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. "Sir Rowland, I salute you as your nephew. "I was right," replied Jack, returning as coolly as if nothing had happened. She then dried her eyes, and laying her child gently upon the floor, knelt down beside him. ‘Ah, Madame Joan.
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