"O lud! what an exquisite box!" cried Edgeworth Bess. 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. " Mrs. All the same, I wish I had that fellow by the throat! Just the virile, unregenerate man in me wishes that. Born on a South Sea island, she said.
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