Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. " "Order those who choose to obey you," rejoined the lady scornfully. I'll lay my life he's gone. ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship. "There's a guinea to drink our health," she added, slipping a piece of money into his hand. She decided to go on, after a momentary halt.
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