ink of another world,' and of seeing him as
neatly turned off as the most exacting Ordinary could desire. And what
inmate of Newgate ever forgot the afternoon of that glorious day (May
the 24th, 1725)? Mr. Pureney returned to his flock, fortified with
punch and good tidings. He pictured the scene at Tyburn with a bibulous
circumstance, which admirably became his style, rejoicing, as he has
rejoiced ever since, that, though he lost a friend, the honest rogue was
saved at last from the machinations of the thief-taker.

So he basked and smoked and drank his ale, retelling the ancient
stories, and hiccuping forth the ancient sermons. So, in the fading
twilight of life, he smiled the smile of contentment, as became one who
had emptied more quarts, had delivered more harrowing discourses, and
had lived familiarly with more scoundrels than any devil-dodger of his
generation.

SHEPPARD AND CARTOUCHE

I--JACK SHEPPARD

IT was midnight when Jack Sheppard reached the leads, wearied by his
magical achievement, and still fearful of discovery. The 'jolly pair of
handcuffs,' provided by the thoughtful Governor, lay discarded in his
distant cell; the chains which a few hours since had grappled him to the
floor encumbered the now useless staple. No trace of the ancient slavery
disgraced him save the iron anklets which clung about his legs; though
many a broken wall and shattered lock must serve for evidence of his
prowess on the morrow. The Stone-Jug was all be-chipped and shattered.
From the castle he had forced his way through a nine-foot wall into
the Red Room, whose bolts, bars, and hinges he had ruined to gain the
Chapel. The road thence to the roof and to freedom was hindered by three
stubborn iron doors; yet naught stood in the way of Sheppard's genius,
and he was sensible, at last, of the night air chill upon his cheek.

But liberty was not yet: there was still a fall of forty feet, and he
must needs repass the wreckage of his own making to filch the blankets
from his cell. In terror lest he should awaken the Master-Side Debtors,
he hastened back to the roof, lashed the coverlets together, and, as the
city clocks clashed twelve, he dropped noiselessly upon the leads of
a turner's house, built against the prison's outer wall. Behind him
Newgate was cut out a black mass against the sky; at his feet glimmered
the garret window of the turner's house, and behind the winking casement
he could see the turner's servan