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FOOTNOTES: [A] At the hospital of Saint Giles for Lazars, the prisoners conveyed from the City of London towards Tyburn, there to be executed for treasons, felonies, or other trespasses, were presented with a Bowl of Ale, thereof to drink, as their last refreshing in this life. He could scarcely blame her. At this piece of information, the two subordinate officers were observed to exchange glances; and, after a little agreeable raillery on their captain's gallantry, they begged permission to accompany him in his visit. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. He was speedily disarmed; and the rope and gag being found upon him, were exultingly turned against him by his conqueror, who, after pinioning his arms tightly behind his back, forced open his mouth with the iron, and effectually prevented the utterance of any further outcries. ‘But how do you come here?’ ‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly. I'm his lieutenant,—Lieutenant Blueskin.
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