The morning of Monday the 16th of November 1724 at length dawned. I have found you. Accounted extremely pretty in her youth, her features and person expanded as she grew older, without much detriment to their original comeliness. "Confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters," whispered Kneebone, "What's to be done?" "What's to be done! Why, I'm undone! How imprudent in you not to burn them. "Love me, love my dog! Because I've scolded him and told him a few truths, you are ice to me. Hope reared. But his treasured dream lay shattered at his feet.
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