” “Then don’t talk to me now. 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. Wood's," was the reply. ‘Parbleu, I hope that I do not have many more times to come in this way to the house,’ she muttered fretfully.
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