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That is a pity now, for we bring her such rare news.

Lack-a-daisy! what can that be?

Her uncle, the grazier, is dead at last; and tho' he would never allow her a penny in his lifetime, as you well know, he has died without a will, and every thing that he has comes to Dolly.

Ay, by my faith! as good ten thousand pounds, when house and stock, and all is disposed of, as any body would wish to have the handling of.

Ten thousand pounds! how some people are born to be lucky! A poor woman like me may labour all her life long, and never make the twentieth part of it.

Come hither, Sally: did Doll tell you where she was going this morning?

No, but I can guess well enough; for she is all