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aunt of Sophia; and lastly, the lovely Sophia herself.At this time, the following was the aspect of the bloody field. In oneplace lay on the ground, all pale, and almost breathless, thevanquished Blifil. Near him stood the conqueror Jones, almost coveredwith blood, part of which was naturally his own, and part had beenlately the property of the Reverend Mr Thwackum. In a third placestood the said Thwackum, like King Porus, sullenly submitting to theconqueror. The last figure in the piece was Western the Great, mostgloriously forbearing the vanquished foe.Blifil, in whom there was little sign of life, was at first theprincipal object of the concern of every one, and particularly of MrsWestern, who had drawn from her pocket a bottle of hartshorn, and washerself about to apply it to his nostrils, when on a sudden theattention of the whole company was diverted from poor Blifil, whosespirit, if it had any such design, might have now taken an opportunityof stealing off to the other world, without any ceremony.For now a more melancholy and a more lovely object lay motionlessbefore them. This was no other than the charming Sophia herself, who,from the sight of blood, or from fear for her father, or from someother reason, had fallen down in a swoon, before any one could get toher assistance.Mrs Western first saw her and screamed. Immediately two or threevoices cried out, "Miss Western is dead." Hartshorn, water, everyremedy was called for, almost at one and the same instant.The reader may remember, that in our description of this grove wementioned a murmuring brook, which brook did not come there, as suchgentle streams flow through vulgar romances, with no other purposethan to murmur. No! Fortune had decreed to ennoble this little brookwith a higher honour than any of those which wash the plains ofArcadia ever deserved.Jones was rubbing Blifil's temples, for he began to fear he had givenhim a blow too much, when the words, Miss Western and Dead, rushed atonce on his ear. He started up, left Blifil to his fate, and flew toSophia, whom, while all the rest were running against each other,backward and forward, looking for water in the dry paths, he caught upin his arms, and then ran away with her over the field to the rivuletabove mentioned; where, plunging himself into the water, he contrivedto besprinkle her face, head, and neck very plentifully.Happy was it for Sophia that the same confusion which prevented herother friends from serving her, prevented them likewise fromobstructing Jones. He had carried her half ways before they knew whathe was doing, and he had actually restored her to life before theyreached the waterside. She stretched out her arms, opened her eyes,and cried, "Oh! heavens!" just as her father, aunt, and the parsoncame up.Jones, who had hitherto held this lovely burthen in his arms, nowrelinquished his hold; but gave her at the same instant a tendercaress, which, had her senses been then perfectly restored, could nothave escaped her observation. As she expressed, therefore, nodispleasure at this freedom, we suppose she was not sufficientlyrecovered from her swoon at the time.