bunches of ribbons at his knees, and the ends of his neckcloth fluttering in the air of St. George's Fields, had a more swelling swagger, and Abershaw might carry in his face a more stubborn and insolent assurance of the gallows; but Harry, with his hat on one side, his quid in his left cheek, and his bludgeon in his right hand, contrived to associate such a real air of high birth and fashion, that it was impossible to distinguish him from the nobility and gentry with whom he was constantly intermingled at boxing-matches and cock-pits. Even the Bow-street officers were sometimes deceived; and many a lord and member of parliament, going to receive his dividends at the Bank, has been tapped on the shoulder, with a-" Come, come, Mr. Harry, this is no place for you-you're nosed, so bundle off." The Wig and Water Spaniel in Monmouth-street was his favourite haunt in London; none but "Booth's best" was ever dispensed from that savoury bar, which, not being above six feet square, was exactly big enough to admit Mrs. Juniper, the fat landlady, a dozen or two of dram glasses, and a small net of lemons, which, with a delicacy of feeling that did her honour, she declined hanging from the roof, as customary, lest it should awaken any dangling presentiments in the minds of her guests. Here, with his two friends Ned Noose and old Charley Crape,—one of whom ultimately emigrated to Australasia, and the other, after being kept some time in suspense as to his final fate, was admitted of Surgeons' Hall,-Harry has sate behind many a pint of purl, arranging the plans of innumerable burglaries which

figure in the annals of those days, or singing the

ballad of

TURPIN AND THE BISHOP.

Bold Turpin upon Hounslow Heath

His black mare Bess bestrode,
When he saw a Bishop's coach and four
Sweeping along the road :

He bade the coachman stop, but he,
Suspecting of the job,

His horses lash'd-but soon roll'd off,
With a brace of slugs in his nob.

Galloping to the carriage-door,

He thrust his face within,

When the Chaplain cried-Sure as eggs

is

eggs,

That is the bold Turpin.

Quoth Turpin, You shall eat your words

With sauce of leaden bullet;

So clapp'd his pistol to his mouth,
And fired it down his gullet.

The Bishop fell upon his knees,
When Turpin bade him stand,
And gave him his watch, a bag of gold,
And six bright rings from his hand.
Rolling with laughter, Turpin pluck'd
The Bishop's wig from his head,
And popp'd it on the Chaplain's poll,
As he sate in the corner dead.

Upon the box he tied him then,

With the reins behind his back,

Put a pipe in his mouth, the whip in his hand,
And set off the horses smack!

Then whisper'd in his black mare's ear,

Who luckily wasn't fagg'd,

You must gallop fast and far, my dear,

Or I shall be surely scragg'd.

He never drew bit, nor stopp'd to bait,
Nor walk'd up hill or down,
Until he came to Gloucester gate,
Which is the Assizes town.

Full eighty miles in one dark night,
He made his black mare fly,

And walk'd into court at nine o'clock
To swear to an Alibi.

A hue and ery the Bishop raised,
And so did Sheriff Foster,
But stared to hear that Turpin was
By nine o'clock at Gloucester.
So all agreed it couldn't be him,
Neither by hook nor crook;

And said that the Bishop and Chaplain was

Most certainly mistook.

Here it was, that on a dark and tempestuous night of November, when the wind, struggling amid the thick-clustered chimneys of St. Giles's, responded to the signal whistle of the thieves below, and the rain dashed with fitful violence against the windows of the private room in which they were stationed, that our hero and his companions arranged the plan of their attack upon Farmer Bruin's house, of Finchley Common. I tell you," cried Harry, anxious to silence the objections of his comrades, "it's as lone and snug a dwelling as a man need wish to break into. I vas all over it vonce, and knows the rigs on't. No alarms -no vatch—and as for the dog in the yard, we must physick him, that's all.”

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"And are you sure he keeps five hundred guineas u the bed-room ?" inquired Noose.

"Psha, man! d'ye think I doesn't know vot's vot?

Didn't he brag on it to his club at Barnet? Vill, the vaiter, told me so himself. Besides, there's a silver tankard vorth twenty, and a gold sneezer."

"Vot men sleeps in the house ?" said old Charley, with a thoughtful look.

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Only one spooney chap of a rustic,—and old Bruin."

"Who isn't no flincher," resumed Charley.

"But we've our bull-dogs and barkers, and arn't we three to two?—you're 'nation squeamish, Charley." "I fears no man but the hangman," said Noose, scratching his neck; "but there's no call for us to be nabb'd and pull'd up.”

"Never fear," exclaimed Harry, slapping him on the back, "you shall have many a bout yet at stand and deliver."

"But," said Charley inquiringly, "if we has to stand at the Old Bailey, I should like to know who's to deliver us.”

"Betty Martin! never fear, man-you may live these three months yet--so cheer up, cheer up, my hearty."

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“You're like a sparrow," mutter'd Crape; " you would cry chirrup if a chap was going up the gallows' ladder-Hush! hark! I heard some one snoring." "Stuff!" cried Harry ; you're always thinking of the watchman: we're all snug."-" Zounds!" added Noose, making towards the door, "vot noise is that there?"-Here there was an audible snorting and rustling, as of some one awaking, and Harry, suddenly drawing a pistol from his pocket, and seizing the soli

tary candle by which they had been sitting, rushed to the corner of the dim chamber, where, behind a low screen, he discovered a female figure, stretching and yawning in apparent emergence from a sound sleep."Ranting Moll, by Jingo!" he exclaimed, the old drunken fortune-teller of Dog and Bear-yard. "What are you after here, you infernal? are you lurking for blood-money-do you mean to peach-have you heard our palaver ?-speak, you crazy old cat, or I'll pop my barker down your muzzle."

The figure whom he thus addressed, while he held his pistol hardly an inch from her mouth, was not calculated to awaken suspicions of any very treacherous intentions, for she bore an expression of mental fatuity, which it would have been difficult to divide between the triple claims of nature, sleep, and intoxication. Her cap was off, her dress disordered, her hair wildly spread over her haggard features, and her eyes, one of which was black from some recent contusion, were fixed upon Harry in a stolid, unmeaning stare. But suddenly her recollection and intellects seemed to flash upon her, her countenance lighted up with a sort of prophetic orgasm; her eyes, particularly the black one, glared with a preternatural lustre; and, without offering to move the pistol, she cried out in a harsh voice" Away, away! I have heard nothing of your plots and plans; but he that fears leaves, let him not go into the wood-good swimmers at length are drowned. Thou art young, Harry; but green wood makes a hot fire-thy doom is fixed, spite of these knaves, thy companions. He that lies with