered dinner, that they might talk over old times. Care was given to the winds, and the hours flew on unthought of, as the showman and his old schoolfellow partook of "the feast of reason, and the flow of soul." Fielding's friend was "hard up," and the fact was no sooner divulged than his purse received the greater part of the money for which the future novelist had pledged sheets of manuscript as yet unwritten. It was past midnight when Fielding, raised by wine and friendship to the seventh heaven, reached home. In reply to the questions of his sister, who had anxiously awaited his coming, as to the cause of his long absence, he related his felicitous meeting with his former chum. "But, Harry," said Amelia, "the collector has called twice for the rates." Thus brought down to earth again, Fielding looked grave; it was the first time he had thought of the rates since leaving Tonson's shop, and he had spent at the tavern all that he had not given to his friend. But his gravity was only of a moment's duration. "Friendship," said he, "has called for the money, and had it; let the collector call again." A second application to Tonson enabled him, however, to satisfy the demands of the parish as well as those of friendship. It was in this year that the Act for licensing plays was passed, the occasion--perhaps I should say, the pretext--being the performance of Fielding's burlesque, _Pasquin_. Ministers had had their eyes upon the stage for some time, and it must be admitted that the political allusions that were indulged in on the stage were strong, and often spiced with personalities that would not be tolerated at the present day. It is doubtful, however, whether the Act would have passed the House of Commons, but for the folly of Giffard, manager of Goodman's Fields, and sometimes of a booth in Bartholomew Fair. He had a burlesque offered him, called the _Golden Princess_, so full of gross abuse of Parliament, the Privy Council, and even the King, that, impelled by loyalty, and suspecting no ulterior aims or sinister intention, he waited upon Sir Robert Walpole, and laid before him the dreadful manuscript. The minister praised Giffard for his loyalty, while he must have inwardly chuckled at the egregious folly and mental short-sightedness that could be so easily led into such a blunder. He purchased the manuscript, and made such effective use of it in the House of Commons that Parliament was as completely gulled as Giffard had been, and the Dramatic Licensing Bill became law.