are the ruin of us. Every blade of corn in a common is an encroachment on the constitution and rights of the Gemmen Highwaymen. I'm old and mayn't live to see these things; but, mark my words, a time will come when a man may go from Lunnun to Johnny Groat's without losing a penny by one of us; when Hounslow will be safe, and Finchley secure. My eyes, what a sad thing for us that 'ill be!"
The venerable old man became suddenly silent, and the tears started to his eyes. Gentleman George had a great horror of blue devils, and particularly disliked all disagreeable subjects.
"Thunder and Oons, Old Bags!" quoth mine Host of the Jolly Angler, "this will never do: we're all met here to be merry, and not to listen to your mullancolly tara tarantarums. I says, Ned Pepper, spose you tips us a song, and I'll beat time with my knuckles."
Long Ned, taking the pipe from his mouth, attempted, like Lady Heron, one or two pretty excuses: these being drowned by an universal shout, the handsome purloiner gave the following song,
