" And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. I cannot let you go. His face will be all I need. ” “It presented a large impenetrable back, and went on thinking about something else. Before retracing his steps, however, he allowed his gaze to range over the vast and beautiful prospect spread out beneath him, which is now hidden, from the traveller's view by the high walls of the General Cemetery, and can, consequently, only be commanded from the interior of that attractive place of burial,—and which, before it was intersected by canals and railroads, and portioned out into hippodromes, was exquisite indeed.
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