’ ‘Very true. 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. For hours after she had not been sensible to life, only to exquisite echoes. No, this was imbecile. You did not find him, but did you find his pistol? In the room beyond the bookroom there—a big room where a table had fallen.
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