and early as it was next morning when Harley came downstairs to set
out, he found her in the parlour with a tear on her cheek, and her
caudle-cup in her hand. She knew enough of physic to prescribe
against going abroad of a morning with an empty stomach. She gave
her blessing with the draught; her instructions she had delivered
the night before. They consisted mostly of negatives, for London,
in her idea, was so replete with temptations that it needed the
whole armour of her friendly cautions to repel their attacks.

Peter stood at the door. We have mentioned this faithful fellow
formerly: Harley's father had taken him up an orphan, and saved him
from being cast on the parish; and he had ever since remained in the
service of him and of his son. Harley shook him by the hand as he
passed, smiling, as if he had said, "I will not weep." He sprung
hastily into the chaise that waited for him; Peter folded up the
step. "My dear master," said he, shaking the solitary lock that
hung on either side of his head, "I have been told as how London is
a sad place." He was choked with the thought, and his benediction
could not be heard: --but it shall be heard, honest Peter! where
these tears will add to its energy.

In a few hours Harley reached the inn where he proposed
breakfasting, but the fulness of his heart would not suffer him to
eat a morsel. He walked out on the road, and gaining a little
height, stood gazing on that quarter he had left. He looked for his
wonted prospect, his fields, his woods, and his hills: they were
lost in the distant clouds! He pencilled them on the clouds, and
bade them farewell with a sigh!

He sat down on a large stone to take out a little pebble from his