“Are you speaking to me?” she asked calmly. 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. " "Pray, let me have a pinch!" said Edgeworth Bess, with a captivating glance. "Another time," replied the thief-taker, evasively. Only sat, staring at him, a puzzled look in her face.
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