“I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. To—to find myself. While involved in this crowd, near Temple Bar, —where the thoroughfare was most dangerous from the masses of ruin that impeded it,—an individual, whose swarthy features recalled to the carpenter one of his tormentors of the previous night, collared him, and, with bitter imprecations accused him of stealing his child. ‘Quite mad, nuns are. Other, and more serious impositions, inasmuch as they affected a poorer class of persons, were practised by the underlings of the jail.
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