Chapter 275 No.275

And, "Ring, ring, thou passing-bell," still she cried, "i' the old chapelle!"

Toll slowly.

Then, back-toppling, crashing back-a dead weight flung out to wrack,

Horse and riders overfell.

* * *

Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west-

Toll slowly.

And I read this ancient Rhyme, in the churchyard, while the