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tray her up to the court. Well, she's a sweet'tempered, good-humoured lady, be she what she will, and I shall hardly refrain from crying ' when I hear she is hanged or beheaded.'-'Pugh! answered the husband. But, as to what's to 'be done, it is not so easy a matter to determine. I hope, before she goes away, we shall have the 'news of a battle: for if the Chevalier should get the better, she may gain us interest at court, and make our fortunes without betraying her.' • Why, that's true,' replied the wife; and I heartily hope she will have it in her power. Certainly she's a sweet good lady; it would go horribly against me to have her come to any • harm.'' Pugh!' cries the landlord, are always so tender-hearted. Why, you would not harbour rebels, would you?' 'No, cer'tainly,' answered the wife; and as for betraying her, come what will on't, nobody can • blame us. It is what any body would do in our 'case.'

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women

While our politic landlord, who had not, we see, undeservedly the reputation of great wisdom among his neighbours, was.engaged in debating this matter with himself (for he paid little attention to the opinion of his wife), news arrived that the rebels had given the duke the slip, and had got a day's march towards London; and soon after arrived a famous Jacobite squire, who, with great joy in his countenance, shook the landlord by the hand, saying, 'All's our own, boy; 'ten thousand honest Frenchmen are landed in 'Suffolk. Old England for ever! ten thousand French, my brave lad! I am going to tap away directly.'

This news determined the opinion of the wise man, and he resolved to make his court to the

young lady, when she arose; for he had now, he said, discovered that she was no other than Ma-. dam Jenny Cameron herself.

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CHAP. III.

A very short chapter, in which, however, is a sun, a moon, a star, and an angel.

THE sun (for he keeps very good hours at this time of the year) had been some time retired to rest, when Sophia arose, greatly refreshed by her sleep; which, short as it was, nothing but her extreme fatigue could have occasioned; for though she had told her maid, and, perhaps, herself too, that she was perfectly easy when she left Upton, yet it is certain her mind was a little affected with that malady which is attended with all the restless symptoms of a fever, and is, perhaps, the very distemper which physicians mean (if they mean any thing) by the fever on the spirits.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick likewise left her bed at the same time; and, having summoned her maid, immediately dressed herself. She was really a very pretty woman, and, had she been in any other company but that of Sophia, might have been thought beautiful; but when Mrs. Honour of her own accord attended (for her mistress would not suffer her to be waked), and had equipped our heroine, the charms of Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who had performed the office of the morning-star, and had preceded greater glories, shared the fate of that star, and were totally eclipsed the moment those glories shone forth.

Perhaps Sophia never looked more beautiful
VOL. III.

H

than she did at this instant. We ought not, therefore, to condemn the maid of the inn for her hyperbole, who, when she descended, after having lighted the fire, declared, and ratified it with an oath, that if ever there was an angel upon earth, she was now above stairs.

Sophia had acquainted her cousin with her de sign to go to London; and Mrs. Fitzpatrick had agreed to accompany her; for the arrival of her husband at Upton had put an end to her design of going to Bath, or to her aunt Western. They had therefore no sooner finished their tea, than Sophia proposed to set out, the moon then shining extremely bright; and as for the frost, she defied it; nor had she any of those apprehensions which many young ladies would have felt at traTelling by night; for she had, as we have before observed, some little degree of natural courage; and this her present sensations, which bordered somewhat on despair, greatly increased. Besides, as she had already travelled twice with safety, by the light of the moon, she was the better embold. ened to trust to it a third time.

The disposition of Mrs. Fitzpatrick was more timorous; for though the greater terrors had conquered the less, and the presence of her husband had driven her away at so unseasonable au hour from Upton; yet, being now arrived at a place where she thought herself safe from his pursuit, these lesser terrors of I know not what, ope rated so strongly, that she earnestly entreated her cousin to stay till the next morning, and not expose herself to the dangers of travelling by night.

Sophia, who was yielding to an excess, when she could neither laugh nor reason her cousin out of these apprehensions, at last gave way to them,

Perhaps, indeed, had she known of her father's arrival at Upton, it might have been more difficult to have persuaded her; for as to Jones, she had, I am afraid, no great horror at the thoughts of being overtaken by him; nay, to confess the truth, I believe she rather wished it than feared it; though I might honestly enough haye con❤ cealed this wish from the reader, as it was one of those secret spontaneous emotions of the soul, to which the reason is often a stranger.

When our young ladies had determined to remain all that evening in their inn, they were attended by the landlady, who desired to know what their ladyships would be pleased to eat. Such charms were there in the voice, in the manner, and in the affable deportment of Sophia, that she ravished the landlady to the highest degree; and, that good woman concluding that she had attended Jenny Cameron, became in a moment a staunch Jacobite, and wished heartily well to the young Pretender's cause, from the great sweetness and affability with which she had been treated by his supposed mistress.

The two cousins began now to impart to each other their reciprocal curiosity, to know what extraordinary accidents on both sides occasioned this so strange and unexpected meeting At last Mrs. Fitzpatrick, having obtained of Sophia a promise of communicating likewise in her turn, began to relate what the reader, if he is desirous to know her history, may read in the ensuing chapter.

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CHAP. IV.

The history of Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

MRS. FITZPATRICK, after a silence of a few moments, fetching a deep sigh, thus began:

It is natural to the unhappy to feel a secret 6 concern in recollecting those periods of their lives which have been most delightful to them. The remembrance of past pleasures affects us " with a kind of tender grief, like what we suffer 'for departed friends; and the ideas of both may be said to haunt our imaginations.

For this reason, I never reflect without sorrow on those days (the happiest far of my life) which we spent together, when both were under' the care of my aunt Western. Alas! why are Miss Graveairs and Miss Giddy no more? You remember, I am sure, when we knew each other by no other names. Indeed, you gave the latter appellation with too much cause. I have since experienced how much I deserved ̃it. You, my Sophia, was always my superior in 6 every thing, and I heartily hope you will be so in your fortune. I shall never forget the wise and matronly advice you once gave me, when I lamented being disappointed of a ball, though 6 you could not be then fourteen years old.

O, my Sophy, how blest must have been my si'tuation, when I could think such a disappoint6 ment a misfortune; and when, indeed, it was the greatest I had ever known!'

' And yet, my dear Harriet,' answered Sophia, it was then a serious matter with you. Comfort yourself therefore with thinking, that what.