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. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. . But I am sick of tearing up letters and hopeless of getting what I have to say better said. And the fences are down for good. When I am angry, I can get very mean.
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