"At my first being acquainted with the place," says this writer, in the 'Miseries of a Prison,' "the prisoners, methought, walking up and down the Stone Hall, looked like so many wrecks upon the sea. Here you only waste your time. “I don’t know how, but I always manage to find a 164 fiddle if there is one around. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. That is not reasonable. "It reminds you of a red sea suddenly petrified. 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. Capes sat down in the armchair beside her. " "Comin'! comin'!" returned the constable, shuffling towards him. Sheppard.
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