s of her being identified. It was no
common chain--apparently had been wrought by people in a state of
semi-refinement. There was too little show for its value--too much
sterling gold for the simple effect produced; and I very much doubted
whether another like it could be found.

The next morning Fleta was too much affected at parting with me, to
enter into much conversation. I asked whether she had recollected
anything, and she replied, "No; that she had cried all night at the
thoughts of our separation." I cautioned her to be very careful of the
chain, and I gave the same caution to the schoolmistress; and after I
had left the town, I regretted that I had not taken it away, and
deposited it in some place of security. I resolved to do so when I next
saw Fleta; in the mean time she would be able, perhaps, by association,
to call up some passage of her infancy connected with it.

I had inquired of a gentleman who sat near me on the coach, which was
the best hotel for a young man of fashion. He recommended the Piazza,
in Covent Garden, and to that we accordingly repaired. I selected
handsome apartments, and ordered a light supper. When the table was
said, Timothy made his appearance in his livery, and cut a very smart,
dashing figure. I dismissed the waiter, and as soon as we were alone, I
burst into a fit of laughter. "Really, Timothy, this is a good farce;
come, sit down, and help me to finish this bottle of wine."

"No, sir," replied Timothy; "with your permission, I prefer doing as the
rest of my fraternity. You only leave the bottle on the sideboard, and
I will steal as much as I want; but as for sitting down, that will be
making too free, and if we were seen, would be, moreover, very
dangerous. We must both keep up our characters. They have been plying
me with all manner of questions below, as to who you were--your name,
etcetera. I resolved that I would give you a lift in the world, and I
stated that you had just arrived from making a grand tour--which is not
a fib, after all--and as for your name, I said that you were all present
_incognito_."

"But why did you make me _incognito_?"

"Because it may suit you so to be; and it certainly is the truth, for
you don't know your real name."

We were here interrupted by the waiter bringing in a letter upon a
salver. "Here is a letter addressed to `I. or J.N., on his return from
his tour,' sir," said he; "I presume it is for you?"

"You may leave it,