“Cheveney!” she repeated. 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. She gave up as he finished, spending himself in her mouth. Mr. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. " When the doctor entered the bedroom and looked into the faces of the culprits, he laughed brokenly.
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