in the liberty allowed her of taking her private walks in the
garden: for this attempt has confirmed them in their belief, that now
they have turned off her maid, she has no way to send a letter out of
the house: if she had, she would not have run the risque of tempting
a fellow who had not been in her secret--so that she can prosecute
unsuspectedly her correspondence with me and Miss Howe.

In the next place, it will perhaps afford me an opportunity of a private
interview with her, which I am meditating, let her take it as she will;
having found out by my spy (who can keep off every body else) that
she goes every morning and evening to a wood-house remote from the
dwelling-house, under pretence of visiting and feeding a set of
bantam-poultry, which were produced from a breed that was her
grandfather's, and of which for that reason she is very fond; as also of
some other curious fowls brought from the same place. I have an account
of all her motions here. And as she has owned to me in one of her
letters that she corresponds privately with Miss Howe, I presume it is
by this way.

The interview I am meditating, will produce her consent, I hope, to
other favours of the like kind: for, should she not choose the place
in which I am expecting to see her, I can attend her any where in the
rambling Dutch-taste garden, whenever she will permit me that honour:
for my implement, high Joseph Leman, has procured me the opportunity of
getting two keys made to the garden-door (one of which I have given him
for reasons good); which door opens to the haunted coppice, as tradition
has made the servants think it; a man having been found hanging in it
about twenty years ago: and Joseph, upon proper notice, will leave it
unbolted.

But I was obliged previously to give him my honour, that no mischief
should happen to any of my adversaries, from this liberty: for the
fellow tells me, that he loves all his masters: and, only that he knows
I am a man of honour; and that my alliance will do credit to the family;
and after prejudices are overcome, every body will think so; or he would
not for the world act the part he does.

There never was a rogue, who had not a salvo to himself for being
so.--What a praise to honesty, that every man pretends to it, even at
the instant that he knows he is pursuing the methods that will perhaps
prove him a knave to the whole world, as well as to his own conscience!

But what this stupid family can mean, to m