ToC Monday, the 31st of August 1724,—a day long afterwards remembered by the officers of Newgate,—was distinguished by an unusual influx of visitors to the Lodge. Amid a litter of nails without heads, screws without worms, and locks without wards, lay a glue-pot and an oilstone, two articles which their owner was wont to term "his right hand and his left. They sell only their talents, not their bodies; they are not girls of the street. But to choose this of all moments. He was fast rising to an eminence that no one of his nefarious profession ever reached before him, nor, it is to be hoped, will ever reach again. I deserve pretty much what I’ve got. I have been sitting with him ever since. ‘Eh bien, I will tell you.
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