The ladies were, as usual, very gaily dressed; and as usual, also, had resorted to art to heighten their attractions— From patches, justly placed, they borrow'd graces, And with vermilion lacquer'd o'er their faces. I sha’n’t care a rap if we can never marry. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. ‘I suppose you think I can’t manage it myself,’ had complained Captain Roding sarcastically. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched.
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