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ſtring of pater-noſters and benedicites into the bargain, reeking all the time with a cold ſweat. And, as a perſon afraid of thunder raiſes all the houſe at midnight, while the rambling noiſe is yet afar off, without gathering the leaſt courage from ſociety, ſo the faint-hearted coachman was impelled by the ſame inſtinct to ſeek the conſolation of ſympathy at leaſt from his ſleeping miſtreſs; ſo he leaned over, and tapped briſkly at the window. The yawning Counteſs, out of humour at being diſturbed from ſo comfortable a nap, ſharply demanded, ‘Who’s there? what is all that noiſe for?’—‘Your honour,’ replied John, with a trembling voice, ‘be ſo good as only juſt to look out at the window; for, Lord have mercy upon us! there walks a man without an head cloſe beſide us!’—‘Blockhead as thou art,’ replied the Counteſs, of what is thy vulgar imagination dreaming? And if that was the caſe,’ continued ſhe in a tone of raillery, ‘a man without an head is no rarity; there are