“The horse’s knees are broken, and I am not sure that the man is sober. Evidently her foresight has saved me a funeral. 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. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. No one in the world is beyond the shaft of scandal— we all catch it terribly sometimes. His body had been maimed many times. Mr.
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