ABSTRACT
I went to bed – but to sleep was impossible. The idea of having grown into favour with Fortune conjured up a thousand flattering hopes, and I began to anticipate joys which to me have ever been visionary. Now, thought I, if Isabella had not been the victim of Sir Sidney’s passions, with this little sum I might have looked forward to the acquirement of a splendid fortune. The recollection of Mr. Randolph’s distress succeeded this idea, and I was about to devise means for discovering his retreat, when a servant, abruptly entering my apartment, delivered the following laconic epistle –
