All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. His friendship seemed a thing worth having. As he understood it, folks saw in two or three days all there was to see of Canton. It was a sort of cooking-room, with an immense fire-place flanked by a couple of cauldrons, and was called Jack Ketch's Kitchen, because the quarters of persons executed for treason were there boiled by the hangman in oil, pitch, and tar, before they were affixed on the city gates, or on London Bridge. Such was the condition of his mind that the danger exhilarated rather than depressed him. The sounds that reach the ear, and the objects that meet the eye, are all calculated to awaken a train of sad and serious contemplation.
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