The water was cold but she waded deeper. 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. "Goodness only knows what he's reserved for," rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; "but if Mynheer Van Galgebrok, whom I met last night at the Cross Shovels, spoke the truth, little Jack will never die in his bed. You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. It was the bitterest moment of her life. “And then they are swollen up and inflamed and drunken with matter. To-night we leave for Marseilles. ’ Gerald ignored this. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. . “I shall never be able to thank you.
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