He had chosen his time well. Here the ribs of a thousand pounds beating against the Needles—
those dangerous rocks, credulity here floated, to and fro, silks, stuffs, camlets,
and velvet, without giving place to each other, according to their dignity; here
rolled so many pipes of canary, whose bungholes lying open, were so damaged
that the merchant may go hoop for his money," A less picturesque, but more
truthful, and, therefore, more melancholy description of the same scene, is
furnished by the shrewd and satirical Ned Ward, who informs us, in the
"Delectable History of Whittington's College," that "When the prisoners are
disposed to recreate themselves with walking, they go up into a spacious room,
called the Stone Hall; where, when you see them taking a turn together, it would
puzzle one to know which is the gentleman, which the mechanic, and which the
beggar, for they are all suited in the same garb of squalid poverty, making a
spectacle of more pity than executions; only to be out at the elbows is in fashion
here, and a great indecorum not to be threadbare. ‘For my part, I am in no hurry to end this exciting little
adventure. “Lighten up. ’
‘Ah, but I’m thinking as how this here house ain’t the best spot for an
operation of that kind, missie,’ explained the sergeant, and Melusine noted that
his men exchanged anguished glances. “There have been other times,” he said a little sadly. "And you have seen … drunken men?" Prudence's tones were full of suppressed
horror. The stranger started at the
touch, and spoke. “I suppose my levity is incorrigible. .
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