“I had lunch very late to-day, and I did not get home in time for dinner. "All right," he said. There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! For a can of ale calms, A highwayman's qualms, And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. And when I ask you why it is you do so, you have no answer. Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. ” “Cabmen are so trying,” Mrs.
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