Mr. How Jack Sheppard was brought back to Newgate. A slight cough uttered by Jonathan at the moment awakened the echoes of the place, and was returned in hollow reverberations. The militia were in already. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. But, egad! I believe he will. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. You have somewhere to go to in London, I hope.
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