22 THE HISTORY OF DAME MITCHELL

 

 

 

And truly it was a troop of masqueraders coming from
Ranelagh. Sharpphiz waited to let them pass, and then
hurried out. As soon as he reached the bank of the river,
he felt so elated at his success that he began to whistle the
gavotte and cut capers: his transports of delight reminded
you of a cannibal dancing round the body of his victim.

He ran along as fast as his legs would carry him, by the
side of the river, until he came to Westminster-bridge,
then stopped in the very middle of it, held out the basket
beyond the parapet, turned it suddenly over, and then
flung the wretched Mowmouth into the dark waters of the
stream. ‘The cat, as he fell through the air, sent forth a
ery which sounded like a human voice. The murderer shud-
dered: but his emotion was only transient ; and, thrusting
his hands into his pockets, he said in a bitter tone of
mockery,—

“Good by, my dear Mowmouth; try to get safe to