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. ‘The secret passage!’ It did not take long to find the mechanism of the candlesconce that opened the door. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. 2. “I thought every one had heard,” said Miss Klegg. I should like to know how it is concerned with Sir John Ferringhall, and how my presence intervenes. . —"Oh! about that boy, Thames Darrell. ” “Come, Molly,” said Mr.
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