" "For mercy's sake, go on!" cried Winifred. The end of the world seemed at hand. 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. " "You are very kind, Sir," returned the widow, "but I require no support. " "A clever device," replied Jonathan; "but it won't serve your turn. I hate what I have to do to survive. CHAPTER IX. Why open my mouth if there might not be a need for it when all’s said?’ Melusine acknowledged the logic of this.
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