How gloriously the sun sets to-night.

 

    Moor.

    When I was a boy, my favorite thought was, that I should

    live and die like yonder glorious orb. It was a boyish thought.

 

    Grimm.

    True, captain.

 

    ---The Robbers. 

 

"Peace, base calumniators," exclaimed Tom King, aroused from his toothpick reverie by these aspersions of the best part of creation. "Peace, I say. None shall dare abuse that dear devoted sex in the hearing of their champion, without pricking a lance with him in their behalf. What do you, either of you, who abuse woman in that wholesale style, know of her? Nothing--less than nothing; and yet you venture, upon your paltry experience, to lift up your voices and decry the sex. Now I do know her; and upon my own experience avouch, that, as a sex, woman, compared with man, is as an angel to a devil. As a sex, woman is faithful, loving, self-sacrificing. We 'tis that make her otherwise; we, selfish, exacting, neglectful men; we teach her indifference, and then blame her apt scholarship. We spoil our own hand, and then blame the cards. No abuse of women in my hearing. Give me a glass of grog, Dick. 'The sex!--three times three!'--and here's a song for you into the bargain." Saying which, in a mellow, plaintive tone, Tom gave the following:

 

 

PLEDGE OF THE HIGHWAYMAN

 

Come, fill up a bumper to Eve's fairest daughters,

Who have lavished their smiles on the brave and the free;

Toast the sweethearts of DUDLEY, HIND, WILMOT, and WATERS,[94]

Whate'er their attraction, whate'er their degree.

Pledge! pledge in a bumper, each kind-hearted maiden,

Whose bright eyes were dimmed at the highwayman's fall;

Who stood by the gallows with sorrow o'erladen,

Bemoaning the fate of the gallant DU-VAL!

 

Here's to each lovely lass chance of war bringeth near one,

Whom, with manner impassioned, we tenderly stop;

And to whom, like the lover addressing his dear one,

In terms of entreaty the question we pop.

How oft, in such case, rosy lips have proved sweeter

Than the rosiest book, bright eyes saved a bright ring;

While that one other kiss has brought off a repeater,

And a bead as a favor--the favorite string.

 

With our hearts ready rifled, each pocket we rifle,

With the pure flame of chivalry stirring our breasts;

Life's risk for our mistress's praise is a trifle;

And each purse as a trophy our homage attests.

Then toss off your glasses to all girls of spirit,

Ne'er with names, or with number, your memories vex;

Our toast, boys, embraces each woman of merit,

And, for fear of omission, we'll drink the WHOLE SEX.

 

 

[Footnote 94: Four celebrated highwaymen, all rejoicing in the honorable distinction of captain.]

 

"Well," replied Dick, replenishing King's rummer, while he laughed heartily at his ditty, "I shan't refuse your toast, though my heart don't respond to your sentiments. Ah, Tom! the sex you praise so much will, I fear, prove your undoing. Do as you please, but curse me if ever I pin my life to a petticoat. I'd as soon think of neglecting the four cautions."

 

"The four cautions," said King; "what are they?"

 

"Did you never hear them?" replied Dick. "Attend, then, and be edified."

 

 

THE FOUR CAUTIONS

 

Pay attention to these cautions four,

And through life you will need little more,

Should you dole out your days to threescore

Beware of a pistol before!

Before! before!

Beware of a pistol before!

 

And when backward his ears are inclined,

And his tail with his ham is combined,

Caution two you will bear in your mind:

Beware of a prancer behind!

Behind! behind!

Beware of a prancer behind!

 

Thirdly, when in the park you may ride,

On your best bit of blood, sir, astride,

Chatting gay to your old friend's young bride:

Beware of a coach at the side!

At the side! at the side!

Beware of a coach at the side!

 

Lastly, whether in purple or gray,

Canter, ranter, grave, solemn, or gay,

Whate'er he may do or may say,

Beware of a priest every way!

Every way! every way!

Beware of a priest every way!

 

"Well," said Tom King, "all you can sing or say don't alter my good opinion of the women. Not a secret have I from the girl of my heart. She could have sold me over and over again if she had chosen, but my sweet Sue is not the wench to do that."

 

"It is not too late," said Dick. "Your Delilah may yet hand you over to the Philistines."

 

"Then I shall die in a good cause," said King; "but

 

 

The Tyburn Tree

Has no terrors for me,

Let better men swing--I'm at liberty.

 

I shall never come to the scragging-post, unless you turn topsman, Dick Turpin. My nativity has been cast, and the stars have declared I am to die by the hand of my best friend--and that's you--eh? Dick?"

 

"It sounds like it," replied Turpin; "but I advise you not to become too intimate with Jack Ketch. He may prove your best friend, after all."

 

"Why, faith, that's true," replied King, laughing; "and if I must ride backwards up Holborn Hill, I'll do the thing in style, and honest Jack Ketch shall never want his dues. A man should always die game. We none of us know how soon our turn may come; but come when it will, I shall never flinch from it.

