While this took place, while Quilt thundered at the inner door, and Jack drew back the bolts of the outer, a deep, manly voice was heard chanting—as if in contempt of the general uproar—the following strain:— With pipe and punch upon the board, And smiling nymphs around us; No tavern could more mirth afford Than old Saint Giles's round-house! The round-house! the round-house! The jolly—jolly round-house! "The jolly, jolly round-house!" chorussed Sheppard, as the last bar yielded to his efforts. "That gown is getting shabby. Oh, and weeks and months of thought and feeling there are bottled up too. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints. Only, he'll be an interesting specimen for me to observe. This she would not endure. ” “Excuse me,” Mr.
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