r pleasure, I am come back for my own; which made the gentlemen laugh
very heartily. The merchant then asked him several questions about
Captain Simmonds and Harrison, where he left the vessel, and if he had
been sold. No, no, replied he, I took care to be out of the way before
they had struck a bargain for me; and, as to the vessel, I left her in
Miles river. The gentlemen could not help being surprised at his
ingenuity and expedition, in thus getting home twice before the vessel
which carried him out. Merchant Davy then proposed making a collection
for him, and began it himself with half-a-crown; having therefore
received a handsome contribution, he returned the gentlemen thanks, and
took his leave, being impatient to hear some news about his wife. He
went directly to his usual quarters, at Kitty Finnimore's, Castle-lane,
where he occasioned no little terror to his landlady, she believing it to
be his ghost, as she heard he was certainly dead; however, our hero soon
convinced her he was real flesh and blood. He then inquired when she
heard from his wife, who informed him, to his great joy, that both his
wife and daughter were there a few days before, and were going towards
Newton-Bushel; but they had given over all thoughts of seeing him any
more, as they thought him dead.

He now set forward immediately for Newton-Bushel. Calling at Lord
Clifford's in his way, he was told by Mrs. Ratcliffe, the housekeeper,
and Mr. Kilshaw, the steward, (who were quite surprised to see him,) that
his wife had been there just before, supposing him to be dead; and that
he would find her at Newton-Bushel. Though it was then night, our hero,
impatient of seeing his wife and daughter, set forward for Newton-Bushel,
where he arrived late in the night. Going directly to his usual
quarters, he found them all in bed, and calling out to the woman of the
house, his wife, hearing his voice, immediately leaped out of bed,
crying, it was her poor Bampfylde. A light was then struck with as much
expedition as possible, and his wife, daughter, and landlady, all came
down to open the door to him.

Here, how shall I find words to express the transports of our hero, the
tender embraces of his wife, the endearing words of his daughter, and
hearty congratulations of the landlady! Unable for the task, most gentle
reader, I must imitate that celebrated painter who painted Agamemnon with
a covering over his face, at the sacrifice of his daughter,