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"At my first being acquainted with the place," says this writer, in the 'Miseries of a Prison,' "the prisoners, methought, walking up and down the Stone Hall, looked like so many wrecks upon the sea. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. She said she hoped she had not distressed him by the course she had felt obliged to take, and he told her not to be a fool. "Confusion!" cried he; "there is another boat in our wake. This is clear over my head. You have neither reason nor logic. I loved her so much. "But, as I was saying, I was most dreadfully frightened on the night of the robbery! Though so young at the time, I remember every circumstance distinctly.
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