Hope reared. 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. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less. Bring me food, a man, hurry!” She placed the stone back over the crypt to hide the evidence of what she had uncovered. ' Why," said Ruth, "you did not read that to us. All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. Jack seemed glad enough to rest, his back against the wall, and closed his eyes.
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