A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. . 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. At the head of the cart was placed the coffin. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare.
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