The danger you put yourself in by remaining here astounds me. In Paris, in July, a raging mob had stormed the Bastille, provoking circumspect aristocrats to uproot themselves and take refuge abroad. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. Here Hogarth received a private signal from Thornhill to attract Sheppard's attention. Voices floated down, but there was no sound of pursuit. “I have stood it for a month, Anna,” he exclaimed. Brutes! They are the brute still with us! Science some day may teach us a way to do without them. . 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. Anna, in her strange striking way, was radiantly beautiful. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. You may command my services at any time.
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