The Merry Past 



hand me the money, measter. I can't stand here all 

 night." 



Just then the wind blowing aside the skirts of the 

 man's coat, the moonlight fell upon the brass mounting 

 of a horse-pistol, no pleasant sight for the counsel. 

 Nevertheless he pulled himself together, and, screwing 

 up a bold face, persisted : 



" It is not professional, my good friend, to return 

 money ; for you see if we were once to do so " 



" Oh, I don't understand your trade, measter 

 counsellor ; but I know you have had my money, 

 and done nothing for it ; so hand it back. Come, 

 I can't stop." 



With this the highwayman gently insinuated his 

 left hand and foot within the door, and tapped his 

 fingers persuasively on a large blackthorn club in 

 his right hand. The counsel, having looked back- 

 wards upon the darkness and loneliness of -his room, 

 and forwards towards the unfrequented lane, put 

 his hand in his waistcoat pocket, and taking out the 

 five-pound note, handed it over to the rufiian, 

 who wished him good night, with a knowing leer, 

 and vanished into the darkness, whilst the lawyer, 

 much relieved, crept up to bed. 



Those were the days when men were hanged for 

 quite trifling offences, whilst comparatively small 

 value was attached to human life. 



A story told of Jack Ketch, the celebrated hangman, 

 illustrates the casual methods which prevailed. 



Jack, when on his death-bed, is reported to have 

 sent for the curate of his parish, to whom he said ; 



2IO 



