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’ Mrs Sindlesham’s mouth dropped open. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. While involved in this crowd, near Temple Bar, —where the thoroughfare was most dangerous from the masses of ruin that impeded it,—an individual, whose swarthy features recalled to the carpenter one of his tormentors of the previous night, collared him, and, with bitter imprecations accused him of stealing his child. Let me have a word with him, and you may take all the money. I had no idea you were not the happiest girl. Wood!—no," replied the turnkey. ‘Don’t tell me.

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