He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. He had nothing to guide him; for though the torches were blazing ruddily below, their gleam fell only on the side of the building. "And you will answer it frankly?" "Certainly. 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. Wood fancied he recognised.
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