I am very much afraid I’ve been wasting a great deal of my own valuable time and space, and of my courteous reader’s equally valuable patience, in giving all I could learn of the history of this worthless man; only my dear Edward (who is as obstinate as a mule) would have it that Dick Farden was quite a character, although I must say that if he was a character, he was a very bad one; and I declare the way in which he served me and my sweet piano, is quite heart-rending to think of, but I will tell the reader all about this in its proper place. Though I can’t help adding, that it was quite as much the work of my dear Edward (who, it pains me to state, always will have his own way, and _of course_ always _must_ be in the right) as it was the work of Mr. Dick Farden, (who certainly was one of the clumsiest and stupidest men that I ever came nigh,) for if Mr. Sk--n--st--n would only have allowed me to have packed the man out of the house when _I_ wanted, of course it never would have happened, and I should have had my sweet Broadwood in my possession at this very minute, but the gentle reader knows as well as I do, that what can’t be, &c., must be, &c.; so I shall say no more about the piano, until I touch upon it in the due course of things; for I’ve quite made up my mind to the loss of the thing a long time ago, and the least said is the soonest mended; still I can’t help adding, that I only wish to goodness gracious that I had never set eyes upon that awkward lout of a Mr. Dick Farden, or that that perverse, headstrong (though good at times) husband of mine would not go interfering about the servants, but just allow me to deal with them as I please, and manage my own affairs myself, for I should be glad to know how he would like me to go meddling with his clerks, indeed. In conclusion, I can only say that the circumstance affected me so much at the time that I only prayed for one thing, and that was that the laws would have allowed me to have had the vagabond transported, as they ought to have done, or at the very least have compelled the man to have given me a new piano, value seventy-five guineas, which I was assured was the cost of ours when it was new, though for myself I can’t speak positively to the fact, for, to tell the truth, we bought it second-hand. But, methinks I hear the gentle reader saying, what about the piano? You are again forgetting yourself, Mrs. Sk--n--st--n, and allowing your naturally fine, warm feelings to make you wander from your subject. _C’est vrai--vous avez raison_, courteous reader.