 

 

As the highwayman's life is the fullest of zest,

So the highwayman's death is the briefest and best;

He dies not as other men die, by degrees,

But at once! without flinching--and quite at his ease!

 

as the song you are so fond of says. When I die it will not be of consumption. And if the surgeon's knife must come near me, it will be after death. There's some comfort in that reflection, at all events."

 

"True," replied Turpin, "and, with a little alteration, my song would suit you capitally:

 

 

There is not a king, should you search the world round,

So blithe as the king's king, TOM KING, to be found;

Dear woman's his empire, each girl is his own,

And he'd have a long reign if he'd let 'em alone.

 

Ha, ha!"

 

"Ha, ha!" laughed Tom. "And now, Dick, to change the subject. You are off, I understand, to Yorkshire to-night. 'Pon my soul, you are a wonderful fellow--an alibi personified!--here and everywhere at the same time--no wonder you are called the flying highwayman. To-day in town--to-morrow at York--the day after at Chester. The devil only knows where you will pitch your quarters a week hence. There are rumors of you in all counties at the same moment. This man swears you robbed him at Hounslow; that on Salisbury Plain; while another avers you monopolize Cheshire and Yorkshire, and that it isn't safe even to hunt without pops in your pocket. I heard some devilish good stories of you at D'Osyndar's t'other day; the fellow who told them to me little thought I was a brother blade."

 

"You flatter me," said Dick, smiling complacently; "but it's no merit of mine. Black Bess alone enables me to do it, and hers be the credit. Talking of being everywhere at the same time, you shall hear what she once did for me in Cheshire. Meantime, a glass to the best mare in England. You won't refuse that toast, Tom. Ah! if your mistress is only as true to you as my nag to me, you might set at naught the tightest hempen cravat that was ever twisted, and defy your best friend to hurt you. Black Bess! and God bless her! And now for the song." Saying which, with much emotion, Turpin chanted the following rhymes:

 

 

BLACK BESS

 

Let the lover his mistress's beauty rehearse,

And laud her attractions in languishing verse;

Be it mine in rude strains, but with truth to express,

The love that I bear to my bonny Black Bess.

 

From the west was her dam, from the east was her sire,

From the one came her swiftness, the other her fire;

No peer of the realm better blood can possess

Than flows in the veins of my bonny Black Bess.

 

Look! Look! how that eyeball grows bright as a brand!

That neck proudly arches, those nostrils expand!

Mark! that wide flowing mane! of which each silky tress

Might adorn prouder beauties--though none like Black Bess.

 

Mark! that skin sleek as velvet, and dusky as night,

With its jet undisfigured by one lock of white;

That throat branched with veins, prompt to charge or caress

Now is she not beautiful?--bonny Black Bess!

 

Over highway and by-way, in rough and smooth weather,

Some thousands of miles have we journeyed together;

Our couch the same straw, and our meal the same mess

No couple more constant than I and Black Bess.

 

By moonlight, in darkness, by night, or by day,

Her headlong career there is nothing can stay;

She cares not for distance, she knows not distress:

Can you show me a courser to match with Black Bess?

 

"Egad! I should think not," exclaimed King; "you are as sentimental on the subject of your mare, as I am when I think of my darling Susan. But pardon my interruption. Pray proceed."

 

"Let me first clear my throat," returned Dick; "and now to resume:"

 

 

Once it happened in Cheshire, near Dunham, I popped

On a horseman alone, whom I speedily stopped;

That I lightened his pockets you'll readily guess--

Quick work makes Dick Turpin when mounted on Bess.

 

Now it seems the man knew me; "Dick Turpin," said he,

"You shall swing for this job, as you live, d'ye see;"

I laughed at his threats and his vows of redress;

I was sure of an alibi then with Black Bess.

 

The road was a hollow, a sunken ravine,[95]

Overshadowed completely by wood like a screen;

I clambered the bank, and I needs must confess,

That one touch of the spur grazed the side of Black Bess.

 

Brake, brook, meadow, and plough'd field, Bess fleetly bestrode,

As the crow wings her flight we selected our road;

We arrived at Hough Green in five minutes, or less--

My neck it was saved by the speed of Black Bess.

 

Stepping carelessly forward, I lounge on the green,

Taking excellent care that by all I am seen;

Some remarks on time's flight to the squires I address,

But I say not a word of the flight of Black Bess.

 

I mention the hour--it was just about four--

Play a rubber at bowls--think the danger is o'er;

When athwart my next game, like a checkmate at chess,

Comes the horsemen in search of the rider of Bess.

 

What matter details? Off with triumph I came;

He swears to the hour, and the squires swear the same;

I had robbed him at four!--while at four they profess

I was quietly bowling--all thanks to Black Bess!