notes and to move the old lord's jewels, we should already be on the
start."

"A plague on you!" said Tomlinson, from under cover of his woollen
nightcap; "it was but this instant that I was dreaming you were going to
be hanged, and now you wake me in the pleasantest part of the dream!"

"You be shot!" said Ned, turning one leg out of bed; "by the by, you took
more than your share last night, for you owed me three guineas for our
last game at cribbage! You'll please to pay me before we part to-day:
short accounts make long friends!"

"However true that maxim may be," returned Tomlinson, "I know one much
truer,--namely, long friends will make short accounts! You must ask Jack
Ketch this day month if I'm wrong!"

"That's what you call wit, I suppose!" retorted Ned, as he now,
struggling into his inexpressibles, felt his way into the outer cave.

"What, ho, Mac!" cried he, as he went, "stir those bobbins of thine,
which thou art pleased to call legs; strike a light, and be d---d to
you!"

"A light for you," said Tomlinson, profanely, as he reluctantly left his
couch, "will indeed be a 'light to lighten the Gentiles!'"

"Why, Mac, Mac!" shouted Ned, "why don't you answer? faith, I think the
Scot's dead!"

"Seize your men!--Yield, sirs!" cried a stern, sudden voice from the