"I was in the right, you see, father," observed Thames, smiling; "Jack has done his task. It ought never to have begun. There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! For a can of ale calms, A highwayman's qualms, And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. When younger, and in better health, she must have been eminently lovely; and there were still the remains of great beauty about her. "You mistake,—you are mine. Let this be a caution to you in future—with whom, and about what you deal.
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