God bless our King and Parliament,

And send he may make such knaves repent!

Loyal Songs against the Rump Parliament.

Ho, treachery! my guards, my cimeter!

BYRON.

When the irreverent Mr. Pepper had warmed his hands sufficiently to be able to transfer them from the fire, he lifted the right palm, and with an indecent jocularity of spirits, accosted the ci-devant ornament of “The Asinaeum” with a sounding slap on his back, or some such part of his conformation.

“Ah, old boy!” said he, “is this the way you keep house for us? A fire not large enough to roast a nit, and a supper too small to fatten him beforehand! But how the deuce should you know how to provender for gentlemen? You thought you were in Scotland, I’ll be bound!”

“Perhaps he did when he looked upon you, Ned!” said Tomlinson, gravely; “‘t is but rarely out of Scotland that a man can see so big a rogue in so little a compass!”

Mr. MacGrawler, into whose eyes the palmistry of Long Ned had brought tears of sincere feeling, and who had hitherto been rubbing the afflicted part, now grumbled forth —

“You may say what you please, Mr. Pepper, but it is not often in my country that men of genius are seen performing the part of cook to robbers!”

“No!” quoth Tomlinson, “they are performing the more profitable part of robbers to cooks, eh!”

“Damme, you’re out,” cried Long Ned — “for in that country there are either no robbers, because there is nothing to rob; or the inhabitants are all robbers, who have plundered one another, and made away with the booty!”

“May the de’il catch thee!” said MacGrawler, stung to the quick — for, like all Scots, he was a patriot; much on the same principle as a woman who has the worst children makes the best mother.

“The de’il,” said Ned, mimicking the “silver sound,” as Sir W. Scott had been pleased facetiously to call the “mountain tongue” (the Scots in general seem to think it is silver, they keep it so carefully) “the de’il — MacDeil, you mean, sure, the gentleman must have been a Scotchman!”

The sage grinned in spite; but remembering the patience of Epictetus when a slave, and mindful also of the strong arm of Long Ned, he curbed his temper, and turned the beefsteaks with his fork.

“Well, Ned,” said Augustus, throwing himself into a chair, which he drew to the fire, while he gently patted the huge limbs of Mr. Pepper, as if to admonish him that they were not so transparent as glass, “let us look at the fire; and, by the by, it is your turn to see to the horses.”

“Plague on it!” cried Ned; “it is always my turn, I think. Holla, you Scot of the pot! can’t you prove that I groomed the beasts last? I’ll give you a crown to do it.”

The wise MacGrawler pricked up his ears.

“A crown!” said he — “a crown! Do you mean to insult me, Mr. Pepper? But, to be sure, you did see to the horses last; and this worthy gentleman, Mr. Tomlinson, must remember it too.”

“How!” cried Augustus; “you are mistaken, and I’ll give you half a guinea to prove it.”

MacGrawler opened his eyes larger and larger, even as you may see a small circle in the water widen into enormity, if you disturb the equanimity of the surface by the obtrusion of a foreign substance.

“Half a guinea!” said he; “nay, nay, you joke. I’m not mercenary. You think I am! Pooh, pooh! you are mistaken; I’m a man who means weel, a man of veracity, and will speak the truth in spite of all the half-guineas in the world. But certainly, now I begin to think of it, Mr. Tomlinson did see to the creatures last; and, Mr. Pepper, it is your turn.”

“A very Daniel!” said Tomlinson, chuckling in his usual dry manner. “Ned, don’t you hear the horses neigh?”

“Oh, hang the horses!” said the volatile Pepper, forgetting everything else, as he thrust his hands in his pockets, and felt the gains of the night; “let us first look to our winnings!”

So saying, he marched towards the table, and emptied his pockets thereon. Tomlinson, nothing loath, followed the example. Heavens! what exclamations of delight issued from the scoundrels’ lips, as, one by one, they inspected their new acquisitions!

