Jack seemed glad enough to rest, his back against the wall, and closed his eyes. The voices went into his ears but left no impression of their import. The two went upstairs to Michelle's bedroom. 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. “He writes very well,” said Ann Veronica. “The horse’s knees are broken, and I am not sure that the man is sober.
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