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. "Have you broken out of the cage, Jack?" "Something like it," replied the lad carelessly. My nerves were in rags. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. Understand me! I forbid it.
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