Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. Martha was quite right. Last time I left home I felt as hard as nails. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t. Do not slight my warning. "But, I say, that girl is a queer one.
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