” Anna laid down her serviette. Where Saint Giles' church stands, once a lazar-house stood; And, chain'd to its gates, was a vessel of wood; A broad-bottom'd bowl, from which all the fine fellows, Who pass'd by that spot, on their way to the gallows, Might tipple strong beer, Their spirits to cheer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! II. ‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you. I suppose I was a little idiotic—I don’t think we either of us mentioned the future, but it was arranged that I should go the next afternoon and have tea with her. "By Heaven!" cried Darrell, "it is the poor fellow whom I placed in such jeopardy a short time ago. “I suppose you know I like you tremendously?” he pursued.
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