" says Mr. Warrington. He
did not like his new friend the more as the latter grew more familiar.
The theatres were shut. Should they go to Sadler's Wells? or Marybone
Gardens? or Ranelagh? or how? "Not Ranelagh," says Mr. Draper, "because
there's none of the nobility in town;" but, seeing in the newspaper that
at the entertainment at Sadler's Wells, Islington, there would be the
most singular kind of diversion on eight hand-bells by Mr. Franklyn, as
well as the surprising performances of Signora Catherina, Harry wisely
determined that he would go to Marybone Gardens, where they had a
concert of music, a choice of tea, coffee, and all sorts of wines,
and the benefit of Mr. Draper's ceaseless conversation. The lawyer's
obsequiousness only ended at Harry's bedroom door, where, with haughty
grandeur, the young gentleman bade his talkative host good night.

The next morning Mr. Warrington, arrayed in his brocade bedgown, took
his breakfast, read the newspaper, and enjoyed his ease in his inn. He
read in the paper news from his own country. And when he saw the words,
Williamsburg, Virginia, June 7th, his eyes grew dim somehow. He had
just had letters by that packet of June 7th, but his mother did not
tell how--"A great number of the principal gentry of the colony have
associated themselves under the command of the Honourable Peyton
Randolph, Esquire, to march to the relief of their distressed
fellow-subjects, and revenge the cruelties of the French and their
barbarous allies. They are in a uniform: viz., a plain blue frock,
nanquin or brown waistcoats and breeches, and plain hats. They are armed
each with a light firelock, a brace of pistols, and a cutting sword."

"Ah, why ain't we there, Gumbo?" cried out Harry.

"Why ain't we dar?" shouted Gumbo.

"Why am I here, dangling at women's trains?" continued the Virginian.

"Think dangling at women's trains very pleasant, Master Harry!" says the
materialistic Gumbo, who was also very little affected by some further
home news which his master read, viz., that The Lovely Sally, Virginia
ship, had been taken in sight of port by a French privateer.

And now, reading that the finest mare in England, and a pair of very
genteel bay geldings, were to be sold at the Bull Inn, the lower end
of Hatton Garden, Harry determined to go and look at the animals, and
inquired his way to the place. He then and there bought the genteel bay
geldings, and paid for them with easy generosity. He ne