What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. “I do not even know who you are. Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him. . " "What is it?" asked the poor woman. Kneebone, are these your French noblemen?" "Don't upbraid me!" rejoined the woollen-draper.
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