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" Quitting the night-cellar, the trio soon arrived at the riverside. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. 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. Silly woman!. He hated the taste of it. Taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled one of those vagabond heads which Murillo delighted to paint, and for which Guzman d'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, or Estevanillo Gonzalez might have sat:—faces that almost make one in love with roguery, they seem so full of vivacity and enjoyment. He stood back and held her shoulders. He's here," returned the skipper, pointing significantly downwards. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. “We don’t pretend.
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