The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, Mrs. Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. "You poor child!" Prudence took Ruth's hands in her own. They clapped wildly afterward. Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. He's now in spring-ankle warehouse with Sir Rowland Trenchard.
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