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PAUL CLIFFORD.

rascals!—So nice was their language, and so honest their enthusiasm for their own interests, you might have imagined you were listening to a coterie of cabinet ministers conferring on taxes, or debating on perquisites.

"Long may the Commons flourish!" cried punning Georgie, filling his glass; "it is by the commons we're fed, and may they never know cultiwation!

"Three times three!" shouted Long Ned; and the toast was drunk as Mr. Pepper proposed.

"A little, moderate, cultivation of the commons, to speak frankly," said Augustus Tomlinson modestly, "might not be amiss; for it would decoy people into the belief that they might travel safely; and, after all, a hedge or a barley-field, is as good for us as a barren heath, where we have no shelter if once pursued."

"You talks nonsense, you spooney!" cried a robber of note, called Bagshot; who, being aged, and having been a lawyer's footboy, was sometimes denominated "Old Bags."

"You talks nonsense; these innowating ploughs