Well, sir, away to London I rattled in a tandem, determined to take the
town gaily. I passed through several of the villages where I had played
the jack-pudding a few years before; and I visited the scenes of many
of my adventures and follies, merely from that feeling of melancholy
pleasure which we have in stepping again into the footprints of
foregone existence, even when they have passed among weeds and briars.
I made a circuit in the latter part of my journey, so as to take in
West End and Hempstead, the scenes of my last dramatic exploit, and of
the battle royal of the booth. As I drove along the ridge of Hempstead
Hill, by Jack Straw's castle, I paused at the spot where Columbine and
I had sat down so disconsolately in our ragged finery, and looked
dubiously upon London. I almost expected to see her again, standing on
the hill's brink, "like Niobe all tears;"--mournful as Babylon in
ruins!
"Poor Columbine!" said I, with a heavy sigh, "thou wert a gallant,
generous girl--a true woman, faithful to the distressed, and ready to
sacrifice thyself in the cause of worthless man!"
I tried to whistle off the recollection of her; for there was always
Something of self-reproach with it. I drove gayly along the road,
enjoying the stare of hostlers and stable-boys as I managed my horses
knowingly down the steep street of Hempstead; when, just at the skirts
of the village, one of the traces of my leader came loose.
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