When the staircase doors were unbolted in the morning (at eight o’clock!), the prisoners were called over in the press yard, and every one who had been drunk the night before was fined a groat. All pleaded guilty to the soft impeachment if they possessed a groat, and the liquor was drunk with the turnkeys, as an antepast of breakfast. One day was not altogether like the others. Amid the despairing jollity, a poor wretch might now and then be seen at a table, dictating his last dying speech and confession to a friend, and sorrowfully admiring the neatness of some of its points. Perhaps the ‘ordinary,’ as the chaplain was then called, would venture a little of his ministry with him, and utter the small standing joke of how ‘a passage of the Gospel’ meant, to such an offender, ‘in at one ear and out at the other.’ On a summer’s evening, company from outside resorted to the press yard, as some did to suburban tea-gardens, and drank and smoked, and sang and swore with the regular inmates. On winter evenings, they resorted to the rooms, and gave their orders from the windows to the tapsters below. It was on one of those evenings that the prisoners in Newgate were attracted by the sudden joyous peals ringing out from the London steeples. Political prisoners looked sullen over their liquor, for they knew that the side with which they sympathised had suffered some defeat. Governor and officials looked glad, for orders had come down to prepare for a large body of prisoners, and from Governor Pitt to Marvel, the hangman, there was joyous expectation of a golden harvest at hand. ‘It’s all up!’ was the prison comment, ‘from Lord Derwentwater to George Budden, the upholsterer: they are all netted.’ The latter was among the party who entered Newgate. The London Jacobite entered quietly; whereas, Forster, full of pride and wrath, fumed because, he, a member of parliament, and Jacobite General, for the nonce, had not been taken, like Derwentwater and the other lords, to the Tower. [Sidenote: _SORTING THE PRISONERS._] The rebel prisoners were soon sorted. The moneyless were consigned to the ‘Lions’ Den,’ the ‘Middle Dark’ and the ‘Common Side.’ They who had guineas in their purses paid dearly for all they required. The rebels had scarcely passed under the shadows of their respective prisons, when the police messengers narrowly searched among the crowd for traitors. A Justice of the Peace recognised a spectator in a lay habit, who was perhaps too sympathetic in his aspect, as a clergyman named Paul, who had preached seditious sermons in London and the country, and who had been with the rebels at Preston. Paul’s audacity or curiosity cost him dear. The Justice pointed him out to the rogue-takers, and the parson was speedily hurried to the Cock-pit, and thence was committed to Newgate.