“Oh, yes; I remember many years ago reading a novel called Tom Jones, written by a Bow-street officer. I recollect something about it--it was very low stuff--I forget the particulars, but it was written in the manner of servants.” Hereupon Mr Peter Kipperson set it down as an indisputable fact that baronets and magistrates were the most ignorant creatures on the face of the earth, and he congratulated himself that neither he nor Sir Isaac Newton were baronets. Our readers may therefore very well imagine that if we pass over in silence the dinner at Neverden hall, where sat Sir George and Lady Aimwell, and Colonel Crop, and my Lord Spoonbill, we are not transgressing the truth of history. Soon after the cloth was removed, Lady Aimwell made herself invisible, and Sir George made himself what he called comfortable. “Now, my good friends,” said he, “you know my way. Pray take care of yourselves. Pass the bottle. There--now--well--you know--I--sometimes--it is very rude--you--I know you will--excuse”-- Saying, or muttering as above, the guardian of laws and game sank to sleep in his easy chair, and left Lord Spoonbill and Colonel Crop to amuse each other. They were however very bad company, for one had no good in his head, and the other had nothing at all there. Lord Spoonbill smiled at the baronet in his easy chair, and Colonel Crop smiled also. Colonel Crop looked at his lordship most imploringly, as if to beg that he would say something to which yes or no might be replied; but the heir of Smatterton was more deeply engaged in his own thoughts. Colonel Crop filled his glass and emptied it, and cracked nuts, and picked his teeth, and took snuff, and yawned, and looked at the pictures, and looked at his own fingers, and put them into the finger glass, and took them out and wiped them. Lord Spoonbill filled his glass, and did not empty it, and did not look at the pictures, and he took out his watch and put it into his pocket without looking at it. Of many events it is said, that they are no sooner said than done. But all these movements took up a much longer time in doing than they have in the reporting. It was a great relief to the colonel that Lord Spoonbill looked at his watch, for that enabled the man-of-war to say, “What time is it?” Lord Spoonbill answered by guess, and the colonel was not very particular. When about half an hour more had elapsed, the heir of Smatterton rang to order his horse, and he said to the colonel, “Crop, I shall leave you to play at backgammon with Sir George. Make my apologies. I have some matters to attend to at the castle.”