” The cabman, knocking with the butt end of his whip upon the window, reminded her that he was in a similar predicament. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. " Starting at a rapid pace in the direction of the Old Bailey, and crossing Fleet Bridge, "for oyster tubs renowned," the trio skirted the right bank of the muddy stream until they reached Fleet Lane, up which they hurried. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. Day before, send round to each to borrow a shirt.
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