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“I dare say, young lady, you can have nothing to say that you need be ashamed of, only people in distress don’t like so well to speak before third folks, I guess –though, to say the truth, I have never known, by my own experience, what it was to be in much distress since I came into the world–but I hope I am not the more hard-hearted for that–for I can guess, I say, pretty well, how those in distress feel when they come to speak. Do as you would be done by is my maxim till I can find a better–so I take myself away, leaving my better part behind me, if it will be of any service to you, madam.”

As he passed by Miss Warwick, he dropped his purse into her lap, and he was gone before she could recover from her surprise.

“Sir!–madam!” cried she, rising hastily, “here has been some strange mistake–I am not a beggar–I am much, very much obliged to you, but–“

“Nay, keep it, friend, keep it,” said Dinah Plait, pressing the purse upon Angelina; “John Barker is as rich as a Jew, and as generous as a prince. Keep it, friend, and you’ll oblige both him and me–’tis dangerous in this world for one so young and so pretty as you are to be in great distress; so be not proud.”

“I am not proud,” said Miss Warwick, drawing her purse from her pocket; “but my distress is not of a pecuniary nature–Convince yourself–I am in distress only for a friend, an unknown friend.”

“Touched in her brain, I doubt,” thought Dinah.

“Coot ale!” exclaimed Betty Williams–“Coot heggs and pacon.”

“Does a lady of the name of Araminta–Miss Hodges, I mean–lodge here?” said Miss Warwick.

“Friend, I do not let lodgings; and I know of no such person as Miss Hodges.”

“Well, I swear hur name, the coachman told me, did begin with a p, and end with a t,” cried Betty Williams, “or I would never have let him knock at hur toor.”

“Oh, my Araminta! my Araminta!” exclaimed Angelina, turning up her eyes towards heaven–“when, oh when shall I find thee? I am the most unfortunate person upon earth.”

“Had not hur petter eat a hegg, and a pit of pacon? here’s one pit left,” said Betty: “hur must be hungry, for ’tis two o’clock past, and we preakfasted at nine–hur must be hungry;” and Betty pressed her to try the pacon; but Angelina put it away, or, in the proper style, motioned the bacon from her.

“I am in no want of food,” cried she, rising: “happy they who have no conception of any but corporeal sufferings. Farewell, madam!–may the sensibility, of which your countenance is so strongly expressive, never be a source of misery to you!”–and with that depth of sigh which suited the close of such a speech, Angelina withdrew.

“If I could but have felt her pulse,” said Dinah Plait to herself, “I could have prescribed something that, maybe, would have done her good, poor distracted thing! Now it was well done of John Barker to leave this purse for her–but how is this?–poor thing! she’s not fit to be trusted with money–here she has left her own purse full of guineas.”

Dinah ran immediately to the house-door, in hopes of being able to catch Angelina; but the coach had turned down into another street, and was out of sight. Mrs. Plait sent for her constant counsellor, John Barker, to deliberate on the means of returning the purse. It should be mentioned, to the credit of Dinah’s benevolence, that, at the moment when she was interrupted by the entrance of Betty Williams and Angelina, she was hearing the most flattering things from a person who was not disagreeable to her: her friend, John Barker, was a rich hosier, who had retired from business; and who, without any ostentation, had a great deal of real feeling and generosity. But the fastidious taste of fine, or sentimental readers, will probably be disgusted by our talking of the feelings and generosity of a hosier and a cheesemonger’s widow. It belongs to a certain class of people to indulge in the luxury of sentiment: we shall follow our heroine, therefore, who, both from her birth and education, is properly qualified to have–“exquisite feelings.”