"Jack Sheppard's mother," answered the little girl, dejectedly; "she has brought a basket of eggs from Willesden, and some flowers for you. But a total stranger, a man you never saw twentyfour hours ago! It can't be thought of. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. “What has she told you?” “Everything. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. Here, according to another old custom, already alluded to, a criminal taken to execution was allowed to halt at a tavern, called the Crown, and take a draught from St. ‘Not if I heard him aright. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. After that consolations fled.
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