Spurling, hastening to the rescue. 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. ‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone. Beware of him, my son! Beware of him! You know not what villany he is capable of. There was, in fact, only one clear thought in his fevered brain: he had reached the hotel without falling down. Prom a knot of idlers at a public-house, he learnt that Jonathan Wild had just ridden past, and that his setters were scouring the country in every direction.
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