n
of a bruise, as it must have been had I in my fall received one in so
tender a part; and I rather think the circle round my neck was owing to
the same cause, for the part was not excoriated, nor at all in pain.

"Soon after I got into bed I was surprised to hear a voice in the
dining-room, where the laundress was lighting a fire. She had found the
door unbolted, notwithstanding my design to fasten it, and must have
passed the bed-chamber door while I was hanging on it, and yet never
perceived me. She heard me fall, and presently came to ask me if I was
well, adding, she feared I had been in a fit.

"I sent her to a friend, to whom I related the whole affair, and
dispatched him to my kinsman at the coffee-house. As soon as the latter
arrived I pointed to the broken garter which lay in the middle of the
room, and apprised him also of the attempt I had been making. His words
were, 'My dear Mr. Cowper, you terrify me! To be sure you cannot hold
the office at this rate. Where is the deputation?' I gave him the key of
the drawer where it was deposited, and his business requiring his
immediate attendance, he took it away with him; and thus ended all my
connection with the Parliament office."

[Illustration: THE TEMPLE FOUNTAIN, FROM AN OLD PRINT (_see page 171_).]

In February, 1732, Tanfield Court, a quiet, dull nook on the east side
of the Temple, to the south of that sombre Grecian temple where the
Master resides, was the scene of a very horrible crime. Sarah Malcolm, a
laundress, aged twenty-two, employed by a young barrister named Kerrol
in the same court, gaining access to the rooms of an old lady named
Duncomb, whom she knew to have money, strangled her and an old servant,
and cut the throat of a young girl, whose bed she had probably shared.
Some of her blood-stained linen, and a silver tankard of Mrs. Duncomb's,
stained with blood, were found by Mr. Kerrol concealed in his chambers.
Fifty-three pounds of the money were discovered at Newgate hidden in the
prisoner's hair. She confessed to a share in the robbery, but laid the
murder to two lads with whom she was acquainted. She was, however, found
guilty, and hung opposite Mitre Court, Fleet Street. The crowd was so
great that one woman crossed from near Serjeants' Inn to the other side
of the way on the shoulders of the mob. Sarah Malcolm went to execution
neatly dressed in a crape gown, held up her head in the cart with an
air, and seemed to be painted. A copy of