strange, unnatural thing, in a manner." Sophia gave her a third guinea, and, telling her she would certainly be her friend if she mentioned nothing of what had passed, nor informed any one who she was, dismissed the girl with orders to the postboy to get the horses ready immediately. Being now left alone with her maid, she told her trusty waiting-woman that she never was more easy than at present. "I am now convinced," said she, "he is not only a villain, but a low, despicable wretch. I can forgive all rather than his exposing my name in so barbarous a manner: that renders him the object of my contempt. Yes, Honour, I am now easy, I am, indeed; I am very easy:" and then she burst into a violent flood of tears. After a short interval spent by Sophia, chiefly in crying, and assuring her maid that she was perfectly easy, Susan arrived with an account that the horses were ready, when a very extraordinary thought suggested itself to our young heroine, by which Mr. Jones would be acquainted with her hav-. ing been at the inn, in a way which, if any sparks of affection for her remained in him, would be at least some punishment for his faults.

The reader will be pleased to remember a little muff, which has had the honour of being more than once remembered already in this history. This muff, ever since the departure of Mr. Jones, had been the constant companion of Sophia by day, and her bedfellow by night; and this muff she had at this very instant upon her arm; whence she took it off with great indignation, and, having written her name with her pencil upon a piece of paper which she pinned to it, she bribed the maid to convey it into the empty bed of Mr. Jones, in which, if he did not find it, she charged her to take some method of conveying it before his eyes in the morning : then, having paid for what Mrs. Honour had eaten, in which bill was included an account for what she herself might have eaten, she mounted her horse, and, once more assuring her companion that she was perfectly easy, continued her journey.

CHAP. VI.-Containing, among other things. the ingenuity of Partridge, the madness of Jones, and the folly of Fitzpatrick. It was now past five in the morning, and other company began to rise and come to the kitchen, among

whom were the sergeant and the coachman, who, being thoroughly reconciled, made a libation, or, in the English phrase, drank a hearty cup together. In this drinking, nothing more remarkable happened than the behaviour of Partridge, who, when the sergeant drank a health to King George, repeated only the word King; nor could he be brought to utter more; for, though he was going to fight against his own cause, yet he could not be prevailed upon to drink against it.

Mr. Jones, being now returned to his own bed (but from whence he returned we must beg to be excused from relating), summoned Partridge from this agreeable company, who, after a ceremonious preface, having obtained leave to offer his advice, delivered himself as follows:-" It is, sir, an old saying, and a true one, that a wise man may sometimes learn counsel from a fool; I wish, therefore, I might be so bold as to offer you my advice, which is to return home again, and leave these horrida bella, these bloody wars, to fellows who are contented to swallow gunpowder, because they have nothing else to eat. Now everybody knows your honour wants for nothing at home; when that's the case, why should any man travel abroad?"-" Partridge," cries Jones, "thou art certainly a coward: I wish, therefore, thou wouldst return thyself, and trouble me no more." "I ask your honour's pardon," cries Partridge, "I spoke on your account more than on my own; for, as to me, Heaven knows my circumstances are bad enough, and I am so far from being afraid, that I value à pistol, or a blunderbuss, or any such thing, no more than a popgun. Every man must die once, and what signifies the manner how? besides, perhaps I may come off with the loss only of an arm or a leg. I assure you, sir, I was never less afraid in my life: and so if your honour is resolved to go on, I am resolved to follow you: but, in that case, I wish I might give my opinion. To be sure, it is a scandalous way of travelling, for a great gentleman like you to walk a-foot: now here are two or three good horses in the stable, which the landlord will certainly make no scruple of trusting you with; but if he should, I can easily contrive to take them; and let the worst come to the worst, the king would certainly pardon you, as you are going to fight in his cause."

Now as the honesty of Partridge was equal to his understanding, and both dealt only in small matters, he

would never have attempted a roguery of this kind had he not imagined it altogether safe; for he was one of those who have more consideration of the gallows than of the fitness of things; but, in reality, he thought he might have committed this felony without any danger; for besides that he doubted not but the name of Mr. Allworthy would sufficiently quiet the landlord, he conceived they should be altogether safe, whatever turn affairs might take; as Jones, he imagined, would have friends enough on one side, and as his friends would as well secure him on the other. When Mr. Jones found that Partridge was in earnest in this proposal, he very severely rebuked him, and that in such bitter terms, that the other attempted to laugh it off, and presently turned the discourse to other matters, saying, he believed they were then in a bawdy-house, and that he had with much ado prevented two wenches from disturbing his honour in the middle of the night. "Heyday!" says he, "I believe they got into your chamber whether I would or no; for here lies the muff of one of them on the ground." Indeed, as Jones returned to his bed in the dark, he had never perceived the muff on the quilt, and, in leaping into his bed, he had tumbled it on the floor. This Partridge now took up, and was going to put into his pocket, when Jones desired to see it. The muff was so very remarkable, that our hero might possibly have recollected it without the information annexed: but his memory was not put to that hard office; for at the same instant he saw and read the words "Sophia Western" upon the paper which was pinned to it. His looks now grew frantic in a moment, and he eagerly cried out, "O heavens! how came this muff here?"-"I know no more than your honour," cried Partridge; "but I saw it upon the arm of one of the women who would have disturbed you if I would have suffered them."- "Where are they?" cries Jones, jumping out of bed, and laying hold of his clothes. Many miles off, I believe, by this time," said Partridge: and now Jones, upon farther inquiry, was sufficiently assured that the bearer of this muff was no other than the lovely Sophia herself.

