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not I; as to matter of that. I know all human flesh must die; but yeta man may live many years, for all that. Why, I am a middle-aged mannow, and yet I may live a great number of years. I have read ofseveral who have lived to be above a hundred, and some a great dealabove a hundred. Not that I hope, I mean that I promise myself, tolive to any such age as that, neither.--But if it be only to eighty orninety. Heaven be praised, that is a great ways off yet; and I am notafraid of dying then, no more than another man; but, surely, to temptdeath before a man's time is come seems to me downright wickedness andpresumption. Besides, if it was to do any good indeed; but, let thecause be what it will, what mighty matter of good can two people do?and, for my part, I understand nothing of it. I never fired off a gunabove ten times in my life; and then it was not charged with bullets.And for the sword, I never learned to fence, and know nothing of thematter. And then there are those cannons, which certainly it must bethought the highest presumption to go in the way of; and nobody but amadman--I ask pardon; upon my soul I meant no harm; I beg I may notthrow your honour into another passion.""Be under no apprehension, Partridge," cries Jones; "I am now so wellconvinced of thy cowardice, that thou couldst not provoke me on anyaccount." "Your honour," answered he, "may call me coward, or anythingelse you please. If loving to sleep in a whole skin makes a man acoward, _non immunes ab illis malis sumus_. I never read in my grammarthat a man can't be a good man without fighting. _Vir bonus est quis?Qui consulta patrum, qui leges juraque servat_. Not a word offighting; and I am sure the scripture is so much against it, that aman shall never persuade me he is a good Christian while he shedsChristian blood."Chapter iv.The adventure of a beggar-man.Just as Partridge had uttered that good and pious doctrine, with whichthe last chapter concluded, they arrived at another cross-way, when alame fellow in rags asked them for alms; upon which Partridge gave hima severe rebuke, saying, "Every parish ought to keep their own poor."Jones then fell a-laughing, and asked Partridge, "if he was notashamed, with so much charity in his mouth, to have no charity in hisheart. Your religion," says he, "serves you only for an excuse foryour faults, but is no incentive to your virtue. Can any man who isreally a Christian abstain from relieving one of his brethren in sucha miserable condition?" And at the same time, putting his hand in hispocket, he gave the poor object a shilling."Master," cries the fellow, after thanking him, "I have a curiousthing here in my pocket, which I found about two miles off, if yourworship will please to buy it. I should not venture to pull it out toevery one; but, as you are so good a gentleman, and so kind to thepoor, you won't suspect a man of being a thief only because he ispoor." He then pulled out a little gilt pocket-book, and delivered itinto the hands of Jones.Jones presently opened it, and (guess, reader, what he felt) saw inthe first page the words Sophia Western, written by her own fair hand.He no sooner read the name than he prest it close to his lips; nor

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