“Here’s a magnificent creature!” cried Ned, handling that superb watch studded with jewels which the poor earl had once before unavailingly redeemed — “a repeater, by Jove!”

“I hope not,” said the phlegmatic Augustus; “repeaters will not tell well for your conversation, Ned! But, powers that be! look at this ring — a diamond of the first water!”

“Oh, the sparkler! it makes one’s mouth water as much as itself. ‘Sdeath, here’s a precious box for a sneezer — a picture inside, and rubies outside! The old fellow had excellent taste; it would charm him to see how pleased we are with his choice of jewelry!”

“Talking of jewelry,” said Tomlinson, “I had almost forgotten the morocco case. Between you and me, I imagine we have a prize there; it looks like a jewel casket!”

So saying, the robber opened that case which on many a gala day had lent lustre to the polished person of Mauleverer. Oh, reader, the burst of rapture that ensued! Imagine it! we cannot express it. Like the Grecian painter, we drop a veil over emotions too deep for words.

“But here,” said Pepper, when they had almost exhausted their transports at sight of the diamonds — “here’s a purse — fifty guineas! And what’s this? Notes, by Jupiter! We must change them tomorrow before they are stopped. Curse those fellows at the Bank! they are always imitating us, we stop their money, and they don’t lose a moment in stopping it too. Three hundred pounds! Captain, what say you to our luck?” Clifford had sat gloomily looking on during the operations of the robbers; he now, assuming a correspondent cheerfulness of manner, made a suitable reply, and after some general conversation the work of division took place.

“We are the best arithmeticians in the world,” said Augustus, as he pouched his share; “addition, subtraction, division, reduction — we have them all as pat as ‘The Tutor’s Assistant;’ and, what is better, we make them all applicable to the Rule of Three.”

“You have left out multiplication!” said Clifford, smiling. “Ah! because that works differently. The other rules apply to the specie-s of the kingdom; but as for multiplication, we multiply, I fear, no species but our own!”

“Fie, gentlemen!” said MacGrawler, austerely — for there is a wonderful decorum in your true Scotsmen. “Actions are trifles; nothing can be cleaner than their words!”

“Oh, you thrust in your wisdom, do you?” said Ned. “I suppose you want your part of the booty!”

“Part!” said the subtilizing Tomlinson. “He has nine times as many parts as we have already. Is he not a critic, and has he not the parts of speech at his fingers’ end?”

“Nonsense!” said MacGrawler, instinctively holding up his hands, with the fork dropping between the outstretched fingers of the right palm.

“Nonsense yourself,” cried Ned; “you have a share in what you never took! A pretty fellow, truly! Mind your business, Mr. Scot, and fork nothing but the beefsteaks!”

With this Ned turned to the stables, and soon disappeared among the horses; but Clifford, eying the disappointed and eager face of the culinary sage, took ten guineas from his own share, and pushed them towards his quondam tutor.

“There!” said he, emphatically.

“Nay, nay,” grunted MacGrawler; “I don’t want the money — it is my way to scorn such dross!” So saying, he pocketed the coins, and turned, muttering to himself, to the renewal of his festive preparations.

Meanwhile a whispered conversation took place between Augustus and the captain, and continued till Ned returned.

“And the night’s viands smoked along the board!”

Souls of Don Raphael and Ambrose Lamela, what a charming thing it is to be a rogue for a little time! How merry men are when they have cheated their brethren! Your innocent milksops never made so jolly a supper as did our heroes of the way. Clifford, perhaps acted a part, but the hilarity of his comrades was unfeigned. It was a delicious contrast — the boisterous “ha, ha!” of Long Ned, and the secret, dry, calculating chuckle of Augustus Tomlinson. It was Rabelais against Voltaire. They united only in the objects of their jests, and foremost of those objects (wisdom is ever the but of the frivolous!) was the great Peter MacGrawler.

The graceless dogs were especially merry upon the subject of the sage’s former occupation.

