Jack Sheppard | Page 7

round,--that is, if she gets through her present illness. A dry cough's the
trumpeter of death. If that's true, she's not long for this world. As to this
little fellow, in spite of the Dutchman, who, in my opinion, is more of a
Jacobite than a conjurer, and more of a knave than either, he shall never
mount a horse foaled by an acorn, if I can help it."
The course of the carpenter's meditations was here interrupted by a
loud note of lamentation from the child, who, disturbed by the transfer,
and not receiving the gentle solace to which he was ordinarily
accustomed, raised his voice to the utmost, and exerted his feeble
strength to escape. For a few moments Mr. Wood dandled his little
charge to and fro, after the most approved nursery fashion, essaying at
the same time the soothing influence of an infantine melody proper to
the occasion; but, failing in his design, he soon lost all patience, and
being, as we have before hinted, rather irritable, though extremely
well-meaning, he lifted the unhappy bantling in the air, and shook him
with so much good will, that he had well-nigh silenced him most
effectually. A brief calm succeeded. But with returning breath came
returning vociferations; and the carpenter, with a faint hope of
lessening the clamour by change of scene, took up his lantern, opened
the door, and walked out.


CHAPTER II.
The Old Mint.

Mrs. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings,
called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane,
running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the
brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected
gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. The neighbouring
houses were tenanted by the lowest order of insolvent traders, thieves,
mendicants, and other worthless and nefarious characters, who fled
thither to escape from their creditors, or to avoid the punishment due to
their different offenses; for we may observe that the Old Mint, although
it had been divested of some of its privileges as a sanctuary by a recent
statute passed in the reign of William the Third, still presented a safe
asylum to the debtor, and even continued to do so until the middle of
the reign of George the First, when the crying nature of the evil called
loudly for a remedy, and another and more sweeping enactment entirely
took away its immunities. In consequence of the encouragement thus
offered to dishonesty, and the security afforded to crime, this quarter of
the Borough of Southwark was accounted (at the period of our narrative)
the grand receptacle of the superfluous villainy of the metropolis.
Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was,
perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and
the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. And yet,
on the very site of the sordid tenements and squalid courts we have
mentioned, where the felon openly made his dwelling, and the
fraudulent debtor laughed the object of his knavery to scorn--on this
spot, not two centuries ago, stood the princely residence of Charles
Brandon, the chivalrous Duke of Suffolk, whose stout heart was a well
of honour, and whose memory breathes of loyalty and valour. Suffolk
House, as Brandon's palace was denominated, was subsequently
converted into a mint by his royal brother-in-law, Henry the Eighth;
and, after its demolition, and the removal of the place of coinage to the
Tower, the name was still continued to the district in which it had been
situated.
Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of
desolation and misery. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. The
roof was partially untiled; the chimneys were tottering; the side-walls
bulged, and were supported by a piece of timber propped against the

opposite house; the glass in most of the windows was broken, and its
place supplied with paper; while, in some cases, the very frames of the
windows had been destroyed, and the apertures were left free to the airs
of heaven. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak
more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular
appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty
hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former
occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have
before alluded.
It was owing to the untimely end of this poor fellow that Mrs. Sheppard
was enabled to take possession of the premises. In a fit of despondency,
superinduced by drunkenness, he made away with himself; and when
the body was discovered, after a lapse of some months, such was the
impression produced by the spectacle--such the alarm