What a heat that news had wrought. She addressed Ann Veronica with an air of conveying great open secrets to her. 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. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. These cogitations were interrupted by the entrance of the doctor.
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