JONATHAN WILD'S HOUSE IN THE OLD BAILEY.

JUST as Saint Sepulchre's church struck one, on the eventful night of the 10th of June, (to which it will now be necessary to recur,) a horseman, mounted on a powerful charger, and followed at a respectful distance by an attendant, galloped into the open space fronting Newgate, and directed his course towards a house in the Old Bailey. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed-startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider-swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. The next moment, however, he was picked up, and set upon his feet by a person who, having witnessed the accident, flew across the road to his assistance.

"You're not hurt, I hope, Sir Rowland ?" inquired this individual. "Not materially, Mr. Wild," replied the other; "a little shaken, that's all. Curses light on the horse!" he added, seizing the bridle of his steed, who continued snorting and shivering, as if stil! under the influence of some unaccountable alarm ; "what can ail him ?"

"I know what ails him, your honour," rejoined the groom, riding up as he spoke; "he's seen somethin' not o' this world."

"Most likely," observed Jonathan with a slight 'sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt."

"Maybe," returned the man gravely.

"Take him home, Saunders," said Rowland, resigning his faulty steed to the attendant's care, "I shall not require you further. Strange!" he added, as the groom departed; "Bay Stuart has carried me through a hundred dangers, but never played me such a trick before."

“And never should again, were he mine," rejoined Jonathan. "If the best nag ever foaled were to throw me in this unlucky spot, I'd blow his brains out."

"What do you mean, sir?" asked Trenchard.

"A fall against Newgate is accounted a sign of death by the halter," replied Wild, with ill-disguised malignity.

"Tush!" exclaimed Rowland, angrily.

"From that door," continued the thieftaker, pointing to the gloomy portal of the prison opposite which they were standing, "the condemned are taken to Tyburn. It's a bad omen to be thrown near that door." "I did'nt suspect you of so much superstition, Mr. Wild," observed the knight, contemptuously.

"Facts convince the most incredulous," answered Jonathan, drily. "I've known several cases where the ignominious doom I've men tioned has been foretold by such an accident as has just befallen you. There was Major Price-you must recollect him, Sir Rowland-he stumbled as he was getting out of his chair at that very gate. Well, he was executed for murder. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. It was a pity he didn't break his neck, for he was hanged within the year. Another instance was that of Toby Tan

"No more of this," interrupted Trenchard; "where is the boy?" "Not far hence," replied Wild. "After all our pains we were near losing him, Sir Rowland."

"How so?" asked the other, distrustfully.

"You shall hear," returned Jonathan. "With the help of his comrade, Jack Sheppard, the young rascal made a bold push to get out of the roundhouse, where my janizaries had lodged him, and would have succeeded too, if, by good luck-for the devil never deserts so useful an agent as I am, Sir Rowland—I hadn't arrived in time to prevent him. As it was, my oldest and trustiest setter, Abraham Mendez, received a blow on the head from one of the lads that will deprive me of his services for a week to come-if, indeed, it doesn't disable him altogether. However, if I've lost one servant, I've gained anotherthat's a comfort. Jack Sheppard is now wholly in my hands" "What is this to me, sir?" said Trenchard, cutting him short. "Nothing whatever," rejoined the thieftaker, coldly. "But it is much to me. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you-an object of hatred. I owed his father a grudge: that I settled long ago. I owe his mother one, and will repay the debt, with interest, to her son. I could make away with him at once, as you are about to make away with your nephew, Sir Rowland—but that wouldn't serve my turn. To be complete, my vengeance must be tardy. Certain of my prey, I can afford to wait for it. Besides, revenge is sweetened by delay; and I indulge too freely in the passion to rob it of any of its zest. I've watched this lad-this Sheppard-from infancy; and, though I have apparently concerned myself little about him, I have never lost sight of my purpose. I have suffered him to be brought up decently-honestly; because I would make his fall the greater, and deepen the wound I mean to inflict upon his mother. From this night I shall pursue a different course; from this night his