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. It must be sent home this evening. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. Perhaps, she may tell me whose picture this is. She held out her hand for it, but Gerald smiled. How's that strike you?" "Very well, sir. ” She stopped abruptly, and turned about toward the front door. She could hear their footsteps upon the pavement. He looked eager and flushed and troubled. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. I guess.
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