“Forgive me,” he said, “but I want to hear it from your sister. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. I hope to see the day, when not Southwark alone, but London itself shall become one Mint,—when all men shall be debtors, and none creditors,— when imprisonment for debt shall be utterly abolished,—- when highwayrobbery shall be accounted a pleasant pastime, and forgery an accomplishment, —when Tyburn and its gibbets shall be overthrown,—capital punishments discontinued,—Newgate, Ludgate, the Gatehouse, and the Compters razed to the ground,—Bridewell and Clerkenwell destroyed,—the Fleet, the King's Bench, and the Marshalsea remembered only by name! But, in the mean time, as that day may possibly be farther off than I anticipate, we are bound to make the most of the present. The thought allured him, and therein lay the danger. The monster, Wild, when he visited my dungeon last night, told me, to add to my misery, that she occupied a cell near me.
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