"Dear me!" she added, as she pledged the amorous woollen-draper, "what a beautiful ring that is. That had shut him up for a while. Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory. Why should WE hoard? We aren’t going out presently, like Japanese lanterns in a gale. I wonder. "Those chops, fried potatoes, and buttered toast. 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. 48 <6> THE FRIDAY NIGHT SHOW The air was chill and the sky overcast and misting.
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