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"And had you been the worst scoundrel unhung, I'd have seen to it that you had the same care, the same chance. "And so, you really suspected me?" murmured Mrs. Old Bethlehem, or Bedlam,—every trace of which has been swept away, and the hospital for lunatics removed to Saint George's Field,—was a vast and magnificent structure. She was watching him intently. Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. But it was of no avail. “Exceptionally so. 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. A fortnight passed, then a month.

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