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. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's. “Odd little room,” said Ann Veronica, dimly apprehending that obtrusive sofa. She leaves town to-morrow.
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