Partridge, he was profoundly silent; for he was not, perhaps, perfectly recovered from his former fright; besides, he had apprehensions of provoking his friend to a second fit of wrath, especially as he now began to entertain a conceit, which may not, perhaps, create any great wonder in the reader. In short, he began now to suspect that Jones was absolutely out of his

senses.

At length Jones, being weary of soliloquy, addressed himself to his companion, and blamed him for his taciturnity; for which the poor man very honestly accounted, from his fear of giving offence. And now this fear being pretty well removed, by the most absolute promises of indemnity, Partridge again took the bridle from his tongue; which, perhaps, rejoiced no less at regaining its liberty, than a young colt, when the bridle is slipt from his neck, and he is turned loose into the pastures.

6

As Partridge was inhibited from that topic which would have first suggested itself, he fell, upon that which was next uppermost in his mind, namely, the Man of the Hill. Certainly, sir,' says he, that could never be a man, who 'dresses himself and lives after such a strange manner, and so unlike other folks. Besides, his diet, as the old woman told me, is chiefly upon herbs, which is a fitter food for a horse than a christian; nay, landlord at Upton says, ❝ that the neighbours thereabouts have very fear. ❝ful notions about him. It runs strangely in my

head, that it must have been some spirit, who, 'perhaps, might be sent to forewarn us: and 'who knows, but all that matter which he told fus, of his going to fight, and of his being taken

prisoner, and of the great danger he was in of being hanged, might be intended as a warning tó us, considering what we were going about: besides, I dreamt of nothing all last night, but of fighting; and methought the blood ran out of my nose, as liquor out of a tap. Indeed, 'sir, infundum, regina, jubes renovare dolo

rem

"Thy story, Partridge,' answered Jones, 'is almost as ill applied as thy Latin. Nothing can 'be more likely to happen than death, to men who go into battle. Perhaps we shall both 'fall in it, and what then? What then replied Partridge; why then there is an end of 6 us, is there not? When I am gone, all is over with me. What matters the cause to me, or who gets the victory, if I am killed? I shall never enjoy any advantage from it. What are

all the ringing of bells, and bonfires, to one that is six feet under ground? There will be an end of poor Partridge.' And an end of poor Partridge,' cries Jones, there must be, one time or other. If you love Latin, I will repeat you some fine lines out of Horace, which would inspire courage in a coward:

Dulce & decorum est pro patria mori.
Mors & fugacem persequitur virum
Nec parcit imbellis juvente

Poplitibus, timidoque tergo.

I wish you would construe them,' cries Partridge; for Horace is a hard author, and I can❝ not understand as you repeat them.'

I will repeat you a bad imitation, or rather paraphrase of my own,' said Jones; for I am but an indifferent poet:

Who would not die in his dear country's cause? 'Since, if base fear his dastard step withdraws, From death he cannot fly :-One common grave Receives, at last, the coward and the brave.'

(

I

That's very certain,' cries Partridge. Ay, . sure, Mors omnibus communis; but there is a 6 great difference between dying in one's bed a 6 great many years hence, like a good christian, with all our friends crying about us, and being. shot to-day or to-morrow, like a mad dog; or, 6 perhaps, hacked in twenty pieces with a sword, and that too before we have repented of all our sins. O Lord, have mercy upon us! to be sure, the soldiers are a wicked kind of people. I never 'loved to have any thing to do with them. could hardly bring myself ever to look upon them as christians. There is nothing but cursing and swearing among them. I wish your ho6 nour would repent: heartily wish you would repent, before it is too late; and not think of going among them.-Evil communication cor6 rupts good manners. That is my principal reason. For as for that matter, I am no more 'afraid than another man, not I; as to matter of that. I know all human flesh must die; but yet a man may live many years for all that., Why, I am a middle-aged man now, and yet, I may live a great number of years. I have read of several who have lived to be above a hundred, and some a great deal above a hundred. Not that I hope, I mean that I promise myself, to live to any such age as that, neither. But if it be only to eighty or ninety, Heaven be praised, that is a great ways off yet; and I am not afraid of dying then, no more than another man: but, surely, to tempt death before a

'man's time is come, seems to me downright wickedness and presumption. Besides, if it 6 was to do any good indeed; but let the cause be what it will, what mighty matter of good can 6 two people do? And, for my part, I understand "nothing of it. I never fired off a gun above ten times in my life; and then it was not charged with bullets. And for the sword, I never learned "to fence, and know nothing of the matter. And "then there are those cannons, which certainly it 'must be thought the highest presumption to go "in the way of; and nobody but a madman—I ask pardon; upon my soul, I meant no harm; I beg I may not throw your honour into another passion.'

Be under no apprehensions, Partridge,' cries Jones; 'I am now so well convinced of thy "cowardice, that thou couldst not provoke me on any account.'-"Your honour,' answered he, may call me coward, or any thing else you please. If loving to sleep in a whole skin makes a man a coward, non immunes ab illis malis sumus. I never read in my grammar, that a man can't be a good man without fighting. Vir bonus est quis? Qui consulta patrum, que leges juraque servat. Not a word of fighting; and I am sure the scripture is so much against it, that a man shall never persuade me he is a good christian, while he sheds christian. ⚫ blood.'

JUST

CHAP. IV.

The adventure of a beggar-man.

UST as Partridge had uttered that good and pious doctrine, with which the last chapter concluded, they arrived at another cross-way, when a lame fellow in rags asked them for alms; upon which Partridge gave him a severe rebuke, saying, 'Every parish ought to keep their own poor.' Jones then fell a laughing, and asked Partridge, "if he was not ashamed, with so much charity in his mouth, to have no charity in his heart. "Your religion,' says he, serves you only for 6 an excuse for your faults, but is no incentive 'to your virtue. Can any man, who is really a 'Christian, abstain from relieving one of his bre

thren in such a miserable condition?' And at the same time, putting his hand in his pocket, he gave the poor object a shilling.

'Master,' cries the fellow, after thanking him, I have a curious thing here in my pocket, which I found about two miles off, if your worship ' will please to buy it. I should not venture to pull it out to every one; but as you are so ' good a gentleman, and so kind to the poor, you won't suspect a man of being a thief only because he is poor.' He then pulled out a little gilt pocket-book, and delivered it into the hands of Jones.

Jones presently opened it, and (guess, reader, what he felt), saw in the first page the words Sophia Western, written by her own fair hand. He no sooner read the name, than he pressed it close to his lips; nor could he avoid falling into