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. And, to show you that I have no intention of flying, I will myself close and lock the door. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. Lost in thought, Lucy barely heard Mrs. He returned, blue towel in hand. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that.
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