Suddenly he burst into wild laughter; but equally as suddenly something strangled the sound in his throat. “‘A SONG OF LADIES AND MY LADY “‘Saintly white and a lily is Mary, Margaret’s violets, sweet and shy; Green and dewy is Nellie-bud fairy, Forget-me-nots live in Gwendolen’s eye. Entering the house, he found himself in a narrow passage leading to the back stairs. 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. I think she might be up to something. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. “I am afraid,” he said gravely, “that your sister has been a little indiscreet.
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