Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. "Humph!" exclaimed Jonathan, doubtfully. 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. And, if ever I'm brought to the gallows, I shall lay my death at her door.
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