There was a flash and a loud report. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it. "Curse me, if I don't think all the world means to cross the Thames this fine night," observed Ben. The fashions of the day have become antiquated. 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.
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