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"Ay, what's the matter, boy!" reiterated Jackson sternly. There were menacing possibilities; the thought of them set him a-tremble. The chief scene of these disgusting orgies,—the cellar, just referred to,—was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the level of the street, perfectly dark, unless when illumined by a roaring fire, and candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, with a range of butts and barrels at one end, and benches and tables at the other, where the prisoners, debtors, and malefactors male and female, assembled as long as their money lasted, and consumed the time in drinking, smoking, and gaming with cards and dice. I seek chaos, but not out of choice. With the last glimmer of decency he had sent the daughter to his sister. I burned it.
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