On the way, he hired a chair with a couple of stout porters, and ordered them to follow him. 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. While this was passing, Jonathan opened one of the upper windows, and fired several shots upon the assailants. What a fool I was to separate the two in my mind. It was a clear, lovely, October morning. I never saw a man who wasn't.
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