ous appetite to gratify, and no carnal thoughts to
divert him from the duties of his profession; and his voice, which was
naturally sweet, would improve to such a degree, that he would captivate
the ears of all the people of fashion and taste, and in a little time be
celebrated under the appellation of the English Senesino.

These arguments did not fail to make impression upon the painter, who
nevertheless started two objections to his compliance; namely, the
disgrace of the punishment, and the dread of his wife. Pickle undertook
to obviate these difficulties, by assuring him that the sentence would
be executed so privately as never to transpire: and that his wife could
not be so unconscionable, after so many years of cohabitation, as to
take exceptions to an expedient by which she would not only enjoy the
conversation of her husband, but even the fruits of those talents which
the knife would so remarkably refine.

Pallet shook his hand at this last remonstrance, as if he thought it
would not be altogether convincing to his spouse, but yielded to the
proposal, provided her consent could be obtained. Just as he signified
this condescension, the jailer entered, and addressing himself to the
supposed lady, expressed his satisfaction in having the honour to tell
her that she was no longer a prisoner. As the painter did not understand
one word of what he said, Peregrine undertook the office of interpreter,
and made his friend believe the jailer's speech was no other than an
intimation that the ministry had sent a surgeon to execute what was
proposed, and that the instruments and dressings were prepared in the
next room. Alarmed and terrified at this sudden appointment, he flew
to the other end of the room, and, snatching up an earthen chamber-pot,
which was the only offensive weapon in the place, put himself in a
posture of defence, and with many oaths threatened to try the temper
of the barber's skull, if he should presume to set his nose within the
apartment.

The jailer, who little expected such a reception, concluded that
the poor gentlewoman had actually lost her wits, and retreated with
precipitation, leaving the door open as he went out; upon which Pickle,
gathering up the particulars of his dress with great despatch, crammed
them into Pallet's arms, and taking notice that now the coast was clear,
exhorted him to follow his footsteps to the gate, where a hackney-coach
stood for his reception. There being no time for