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“Some benevolent lady, about this time, raised a subscription for me; but as I had now an easy means of supporting myself, and as I every day beheld numbers of my countrymen, nearly in the condition in which I was when I first went to the Rummer, I thought it was not fit to accept of the charitable assistance, which could be so much better bestowed upon others. Mr. S—- told me, that the lady who raised the contribution, so far from being offended, was pleased by my conduct in declining her bounty, and she undertook to dispose of as many of my netting-boxes as I could finish. She was one of the patronesses of a repository in London, which has lately been opened, called the ‘Repository for Ingenious Works.’ When she left Bristol, she desired Mr. S—- to send my boxes thither.

“My little manufacture continued to prosper–by practice I grew more and more expert, and I had no longer any fears that I should not be able to maintain myself. It was fortunate for me that I was obliged to he constantly employed: whenever I was not actually at hard work, whenever I had leisure for reflection, I was unhappy.

“A friend of Mr. S—-, who was going to London, offered to take me with him–I had some curiosity to see this celebrated metropolis, and I had hopes of meeting with some of my friends amongst the emigrants in this city–amongst all the emigrants at Bristol there was not one person with whom I had been acquainted in France.

“Impelled by these hopes, I quitted Bristol, and arrived a few weeks ago in London. Mr. S—- gave me a direction to a cabinet-maker in Leicester Fields, and I was able to pay for a decent lodging, for I was now master of what appeared to me a large sum of money–seven guineas.

“Some time after I came to town, as I was returning from a visit to an emigrant, with whom I had become acquainted, I was stopped at the corner of a street by a crowd of people– a mob, as I have been taught to call it, since I came to England–who had gathered round a blind man, a little boy, and a virago of a woman, who stood upon the steps before a print-shop door. The woman accused the boy of being a thief. The boy protested that he was innocent, and his ingenuous countenance spoke strongly in his favour. He belonged to the blind man, who, as soon as he could make himself heard, complained bitterly of the damage which had been done to his dulcimer. The mob, in their first fury, had broken it. I was interested for the man but more for the boy. Perhaps, said I to myself, he has neither father nor mother!

“When the woman, who was standing yet furious at the shop-door, had no more words for utterance, the little boy was suffered to speak in his own defence. He said, that, as he was passing by the open window of the print-shop, he put his hand in to give part of a bun which he was eating to a little dog, who was sitting on the counter, near the window; and who looked thin and miserable, as if he was half-starved. ‘But,’ continued the little boy, ‘when I put the bun to the dog’s mouth, he did not eat it; I gave him a little push to make him mind me, and he fell out of the window into my hands; and then I found that it was not a real dog, but only the picture of a dog, painted upon pasteboard. The mistress of the shop saw the dog in my hand, and snatched it away, and accused me of being a thief; so then, with the noise she made, the chairmen, who were near the door, came up, and the mob gathered, and our dulcimer was broken, and I’m very sorry for it.’ The mistress of the print-shop observed, in a loud and contemptuous tone, ‘that all this must be a lie, for that such a one as he could not have buns to give away to dogs!’–Here the blind man vindicated his boy, by assuring us that ‘he came honestly by the bun–that two buns had been given to him about an hour before this time by a young gentleman, who met him as he was coming out of a pastry-cook’s shop.’ When the mob heard this explanation, they were sorry for the mischief they had done to the blind man’s dulcimer; and, after examining it with expressions of sorrow, they quietly dispersed. I thought that I could perhaps mend the dulcimer, and I offered my services; they were gladly accepted, and I desired the man to leave it at the cabinet-maker’s, in Leicester Fields, where I lodged. In the meantime the little boy, whilst I had been examining the dulcimer, had been wiping the dirt from off the pasteboard dog, which, during the fray, had fallen into the street–‘Is it not like a real dog?’ said the boy, ‘Was it not enough to deceive any body?’