Miss Warwick arrived at Mr. Beatson's, and as soon as she had pronounced the name of Hodges, the printer called to his devil for a parcel of advertisements, which he put into her hand; they were proposals for printing by subscription a new novel--"The Sorrows of Araminta." "Oh, my Araminta! my amiable Araminta! have I found you at last?--_The Sorrows of Araminta, a novel, in nine volumes_--Oh, charming!--_together with a tragedy on the same plan_--Delightful!--_Subscriptions received at Joseph Beatson's, printer and bookseller; and by Rachael Hodges_--Odious name!--_at Mrs. Bertrand's_." "_Bartrand!_--There now _you_, do ye hear that? the lady lives at Mrs. Bartrand's: how will you make out now that Bartrand begins with a p, and ends with a t, now?" said the hackney-coachman to Betty, who was standing at the door. "Pertrant! why," cried Betty, "what would you have?" "Silence! O silence!" said Miss Warwick; and she continued reading--"_Subscriptions received at Mrs. Bertrand's_." "Pertrant, you hear, plockhead, you Irishman!" cried Betty Williams. "Bartrand--you have no ears, Welshwoman as you are!" retorted Terence O'Grady. "Subscription two guineas, for the Sorrows of Araminta," continued our heroine; but, looking up, she saw Betty Williams and the hackney-coachman making menacing faces and gestures at one another. "Fight it out in the passage, for Heaven's sake!" said Angelina; "if you must fight, fight out of my sight." "For shame, before the young lady!" said Mr. Beatson, holding the hackney-coachman: "have done disputing so loud." "I've done, but she is wrong," cried Terence. "I've done, put he is wrong," said Betty. Terence was so much provoked by the Welshwoman, that he declared he would not carry her a step further in his coach--that his _beasts_ were tired, and that he must be paid his fare, for that he neither could nor would wait any longer. Betty Williams was desired by Angelina to pay him. She hesitated; but after being assured by Miss Warwick that the debt should be punctually discharged in a few hours, she acknowledged that she had silver enough "in a little box at the bottom of her pocket;" and, after much fumbling, she pulled out a snuff-box, which, she said, had been given to her by her "creat crandmother."--Whilst she was paying the coachman, the printer's devil observed one end of a piece of lace hanging out of her pocket; she had, by accident, pulled it out along with the snuff-box. "And was this your great grandmother's too?" said the printer's devil, taking hold of the lace. Betty started. Angelina was busy, making inquiries from the printer, and she did not see or hear what was passing close to her: the coachman was intent upon the examination of his shillings. Betty, with great assurance, reproved the printer's devil for touching such lace with his plack fingers.