Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. ‘Now be sensible, Melusine, and let me help you. I’ve told them all that was necessary, but I— wanted to ask your pardon—for having made myself a nuisance to you, and for breaking into your rooms—and to thank you—the doctor says you bound up my wound—or I should have bled to death. ” He never helped her by a sound. Others pulled hats over their noses, cowered in their seats, and feigned that all was right with the world. Don't feel fussed upon my account. —D'ye hear?" Still the widow remained silent. The watch was again consulted.
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