by the beloved image of Willoughby, and the sacrifice she was making for him, she hardly remembered that she had never in her life been in a stage coach before, till she found herself seated in one under the dark gateway of an inn in the city at five o'clock in a dreary winter morning.
Two female passengers had already taken their places; one of whom expressed great anxiety for a number of hat boxes and caravan trunks which the people belonging to

the inn were placing in different parts of the coach, while the lady particularly recommended to their care one box, which she assured them contained her new laylock bonnet, an article for the safety of which she was so solicitous that she would have taken the great machine in which it was contained into the coach, had it not been opposed by the coachman, and presently after by a man who had been drinking with him, and who now preparing to enter the coach, protested vehemently against this whim of his sister Mary's.—"Who d'ye think will be scroughed and crammed up," cried he, "with your confounded trumpery? No, no such thing. Here Daniel, prythee take and stow it somewhere or another: it shall not enter the coach, I'll be sworn."
The man then placed himself by the side of the other female passenger, opposite to Celestina, and appeared to be as anxious for his own ease as his sister was for the safety of her wardrobe. The coach moved

on, but it was still quite dark, and silence prevailed for the first four or five miles, interrupted only by some fretful expressions from the lady of the bandboxes, at the inconveniences to which people were subjected by going in stage coaches, and some exclamations against the unfortunate dampness of the morning, which she declared would certainly penetrate the covering and entirely spoil her laylock bonnet, which she said cost her three guineas.
"The more fool you," cried her brother, who was of a character Celestina had never had an opportunity of seeing before, that of a country tradesman affecting to be a wit and a buck—"the more fool you, sister Mary. What! d'ye think a three guinea bonnet will make you look three years younger? No, no, take my word for it, your flounces, and fringes, and furbelows serve for no purpose at all but to shew your wrinkles."
"Wrinkles!" repeated the lady disdainfully, "what do you mean, John

Jedwyn? I declare you are so rude and disagreeable I always repent travelling with