Toward the close of 1762 he removed to "merry Islington," then a country
village, though now swallowed up in omnivorous London. He went there for
the benefit of country air, his health being injured by literary
application and confinement, and to be near his chief employer, Mr.
Newbery, who resided in the Canonbury House. In this neighborhood he used
to take his solitary rambles, sometimes extending his walks to the gardens
of the White Conduit House, so famous among the essayists of the last
century. While strolling one day in these gardens, he met three females of
the family of a respectable tradesman to whom he was under some obligation.
With his prompt disposition to oblige, he conducted them about the garden,
treated them to tea, and ran up a bill in the most open-handed manner
imaginable; it was only when he came to pay that he found himself in one of
his old dilemmas--he had not the wherewithal in his pocket. A scene of
perplexity now took place between him and the waiter, in the midst of which
came up some of his acquaintances, in whose eyes he wished to stand
particularly well. This completed his mortification. There was no
concealing the awkwardness of his position. The sneers of the waiter
revealed it.
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