You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. ‘Just what I was going to tell you, miss. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. For you say that you swim. In this way he crossed one or two public gardens and a bowling-green,—the neighbourhood of Clerkenwell then abounded in such places of amusement,—passed the noted Ducking Pond, where Black Mary had been frequently immersed; and, striking off to the left across the fields, arrived in a few minutes at his destination. Had to give up the work and take to this.
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