In another minute, the tramp of horses' feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage had effected their escape. 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. ” “Every one hasn’t the Gift. For fully five minutes he lay quite motionless. Ah! I have it," he added, after a moment's deliberation; "he's there, I'll be sworn.
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