At once divining the meaning of this ingenious device, he applied his mouth to the tube, and sucked away, while the person outside poured spirit into the bowl. “My arrival appears to be opportune,” he said stiffly. We have to hang about in the interval. But before he could say anything, the vehicle rolled to a halt. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. "Long life to the Marquis!" reiterated Terence; "he's an honour to ould Ireland!" "Didn't I tell you how it would be?" remarked Quilt. Warren’s Profession. I can’t imagine what possessed you, Veronica.
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