so fully, that nothing more can be said about them; on the third
hand (allowing, for the sake of argument, three hands to one figure
of speech), that the public has heard so much of them, as to be
quite tired of rogues, thieves, cutthroats, and Newgate
altogether;--though all these objections may be urged, and each is
excellent, yet we intend to take a few more pages from the "Old
Bailey Calendar," to bless the public with one more draught from the
Stone Jug:*--yet awhile to listen, hurdle-mounted, and riding down
the Oxford Road, to the bland conversation of Jack Ketch, and to
hang with him round the neck of his patient, at the end of our and
his history. We give the reader fair notice, that we shall tickle
him with a few such scenes of villainy, throat-cutting, and bodily
suffering in general, as are not to be found, no, not in--; never
mind comparisons, for such are odious.

* This, as your Ladyship is aware, is the polite name for Her
Majesty's Prison of Newgate.

In the year 1705, then, whether it was that the Queen of England did
feel seriously alarmed at the notion that a French prince should
occupy the Spanish throne; or whether she was tenderly attached to
the Emperor of Germany; or whether she was obliged to fight out the
quarrel of William of Orange, who made us pay and fight for his
Dutch provinces; or whether poor old Louis Quatorze did really
frighten her; or whether Sarah Jennings and her husband wanted to
make a fight, knowing how much they should gain by it;--whatever the
reason was, it was evident that the war was to continue, and there
was almost as much soldiering and recruiting, parading, pike and
gun-exercising, flag-flying, drum-beating, powder-blazing, and
military enthusiasm, as we can all remember in the year 1801, what