Thus died Jack Sheppard. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. If you can do any good with him, it's more than we can. Ha! ha! What have I left but despair and madness? Promise me one thing, Mr.
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