detain me; so I said to the young man that I would be glad if he would stop for a minute when he came to the dead-wall of the King’s Bench Prison. The words were no sooner out of my mouth, than he rattled away as if he, my box, the cart, and the donkey were all equally mad; and I was quite out of breath with running and calling after him, when I caught him at the place appointed.

Being much flushed and excited, I tumbled my half-guinea out of my pocket in pulling the card out. I put it in my mouth for safety, and though my hands trembled a good deal, had just tied the card on very much to my satisfaction, when I felt myself violently chucked under the chin by the long-legged young man, and saw my half-guinea fly out of my mouth into his hand.

“Wot!” said the young man, seizing me by my jacket collar, with a frightful grin. “This is a pollis case, is it? You’re a-going to bolt, are you? Come to the pollis, you young warmin, come to the pollis!”

“You give me my money back, if you please,” said I, very much frightened; “and leave me alone.”

“Come to the pollis!” said the young man. “You shall prove it yourn to the pollis.”

“Give me my box and money, will you?” I cried, bursting into tears.

The young man still replied: “Come to the pollis!” and was dragging me against the donkey in a violent manner, as if there were any affinity between that animal and a magistrate, when he changed his mind, jumped into the cart, sat upon my box, and exclaiming that he would drive to the pollis straight, rattled away harder than ever.

I ran after him as fast as I could, but I had no breath to call out with, and should not have dared to call out now if I had. I narrowly escaped being run over, twenty times at least, in half a mile. Now I lost him, now I saw him, now I lost him, now I was cut at with a whip, now shouted at, now down in the mud, now up again, now running into somebody’s arms, now running headlong at a post. At length, confused by fright and heat, and doubting whether half London might not by this time be turning out for my apprehension, I left the young man to go where he would with my box and money, and, panting and crying, but never stopping, faced about for Greenwich, which I had understood was on the Dover Road—taking very little more out of the world, towards the retreat of my aunt, Miss Betsey, than I had brought into it, on the night when my arrival gave her so much umbrage.