‘Oh, the Frenchie. " "I am here in Canton," she replied, simply. ’ At a quarter past eleven I returned here with this gentleman, Mr. I was the last on board. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold. 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. He is in the secret passage.
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