Her mamma had waited tea some time, and on entering the room I perceived that she was in full dress and highly rouged; I was introduced to her, wet through, and covered with a green weed, like some sea monster. She laughed immoderately. What was to be done? A change was necessary: the husband's clothes would not do. A huge country girl being called in, while divesting me of my coat, suggested that I should be attired in one of her young lady's dresses. This proposal afforded mamma much diversion, who agreed to the proposal, and I was led into the kitchen, to a rousing wood fire, blazing on the hearth, under a spacious chimney. Here I was unceremoniously stripped by the maid, who appropriated so much time to the adjustment of my female attire, that her _jeune maîtresse_ demanded the reason of my person being kept so long in custody by this Amazonian wench. My toilette being arranged, tea and coffee were served up, and the time passed in the most agreeable conversation. The night had far advanced, when an unexpected rapping was heard, with the butt end of a riding whip, heavily applied to the oaken doors, while a hoarse voice demanded admittance in the well known key of papa: but to my ears the notes were like the roaring of a lion. All lights were instantly extinguished, and the back door was thrown open, out of which I was led into a poultry yard, and from thence into a loft, where, seating myself on a truss of hay, I waited in much suspense, while the heavy bars were removed from the gate of the farm yard, to admit the squire and his horse. His gruff voice soon died away; the gates were again closed and all became quiet. Shortly afterwards a rustling noise and gentle footsteps struck on my ear, when my _belle_ again made her appearance accompanied by the before mentioned Amazonian _fille de chambre_, with my dried _paraphernalia_ under her arm. Meanwhile mamma was left to conduct her bloated spouse grunting to bed, quite overcome, after his devotions to Bacchus and the malt tub. Soon after I had assumed the attire of my own sex, the crowing of the feathered tribe announced the time for my departure, when, bidding tender adieus, I rapidly stole across the meadow, and just before the sun arose, I found myself once more within my camp bed—_minus_ my dark lantern.