Later, at the bottom of that envelope I found a letter. He was tall and straight, and his expression was good. “He couldn’t look me in the face and say it,” said Ann Veronica. “I won’t give you a check though—Yes, I will. 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.
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