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 was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. "You lie, hussy!" replied Jonathan, rudely pushing her aside, as she vainly endeavoured to oppose his entrance into the room; "she is here. She was never announced as ‘Alcide,’ but directly she walked on she simply became ‘Alcide’ to every one. I get the worst headaches. This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers.
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