" "Fill your glasses, gentlemen," observed Ireton, "and I'll tell you a droll thing Jack said this morning. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. ‘I know that, miss. ’ ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ said the nun, evidently not mollified, but she was forestalled. He was every bit as much a pig as this Emile. ” “And what are you doing here?” the lady asked. Where the robber may cheer His spirit with beer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! III. . When you send for me I shall come back. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. .
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