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. They’re just all men, and no one is safe from scandal. "'Cos there's a gale a-getting up as'll perwent you, young freshwater," replied the tar. "A husband has little to fear from his wife's kinsfolk. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. That is so like you, Diana—Pallas Athene! (Pallas Athene is better.
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