“Come, Mac, you carve this ham,” said Ned; “you have had practice in cutting up.”

The learned man whose name was thus disrespectfully abbreviated proceeded to perform what he was bid. He was about to sit down for that purpose, when Tomlinson slyly subtracted his chair — the sage fell.

“No jests at MacGrawler,” said the malicious Augustus; “whatever be his faults as a critic, you see that he is well grounded, and he gets at once to the bottom of a subject. Mac, suppose your next work be entitled a Tail of Woe!”

Men who have great minds are rarely flexible — they do not take a jest readily; so it was with MacGrawler. He rose in a violent rage; and had the robbers been more penetrating than they condescended to be, they might have noticed something dangerous in his eye. As it was, Clifford, who had often before been the protector of his tutor, interposed in his behalf, drew the sage a seat near to himself, and filled his plate for him. It was interesting to see this deference from Power to Learning! It was Alexander doing homage to Aristotle!

“There is only one thing I regret,” cried Ned, with his mouth full, “about the old lord — it was a thousand pities we did not make him dance! I remember the day, Captain, when you would have insisted on it. What a merry fellow you were once! Do you recollect, one bright moonlight night, just like the present, for instance, when we were doing duty near Staines, how you swore every person we stopped, above fifty years old, should dance a minuet with you?”

“Ay!” added Augustus, “and the first was a bishop in a white wig. Faith, how stiffly his lordship jigged it! And how gravely Lovett bowed to him, with his hat off, when it was all over, and returned him his watch and ten guineas — it was worth the sacrifice!”

“And the next was an old maid of quality,” said Ned, “as lean as a lawyer. Don’t you remember how she curvetted?”

“To be sure,” said Tomlinson; “and you very wittily called her a hop-pole!”

“How delighted she was with the captain’s suavity! When he gave her back her earrings and aigrette, she bade him with a tender sigh keep them for her sake — ha! ha!”

“And the third was a beau!” cried Augustus; “and Lovett surrendered his right of partnership to me. Do you recollect how I danced his beauship into the ditch? Ah! we were mad fellows then; but we get sated — blases, as the French say — as we grow older!”

“We look only to the main chance now,” said Ned. “Avarice supersedes enterprise,” added the sententious Augustus.

“And our captain takes to wine with an h after the w!” continued the metaphorical Ned.

“Come, we are melancholy,” said Tomlinson, tossing off a bumper. “Methinks we are really growing old, we shall repent soon, and the next step will be-hanging!”

“‘Fore Gad!” said Ned, helping himself, “don’t be so croaking. There are two classes of maligned gentry, who should always be particular to avoid certain colours in dressing; I hate to see a true boy in black, or a devil in blue. But here’s my last glass to-night! I am confoundedly sleepy, and we rise early tomorrow.”

“Right, Ned,” said Tomlinson; “give us a song before you retire, and let it be that one which Lovett composed the last time we were here.”

Ned, always pleased with an opportunity of displaying himself, cleared his voice and complied.
A Ditty from Sherwood.
I.

Laugh with us at the prince and the palace,

In the wild wood-life there is better cheer;

Would you board your mirth from your neighbour’s malice,

Gather it up in our garners here.

Some kings their wealth from their subjects wring,

While by their foes they the poorer wax;

Free go the men of the wise wood-king,

And it is only our foes we tax.

Leave the cheats of trade to the shrewd gude-wife

Let the old be knaves at ease;

Away with the tide of that dashing life

Which is stirred by a constant breeze!
II.

Laugh with us when you hear deceiving

And solemn rogues tell you what knaves we be

Commerce and law have a method of thieving

Worse than a stand at the outlaw’s tree.

Say, will the maiden we love despise

Gallants at least to each other true?

I grant that we trample on legal ties,

But I have heard that Love scorns them too,

Courage, then — courage, ye jolly boys,

Whom the fool with the knavish rates

Oh! who that is loved by the world enjoys

Half as much as the man it hates?

