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Jack Sheppard A Romance

Creator: Ainsworth, William Harrison, 1805-1882
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V. 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. Giles!_ "Devil seize the woman!" growled the singer, as he brought his ditty to a close; "will nothing tempt her out? Widow Sheppard, I say," he added, rising, "don't be afraid. It's only a gentleman come to offer you his hand. 'He that woos a maid',--fol-de-rol--(hiccupping).--I'll soon find you out." Mrs. Sheppard, whose distress at the consumption of the provisions had been somewhat allayed by the anticipation of the intruder's departure after he had satisfied his appetite, was now terrified in the extreme by seeing a light approach, and hearing footsteps on the stairs. Her first impulse was to fly to the window; and she was about to pass through it, at the risk of sharing the fate of the unfortunate lady, when her arm
On Nothing and Kindred Subjects

ON NOTHING & KINDRED SUBJECTS BY HILAIRE BELLOC TO MAURICE BARING CONTENTS ON THE PLEASURE OF TAKING UP ONE'S PEN
was grasped by some one in the act of ascending the ladder from without. Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. "Oh, you're here, are you?" said the ruffian, with an exulting laugh: "I've been looking for you everywhere." "Let me go," implored Mrs. Sheppard,--"pray let me go. You hurt the child. Don't you hear how you've made it cry?" "Throttle the kid!" rejoined Blueskin, fiercely. "If you don't stop its squalling, I will. I hate children. And, if I'd my own way, I'd drown 'em all like a litter o' puppies." Well knowing the savage temper of the person she had to deal with, and how likely he was to put his threat into execution, Mrs. Sheppard did not dare to return any answer; but, disengaging herself from his embrace, endeavoured meekly to comply with his request. "And now, widow," continued the ruffian, setting down the candle, and applying his lips to the bottle neck as he flung his heavy frame upon a bench, "I've a piece o' good news for you." "Good news will be news to me. What is it?"