This being accepted, was followed by a hearty
bout of drinking, which ended in as hearty a nap on the part of Squire
Western.
Our squire was by no means a match either for his host, or for
parson Supple, at his cups that evening; for which the violent fatigue
of mind as well as body that he had undergone, may very well
account, without the least derogation from his honour. He was
indeed, according to the vulgar phrase, whistle drunk; for before he
had swallowed the third bottle, he became so entirely overpowered,
that though he was not carried off to bed till long after, the
parson considered him as absent, and having acquainted the other
squire with all relating to Sophia, he obtained his promise of
seconding those arguments which he intended to urge the next morning
for Mr. Western's return.
No sooner, therefore, had the good squire shaken off his evening,
and began to call for his morning draught, and to summon his horses in
order to renew his pursuit, than Mr. Supple began his dissuasives,
which the host so strongly seconded, that they at length prevailed,
and Mr. Western agreed to return home; being principally moved by
one argument, viz., that he knew not which way to go, and might
probably be riding farther from his daughter instead of towards her.
He then took leave of his brother sportsman, and expressing great
joy that the frost was broken (which might perhaps be no small
motive to his hastening home), set forwards, or rather backwards,
for Somersetshire; but not before he had first despatched part of
his retinue in quest of his daughter, after whom he likewise sent a
volley of the most bitter execrations which he could invent.
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