"Ah, sir," answered Partridge,
"I wish your honour would follow my advice." "Why should I not?"
replied Jones; "for it is now indifferent to me whither I go, or
what becomes of me." "My advice, then," said Partridge, "is that you
immediately face about and return home; for who that hath such a
home to return to as your honour, would travel thus about the
country like a vagabond? I ask pardon, sed vox ea sola reperta est."
"Alas!" cries Jones, "I have no home to return to;- but if my
friend, my father, would receive me, could I bear the country from
which Sophia is flown? Cruel Sophia! Cruel! No; let me blame myself!-
No; let me blame thee. D--nation seize thee- fool- blockhead! thou
hast undone me, and I will tear thy soul from thy body."- At which
words he laid violent hands on the collar of poor Partridge, and shook
him more heartily than an ague-fit, or his own fears had ever done
before.
Partridge fell trembling on his knees, and begged for mercy,
vowing he had meant no harm- when Jones, after staring wildly on him
for a moment, quitted his hold, and discharged a rage on himself,
that, had it fallen on the other, would certainly have put an end to
his being, which indeed the very apprehension of it had almost
effected.
We would bestow some pains here in minutely describing all the mad
pranks which Jones played on this occasion, could we be well assured
that the reader would take the same pains in perusing them; but as
we are apprehensive that, after all the labour which we should
employ in painting this scene, the said reader would be very apt to
skip it entirely over, we have saved ourselves that trouble.
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