‘Well, shan’t I come to the major’s house up Stratton Street, sir?’ ‘I’ll give the major your report, Trodger. ‘What has that to say to anything?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ smiled Lucy nervously. 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. ‘Gammon. ” “I know—” said Ramage, with sympathy. It was supposed he was drowned in crossing the river, as his body had never been found. “The man alone could supply any, and if he recovers sufficiently to say anything, what he would say would exonerate you. “I saw—they knocked off your fetters yesterday.
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