“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. This is the way the old thief brings in all his heavy plunder, which he stows in out-of-the-way holes in his infernal dwelling. Born on a South Sea island, she said. These thoughts, however, came to a broken end. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. “Indeed!” Anna answered indifferently. " "I do not doubt it," returned Jack; "none but those who have experienced it can understand the miseries of imprisonment.
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