"Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. Wanting his coat, when he must have known that the pockets were empty! But the effort to talk had cost him something. I know nothing about this affair, but some one has been burning documents. Urging his steed along Oxford Road,— as that great approach to the metropolis was then termed,—he soon passed Marylebone Lane, beyond which, with the exception of a few scattered houses, the country was completely open on the right, and laid out in pleasant fields and gardens; nor did he draw in the rein until he arrived at Tyburn-gate, where, before he turned off upon the Edgeware Road, he halted for a moment, to glance at the place of execution. It does sound a little horrid to talk so much about oneself and to have views. ” “Climbing?” “Yes. Ireton will do no such thing," replied the head-turnkey. The path he had selected conducted him to his mother's humble dwelling.
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