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The behaviour of Jones on this occasion, his thoughts, his looks, his words, his actions, were such as beggar all description. After many bitter execrations on Partridge, and not fewer on himself, he ordered the poor fellow, who was frightened out of his wits, to run down

and hire him horses at any rate; and a very few minutes afterward, having shuffled on his clothes, he hastened down stairs to execute the orders himself which he had just before given. But before we proceed to what passed on his arrival in the kitchen, it will be necessary to recur to what had happened since Partridge had first left it on his master's summons. The sergeant was just marched off with his party, when the two Irish gentlemen arose and came down stairs; both complaining that they had been so often waked by the noises in the inn, that they had never once been able to close their eyes all night.

The coach which had brought the young lady and her maid, and which, perhaps, the reader may have hitherto concluded was her own, was indeed a return coach belonging to Mr. King of Bath, one of the worthiest and honestest men that ever dealt in horseflesh, and whose coaches we heartily recommend to all our readers who travel that road; by which means they may, perhaps, have the pleasure of riding in the very coach, and being driven by the very coachman, that is recorded in this history. The coachman having but two passengers, and hearing Mr. Macklachlan was going to Bath, offerep to carry him thither at a very moderate price. He was induced to this by the report of the hostler, who said that the horse which Mr. Macklachlan had hired from Worcester would be much more pleased with returning to his friends there than to prosecute a long journey; for that the said horse was rather a two-legged than a four-legged animal. Mr. Macklachlan immediately closed with the proposal of the coachman, and, at the same time, persuaded his friend Fitzpatrick to accept of the fourth place in the coach. This conveyance the soreness of his bones made more agreeable to him than a horse; and being well assured of meeting with his wife at Bath, he thought a little delay would be of no consequence. Macklachlan, who was much the sharper man of the two, no sooner heard that this lady came from Chester, with the other circumstances which he learned from the hostler, than it came into his head that she might possibly be his friend's wife; and he presently acquainted him with this suspicion, which had never once occurred to Fitzpatrick himself. To say the truth, he was one of those compositions which Nature makes up in too great a hurry, and forgets to put any brains VOL. II.-B

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into their head. Now it happens to this sort of men, as to bad hounds, who never hit off a fault themselves; but no sooner does a dog of sagacity open his mouth, than they immediately do the same, and, without the guidance of any scent, run directly forward as fast as they are able. In the same manner, the very moment Mr. Macklachlan had mentioned his apprehension, Mr. Fitzpatrick instantly concurred, and flew directly up stairs to surprise his wife, before he knew where she was; and unluckily, as Fortune loves to play tricks with those gentlemen who put themselves entirely under her conduct, ran his head against several doors and posts to no purpose. Much kinder was she to me when she suggested that simile of the hounds, just before inserted; since the poor wife may, on these occasions, be so justly compared to a hunted hare. Like that little wretched animal, she pricks up her ears to listen after the voice of her pursuer; like her, flies away trembling when she hears it; and, like her, is generally overtaken and destroyed in the end. This was not, however, the case at present; for, after a long and fruitless search, Mr. Fitzpatrick returned to the kitchen, where, as if this had been a real chase, entered a gentleman hallooing as hunters do when the hounds are at a fault. He was just alighted from his horse, and had many attendants at his heels. Here, reader, it may be necessary to acquaint thee with some matters, which, if thou dost know already, thou art wiser than I take thee to be; and this information thou shalt receive in the next chapter.

CHAP. VII.-In which are concluded the adventures that happened at the inn at Upton.

In the first place, then, this gentleman just arrived was no other person than Squire Western himself, who was come hither in pursuit of his daughter; and had he fortunately been two hours earlier, he had not only found her, but his niece into the bargain; for such was the wife of Mr. Fitzpatrick, who had run away with her five years before out of the custody of that sage lady, Madam Western. Now this lady had departed from the inn much about the same time with Sophia; for, having been waked by the voice of her husband, she had sent up for the landlady, and being by her apprized of the