Now, I doubt not but this villanous Squire has the impudence to assert that these are entirely strangers to him; he, good man! knoweth nothing of the matter! and honest ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, I warrant you! is more a man of honour than to be an accomplice with a pack of rascals that walk the streets on nights, and disturb good people in their beds. But he is out, if he thinks the whole World is blind! for there is one JOHN PARTRIDGE can smell a knave as far as Grub street, although he lies in the most exalted garret, and writeth himself "Squire"! But I will keep my temper! and proceed in the Narration. I could not stir out of doors for the space of three months after this; but presently one comes up to me in the street: "Mr. PARTRIDGE, that coffin you were last buried in, I have not yet been paid for." "Doctor!" cries another dog, "How do you think people can live by making graves for nothing? Next time you die, you may even toll out the bell yourself, for NED!" A third rogue tips me by the elbow, and wonders "how I have the conscience to sneak abroad, without paying my funeral expenses." "Lord!" says one, "I durst have sworn that was honest Dr. PARTRIDGE, my old friend; but, poor man, he is gone!" "I beg your pardon," says another, "you look so like my old acquaintance that I used to consult on some private occasions: but, alack, he is gone the way of all flesh." "Look, look!" cries a third, after a competent space of staring at me; "would not one think our neighbour the _Almanack_ maker was crept out of his grave, to take another peep at the stars in this world, and shew how much he is improved in fortune telling by having taken a journey to the other." Nay, the very Reader of our parish (a good sober discreet person) has sent two or three times for me to come and be buried decently, or send him sufficient reasons to the contrary: or if I have been interred in any other parish, to produce my certificate as the _Act_ requires. My poor wife is almost run distracted with being called Widow PARTRIDGE, when she knows it's false: and once a Term, she is cited into the Court, to take out Letters of Administration. But the greatest grievance is a paltry Quack that takes up my calling just under my nose; and in his printed directions with a, _N.B._, says: _He lives in the house of the late ingenious Mr. JOHN PARTRIDGE, an eminent Practitioner in Leather, Physic, and Astrology_. But to shew how far the wicked spirit of envy, malice, and resentment can hurry some men, my nameless old persecutor had provided a monument at the stone-cutter's, and would have it erected in the parish church: and this piece of notorious and expensive villany had actually succeeded, if I had not used my utmost interest with the Vestry; where it was carried at last but by two voices, that I am alive.