He loved you. You'll find her at Black Mary's Hole. We, ourselves, are scarcely the same we were twelve years ago. She had discussed the general question of supplies with the helpful landlady. Supper was over. Sheppard, who seemed to be crouching upon the floor. 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 Closing Scene. .
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