" And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. " Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her.
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