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Smollett, Tobias George, 1721-1771

"The Expedition of Humphry Clinker"

My uncle having made
a proper return to this courteous exhibition, eyed him
attentively, and then asked if he had not been at Oxford, a
commoner of Queen's college? When Mr Dennison answered, 'Yes,'
with some marks of surprise -- 'Look at me then (said our squire)
and let us see if you can recollect the features of an old
friend, whom you have not seen these forty years.' -- The
gentleman, taking him by the hand, and gazing at him earnestly, --
'I protest (cried he), I do think I recall the idea of Matthew
Loyd of Glamorganshire, who was student of Jesus.' 'Well
remembered, my dear friend, Charles Dennison (exclaimed my uncle,
pressing him to his breast), I am that very identical Matthew
Loyd of Glamorgan.' Clinker, who had just entered the room with
some coals for the fire, no sooner heard these words, than
throwing down the scuttle on the toes of Lismahago, he began to
caper as if he was mad, crying -- 'Matthew Loyd of Glamorgan! -- O
Providence! -- Matthew Loyd of Glamorgan!' -- Then, clasping my
uncle's knees, he went on in this manner -- 'Your worship must
forgive me -- Matthew Loyd of Glamorgan! -- O Lord, Sir! I can't
contain myself! -- I shall lose my senses' -- 'Nay, thou hast lost
them already, I believe (said the 'squire, peevishly), prithee,
Clinker, be quiet -- What is the matter?' -- Humphry, fumbling in his
bosom, pulled out an old wooden snuff-box, which he presented in
great trepidation to his master, who, opening it immediately,
perceived a small cornelian seal, and two scraps of paper -- At
sight of these articles he started, and changed colour, and
casting his eye upon the inscriptions -- 'Ha! -- how! -- what! where
(cried he) is the person here named?' Clinker, knocking his own
breast, could hardly pronounce these words -- 'Here -- here -- here is
Matthew Loyd, as the certificate sheweth -- Humphry Clinker was the
name of the farrier that took me 'prentice' -- 'And who gave you
these tokens?' said my uncle hastily -- 'My poor mother on her
death-bed' -- replied the other -- 'And who was your mother?'
'Dorothy Twyford, an please your honour, heretofore bar-keeper at
the Angel at Chippenham.


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