To his relief, Mrs Sindlesham stepped into the breach, grasping her cane and rising painfully from her chair. 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. " "Blueskin, clear the room," cried the Master; "these gentlemen would be private. Ennison,” she exclaimed, “is that really you?” There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. ‘Do not think—’ he panted, ‘that I am finished—with you, mademoiselle.
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