‘It must have been so, Melusine, or I wouldn’t have kissed you. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. 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. "Every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets.
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