In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. Something unpardonable is laid to my charge. Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. Nothing stronger than water has passed my lips for years. I almost wish we hadn't come. In spite of his shrieks, the miserable Jew was then dragged into the wellhole, and the rope being tied round his neck, he was launched from the bridge.
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