He was caressing an idea. Wild in his own domain. That “entirely English” comment was said just to provoke me. 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. "Souls," she answered, drily. “I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself.
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