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. I admired your chivalry. ” “My God!” said Manning, in a stage-aside. " "Is he alive!" vociferated Trenchard. The man’s passion was infectious. He said the place had gone to wrack. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. Here was the corner-stone of a capital story; but he knew that Howard Spurlock would never write it.
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