Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. Will you not, brother?" "Promise," said a deep voice in Trenchard's ear. He drew her to him and tipped her chin towards him. I'll have a peep at him, if I die for it," she muttered, as she went out. ” “Not in the least,” she assured him. Jack's former attempt to pass up the chimney, it may be remembered, was obstructed by an iron bar. “My darling!” he said, clasping her resolutely in his arms, “my dearest!” “Mr.
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