” Mr. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Even now I do not understand. At the head of the cart was placed the coffin. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. “I SAY!” said Mr. ‘Never fear, my love. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. Her likeness to her sister gave him at first almost a shock; a moment afterwards he was conscious of a wonderful sense of relief.
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