‘Sir?’ enquired the lad. " "So do I," replied Ruth. ” “There are some French customs,” he declared, “which are admirable. 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. "Not before it's needed," returned Jack, aloud; adding in a whisper, "get upon my shoulders, Thames.
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