In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. However this may be, such was the ill report of the place that few passed along the Old Bailey without bestowing a glance of fearful curiosity at its dingy walls, and wondering what was going on inside them; while fewer still, of those who paused at the door, read, without some internal trepidation, the formidable name—inscribed in large letters on its bright brass-plate—of JONATHAN WILD. Over these hung levels, bevels, squares, and other instruments of measurement. The hills surrounded her cave home protectively.
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