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Hah! 'twas a trick worth the telling.—It was but yesterday we got notice by our spies, that Roller lay snug in a pickle^[1]; and that unless the sky fell, or some such accident, before morning,—that's to day, he would be gone the way of all flesh.—Come, said the Captain! Shall our friend go swing, and we do nothing for him—Save him or not. I promise you, I'll light him such a pile, as few have seen the like!—He gave his orders to the band.—We sent a trusty fellow, who contrived to give Roller notice, by slipping a scrap of paper into his soup.

I had no hopes of the thing succeeding.

We watched for the moment when everything was quiet,—the streets deserted,—every mortal gone to see the sight,—horse, foot, coaches, all pell-mell.—We heard even the noise at the gallows, and the psalm singing.—Now, said the Captain, now's the time! Set fire!—Our fellows