” “One has theories,” said Ann Veronica, radiantly. “But your sister?” he asked. 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. Though," said the thieftaker, with a complacent smile, "all the world seems to tremble at it. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. ’ ‘Don’t you believe it.
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