I tried painting and couldn’t get on. —Jonathan Wild: August 31st, 1724. Lady Trafford uttered a prolonged scream, and fainted. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. Several men and women were piled there like wood, dead, horribly gored. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. I was pretty strong for a four-year old! She was so mad that she spanked me with a belt until my butt was raw and bleeding.
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