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. ‘Ah, now I may see what damage Gérard has done to me,’ she muttered, crossing to the table and putting her hand to the sore place at her neck. ” “You are really going on the stage, then?” he said slowly. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. ’ ‘Excellent,’ Gerald had approved.
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