At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. "Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. You’d make a good Devil. “Forgive me,” he said. “The surgeon’s knife is surely a kindly weapon,” she declared. There is the election——” He laughed derisively. Jackson," said Kneebone, whose assiduity to Mrs. Anna sent her away.
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