" With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. The coach in which the prisoner had been conveyed was already broken to pieces, and the driver was glad to escape with life. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. Before retracing his steps, however, he allowed his gaze to range over the vast and beautiful prospect spread out beneath him, which is now hidden, from the traveller's view by the high walls of the General Cemetery, and can, consequently, only be commanded from the interior of that attractive place of burial,—and which, before it was intersected by canals and railroads, and portioned out into hippodromes, was exquisite indeed. “If you interfere between us,” the man said, “it will go hardly with you. The Procession to Tyburn 462 XXXII.
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