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PAUL CLIFFORD.
127

With this pugilistic and menacing pun, the lengthy hero relapsed into meditative silence.

Our travellers were now entering a road skirted on one side by a common of some extent, and, on the other, by a thick hedge-row, which through its breaks gave occasional glimpses of woodland and fallow, interspersed with cross roads and tiny brooklets.

"There goes a jolly fellow!" said Nabbem, pointing to an athletic-looking man riding before the carriage, dressed in a farmer's garb, and mounted on a large and powerful horse of the Irish breed. "I dare say he is well acquainted with your grazier, Mr. Tomlinson; he looks mortal like one of the same kidney; and here comes another chap"—(as the stranger was joined by a short stout ruddy man in a carter's frock, riding on a horse less showy than his comrade's, but of the lengthy, reedy, lank, yet muscular race, which a knowing jocky would like to bet on;)—"Now that's what I calls a comely lad!" continued Nabbem, pointing to the latter horseman; "none of your thin-faced, dark, strapping fellows like that Captain Lovett, as the blowens raves about,