"Did you write it?" "No. There was something fatalistic about the letter H. You make a game with me, imbecile. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. You did it on your own?” Ann Veronica smiled. 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. The man, who was just able to move, pointed towards Giltspur-street. " "Bah!" returned the woollen-draper. “It rained the whole of the time, but we saw all the sights, and the place never seemed dull.
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