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long, unintelligible story about his wife, to which he forced me togive him a hearing; but I made him very little answer, and deliveredhim the letter from his wife, which I bid him answer himself. Isuppose the wretch will endeavour to find us out, but I beg you willnot see her, for I am determined I will not.""I zee her!" answered the squire; "you need not fear me. I'll ge noencouragement to such undutiful wenches. It is well for the fellow,her husband, I was not at huome. Od rabbit it, he should have taken adance thru the horse-pond, I promise un. You zee, Sophy, whatundutifulness brings volks to. You have an example in your ownfamily.""Brother," cries the aunt, "you need not shock my niece by such odiousrepetitions. Why will you not leave everything entirely to me?" "Well,well, I wull, I wull," said the squire.And now Mrs Western, luckily for Sophia, put an end to theconversation by ordering chairs to be called. I say luckily, for hadit continued much longer, fresh matter of dissension would, mostprobably, have arisen between the brother and sister; between whomeducation and sex made the only difference; for both were equallyviolent and equally positive: they had both a vast affection forSophia, and both a sovereign contempt for each other.Chapter v.In which Jones receives a letter from Sophia, and goes to a play withMrs Miller and Partridge.The arrival of Black George in town, and the good offices which thatgrateful fellow had promised to do for his old benefactor, greatlycomforted Jones in the midst of all the anxiety and uneasiness whichhe had suffered on the account of Sophia; from whom, by the means ofthe said George, he received the following answer to his letter, whichSophia, to whom the use of pen, ink, and paper was restored with herliberty, wrote the very evening when she departed from herconfinement:"Sir,"As I do not doubt your sincerity in what you write, you will bepleased to hear that some of my afflictions are at an end, by thearrival of my aunt Western, with whom I am at present, and with whomI enjoy all the liberty I can desire. One promise my aunt hathinsisted on my making, which is, that I will not see or conversewith any person without her knowledge and consent. This promise Ihave most solemnly given, and shall most inviolably keep: and thoughshe hath not expressly forbidden me writing, yet that must be anomission from forgetfulness; or this, perhaps, is included in theword conversing. However, as I cannot but consider this as a breachof her generous confidence in my honour, you cannot expect that Ishall, after this, continue to write myself or to receive letters,without her knowledge. A promise is with me a very sacred thing, andto be extended to everything understood from it, as well as to whatis expressed by it; and this consideration may, perhaps, onreflection, afford you some comfort. But why should I mention a