CHAPTER XI
STONE WALLS DO NOT MAKE A CAGE
Oh, give me back my Arab steed, I cannot ride alone!
Or tell me where my Beautiful, my four-legged bird has flown.
'Twas here she arched her glossy back, beside the fountain's
brink.
And after that I know no more—but I came off, I think.
More so-called original lines by aforesaid young English
friend. But I have the shrewd suspicion of having
read them before somewhere.—H. B. J.
AND now, O gentle and sympathetic reader, behold our unfortunate hero confined in the darkest bowels of the Old Bailey Dungeon, for the mere crime of being an impecunious!
Yes, misters, in spite of all your boasted love of liberty and fresh air, imprisonment for debt is still part of the law of the land! How long will you deafen your ears to the pitiable cry of the bankrupt as he pleads for the order of his
