The Well Hole. Mr. “I want to be your friend,” he said. Taber. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. While this took place, while Quilt thundered at the inner door, and Jack drew back the bolts of the outer, a deep, manly voice was heard chanting—as if in contempt of the general uproar—the following strain:— With pipe and punch upon the board, And smiling nymphs around us; No tavern could more mirth afford Than old Saint Giles's round-house! The round-house! the round-house! The jolly—jolly round-house! "The jolly, jolly round-house!" chorussed Sheppard, as the last bar yielded to his efforts. The well of tears in her eyes was dry.
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