"We shall meet again ere long, my son," cried Mrs. After all, she only LOOKED a woman. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are. There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! For a can of ale calms, A highwayman's qualms, And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. "But McClintock agrees to take you both—because he's as big a fool as I am. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. I find it impossible to associate you with—my little friend of the ‘Ambassador’s.
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