a penny by one of us; when Hounslow will be safe, and Finchley secure.
My eyes, what a sad thing for us that'll 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 taratarantarums. I says, Ned Pepper, s'pose you tips us a
song, and I'll beat time with my knuckles."

Long Ned, taking the pipe from his mouth, attempted, like Walter Scott's
Lady Heron, one or two pretty excuses; these being drowned by a universal
shout, the handsome purloiner gave the following song, to the tune of
"Time has not thinned my flowing hair."

LONG NED'S SONG.

Oh, if my hands adhere to cash,
My gloves at least are clean,
And rarely have the gentry flash
In sprucer clothes been seen.

Sweet Public, since your coffers must
Afford our wants relief,
Oh! soothes it not to yield the dust
To such a charming thief?

"'And John may laugh at mine,'--excellent!" cried Gentleman George,