By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. “After all,” she said, “if this person will not be reasonable, I am afraid——” It was enough. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant.
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