"And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose. " "This I do know," continued Jack,—"Jonathan Wild superintends the attack. He was not a sailor. The monster, Wild, when he visited my dungeon last night, told me, to add to my misery, that she occupied a cell near me. These were seated in an imperfect semicircle about a very copper-adorned fireplace, surmounted by a carved wood inscription: “DO IT NOW.
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