เ an ill word or so in a passion, I never called him rascal: 'I should have told a lie, if I had called him rascal.' Much more she said, but not in his hearing; for having lighted his pipe, he staggered off as fast as he could. We shall therefore transcribe no more of her speech, as it approached still nearer and nearer to a subject too indelicate to find any place in this history.

Early in the morning Partridge appeared at the bedside of Jones, ready equipped for the journey, with his knapsack at his back. This was his own workmanship; for besides his other trades, he was no indifferent tailor. He had already put up his whole stock of linen in it, consisting of four shirts, to which he now added eight for Mr. Jones; and then packing up the portmanteau, he was departing with it towards his own house, but was stopt in his way by the landlady, who refused to suffer any removals till after the payment of the reckoning.

The landlady was, as we have said, absolute governess in these regions; it was therefore necessary to comply with her rules; so the bill was presently writ out, which amounted to a much larger sum than might have been expected, from the entertainment which Jones had met with. But here we are obliged to disclose some maxims, which publicans hold to be the grand mysteries of their trade. The first is, If they have any thing good in their house (which indeed very seldom happens) to produce it only to persons who travel with great equipages. 2ndly, To charge the same for the very worst provisions, as if they were the best. And, lastly, If any of their guests call but for little, to make them pay a double price for every thing they have; so that the amount by the head may be much the same.

The bill being made and discharged, Jones set forward with Partridge, carrying his knapsack; nor did the landlady condescend to wish him a good journey; for

this was, it seems, an inn frequented by people of fashion; and I know not whence it is, but all those who get their livelihood by people of fashion, contract as much insolence to the rest of mankind, as if they really belonged to that rank themselves.

CHAPTER VIII.

Jones arrives at Gloucester, and goes to the Bell: the character of that house, and of a pettifogger which he there meets with.

MR. JONES and Partridge, or Little Benjamin (which epithet of Little was perhaps given him ironically, he being in reality near six feet high), having left their last quarters in the manner before described, travelled on to Gloucester without meeting any adventure worth relating.

Being arrived here, they chose for their house of entertainment the sign of the Bell, an excellent house indeed, and which I do most seriously recommend to every reader who shall visit this ancient city. The master of it is brother to the great preacher Whitefield; but is absolutely untainted with the pernicious principles of methodism, or of any other heretical sect. He is indeed a very honest plain man, and, in my opinion, not likely to create any disturbance either in church or state. His wife hath, I believe, had much pretension to beauty, and is still a very fine woman. Her person and deportment might have made a shining figure in the politest assemblies; but though she must be conscious of this and many other perfections, she seems perfectly contented with, and resigned to, that state of life to which she is

called; and this resignation is entirely owing to the prudence and wisdom of her temper; for she is at present as free from any methodistical notions as her husband: I say at present; for she freely confesses that her brother's documents made at first some impression upon her, and that she had put herself to the expense of a long hood, in order to attend the extraordinary emotions of the Spirit; but having found, during an experiment of three weeks, no emotion, she says, worth a farthing, she very wisely laid by her hood, and abandoned the sect. To be concise, she is a very friendly good-natured woman; and so industrious to oblige, that the guests must be of a very morose disposition who are not extremely well satisfied in her house.

Mrs. Whitefield happened to be in the yard when Jones and his attendant marched in. Her sagacity soon discovered in the air of our hero something which distinguished him from the vulgar. She ordered her servants, therefore, immediately to show him into a room, and presently afterwards invited him to dinner with herself; which invitation he very thankfully accepted; for indeed much less agreeable company than that of Mrs. Whitefield, and a much worse entertainment than she had provided, would have been welcome after so long fasting and so long a walk.

Besides Mr. Jones and the good governess of the mansion, there sat down at table an attorney of Salisbury, indeed the very same who had brought the news of Mrs. Blifil's death to Mr. Allworthy, and whose name, which I think we did not before mention, was Dowling: there was likewise present another person, who styled himself a lawyer, and who lived somewhere near Linlinch, in Somersetshire. This fellow, I say, styled himself a lawyer, and was indeed a most vile pettifogger, without sense or knowledge of any kind; one of those who may

be termed train-bearers to the law; a sort of supernumeraries in the profession, who are the hackneys of attorneys, and will ride more miles for half a crown than a postboy.

During the time of dinner, the Somersetshire lawyer recollected the face of Jones, which he had seen at Mr. Allworthy's; for he had often visited in that gentleman's kitchen. He therefore took occasion to inquire after the good family there with that familiarity which would have become an intimate friend or acquaintance of Mr. Allworthy; and indeed he did all in his power to insinuate himself to be such, though he had never had the honour of speaking to any person in that family higher than the butler. Jones answered all his questions with much civility, though he never remembered to have seen the pettifogger before; and though he concluded, from the outward appearance and behaviour of the man, that he usurped a freedom with his betters, to which he was by no means entitled.

As the conversation of fellows of this kind is of all others the most detestable to men of any sense, the cloth was no sooner removed than Mr. Jones withdrew, and a little barbarously left poor Mrs. Whitefield to do a penance, which I have often heard Mr. Timothy Harris, and other publicans of good taste, lament, as the severest lot annexed to their calling, namely, that of being obliged to keep company with their guests.

Jones had no sooner quitted the room, than the pettifogger, in a whispering tone, asked Mrs. Whitefield, 'If she knew who that fine spark was?' She answered, 'She had never seen the gentleman before.'' The gentleman, indeed!' replied the pettifogger; a pretty "gentleman truly! Why, he's the bastard of a fellow เ who was hanged for horse-stealing. He was dropt at Squire Allworthy's door, where one of the servants

'found him in a box so full of rain-water, that he 'would certainly have been drowned, had he not been ' reserved for another fate.'—'Ay, ay, you need not 'mention it, I protest; we understand what that fate 'is very well,' cries Dowling, with a most facetious grin. —'Well,' continued the other, the squire ordered him to be taken in; for he is a timbersome man every body knows, and was afraid of drawing himself into เ a scrape; and there the bastard was bred up, and fed, and clothified all to the world like any gentleman; ' and there he got one of the servant-maids with child, ' and persuaded her to swear it to the squire himself; and afterwards he broke the arm of one Mr. Thwackum 'a clergyman, only because he reprimanded him for 'following whores; and afterwards he snapt a pistol เ at Mr. Blifil behind his back; and once, when Squire Allworthy was sick, he got a drum, and 'beat it all over the house to prevent him from sleep'ing; and twenty other pranks he hath played, for 'all which, about four or five days ago, just before I 'left the country, the squire stripped him stark naked, and turned him out of doors.'

เ

And very justly, too, I protest,' cries Dowling; ‘I 'would turn my own son out of doors, if he was guilty ' of half as much. And pray what is the name of this pretty gentleman?'

The name o' un?' answered Pettifogger; 'why, he 'is called Thomas Jones.'

'Jones!' answered Dowling a little eagerly; 'what 'Mr. Jones that lived at Mr. Allworthy's! was that the 'gentleman that dined with us!'-'The very same,' said the other. 'I have heard of the gentleman,' cries Dowling, 'often; but I never heard any ill character of ' him.'—' And I am sure,' says Mrs. Whitefield, ‘if half 'what this gentleman hath said be true, Mr. Jones hath