“Bravissimo, Ned!” cried Tomlinson, rapping the table; “bravissimo! Your voice is superb to-night, and your song admirable. Really, Lovett, it does your poetical genius great credit; quite philosophical, upon my honour.”

“Bravissimo!” said MacGrawler, nodding his head awfully. “Mr. Pepper’s voice is as sweet as a bagpipe! Ah! such a song would have been invaluable to ‘The Asinaeum,’ when I had the honour to —”

“Be Vicar of Bray to that establishment,” interrupted Tomlinson. “Pray, MacGrawler, why do they call Edinburgh the Modern Athens?”

“Because of the learned and great men it produces,” returned MacGrawler, with conscious pride.

“Pooh! pooh! — you are thinking of ancient Athens. Your city is called the modern Athens because you are all so like the modern Athenians — the greatest scoundrels imaginable, unless travellers belie them.”

“Nay,” interrupted Ned, who was softened by the applause of the critic, “Mac is a good fellow, spare him. Gentlemen, your health. I am going to bed, and I suppose you will not tarry long behind me.”

“Trust us for that,” answered Tomlinson; “the captain and I will consult on the business of the morrow, and join you in the twinkling of a bedpost, as it has been shrewdly expressed.”

Ned yawned his last “good-night,” and disappeared within the dormitory. MacGrawler, yawning also, but with a graver yawn, as became his wisdom, betook himself to the duty of removing the supper paraphernalia: after bustling soberly about for some minutes, he let down a press-bed in the corner of the cave (for he did not sleep in the robbers’ apartment), and undressing himself, soon appeared buried in the bosom of Morpheus. But the chief and Tomlinson, drawing their seats nearer to the dying embers, defied the slothful god, and entered with low tones into a close and anxious commune.

“So, then,” said Augustus, “now that you have realized sufficient funds for your purpose, you will really desert us? Have you well weighed the pros and cons? Remember that nothing is so dangerous to our state as reform; the moment a man grows honest, the gang forsake him; the magistrate misses his fee; the informer peaches; and the recusant hangs.”

“I have well weighed all this,” answered Clifford, “and have decided on my course. I have only tarried till my means could assist my will. With my share of our present and late booty, I shall betake myself to the Continent. Prussia gives easy trust and ready promotion to all who will enlist in her service. But this language, my dear friend, seems strange from your lips. Surely you will join me in my separation from the corps? What! you shake your head! Are you not the same Tomlinson who at Bath agreed with me that we were in danger from the envy of our comrades, and that retreat had become necessary to our safety? Nay, was not this your main argument for our matrimonial expedition?”

“Why, look you, dear Lovett,” said Augustus, “we are all blocks of matter, formed from the atoms of custom; in other words, we are a mechanism, to which habit is the spring. What could I do in an honest career? I am many years older than you. I have lived as a rogue till I have no other nature than roguery. I doubt if I should not be a coward were I to turn soldier. I am sure I should be the most consummate of rascals were I to affect to be honest. No: I mistook myself when I talked of separation. I must e’en jog on with my old comrades, and in my old ways; till I jog into the noose hempen or — melancholy alternative! — the noose matrimonial.”

“This is mere folly,” said Clifford, from whose nervous and masculine mind habits were easily shaken. “We have not for so many years discarded all the servile laws of others, to be the abject slaves of our own weaknesses. Come, my dear fellow, rouse yourself. Heaven knows, were I to succumb to the feebleness of my own heart, I should be lost indeed. And perhaps, wrestle I ever so stoutly, I do not wrestle away that which clings within me, and will kill me, though by inches. But let us not be cravens, and suffer fate to drown us rather than swim. In a word, fly with me ere it be too late. A smuggler’s vessel waits me off the coast of Dorset: in three days from this I sail. Be my companion. We can both rein a fiery horse, and wield a good sword. As long as men make war one against another, those accomplishments will prevent their owner from starving, or —”

“If employed in the field, not the road,”............