I knew it was in vain to cry 'murder!' in the Mint, so I had recourse to stratagem. Be off!" "Jack!" exclaimed his unhappy parent. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE.
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