Launcelot Gobbo.

Mark me now: Now will I raise the waters.
Merchant of Venice.
The theatre at Fairport had opened, but no Mr.Lovel appeared on the boards, nor was there anything in the habits or deportment of the young gentleman so named, which authorised Mr.Oldbuck's conjecture that his fellow-traveller was a candidate for the public favour.

Regular were the Antiquary's inquiries at an old-fashioned barber who dressed the only three wigs in the parish which, in defiance of taxes and times, were still subjected to the operation of powdering and frizzling, and who for that purpose divided his time among the three employers whom fashion had yet left him; regular, I say, were Mr.Oldbuck's inquiries at this personage concerning the news of the little theatre at Fairport, expecting every day to hear of Mr.Lovel's appearance; on which occasion the old gentleman had determined to put himself to charges in honour of his young friend, and not only to go to the play himself, but to carry his womankind along with him.

But old Jacob Caxon conveyed no information which warranted his taking so decisive a step as that of securing a box.
He brought information, on the contrary, that there was a young man residing at Fairport, of whom the town (by which he meant all the gossips, who, having no business of their own, fill up their leisure moments by attending to that of other people) could make nothing.

He sought no society, but rather avoided that which the apparent gentleness of his manners, and some degree of curiosity, induced many to offer him.
Nothing could be more regular, or less resembling an adventurer, than his mode of living, which was simple, but so completely well arranged, that all who had any transactions with him were loud in their approbation.
"These are not the virtues of a stage-struck hero," thought Oldbuck to himself; and, however habitually pertinacious in his opinions, he must have been compelled to abandon that which he had formed in the present instance, but for a part of Caxon's communication.