In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner. As his death was by no means what Jonathan desired, he resolved to remove him to a more airy ward, and afford him such slight comforts as might tend to his restoration, or at least keep him alive until the period of execution. —The general who gives an order for wholesale carnage never sleeps a wink the less soundly for the midnight groans of his victims, and we should deride him as a coward if he did.
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