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One of the coolies held the paper lantern. " "Very well," replied Thames, about to depart. She caught her breath, and her eyes were lit with a sudden terror. "Close the doors below! Loose the dogs! Curses! they don't hear me! I'll ring the alarm-bell. Lucy stole her last chance to observe Martin Chen, looking provocatively into his 257 eyes as the door was shut. ” She smiled at him. Will you venture?" "It is a hazardous experiment," said Thames, after a moment's reflection; "but I will make it. “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. 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. Almost the best of all.

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