In that play, a prejudiced and narrow-minded burglar expressed his conviction that "There never yet was cracksman worth a curse, But he was English bred from top to toe!" To which injurious assertion Ephraim the resetter, a more diligent student of history than his customer, thus replied-- "All honour to the brave, whate'er their birth! I question not the greatness of the soil That bred Dick Turpin, and the wondrous boy Sheppard, whom iron bars could ne'er contain; Yet other lands can boast their heroes too: Keen David Haggart was of Scottish blood, Left-handed Morgan was a Welshman born, And kindred France claims honour for her own, That young Iulus of the road, Duval!" We hardly know which most to applaud--the total freedom from prejudice, or the poetry of this exquisite passage. We have not space to insert a dialogue touching the merits of Sir William Wallace held between the two promising youths, Borrow and Haggart, in the airy vicinity of the "kittle nine-steps." Suffice it to say, that the former uttered such heterodox opinions regarding the great deliverer of Scotland, that Haggart threatened to pitch him over; and if he should ever chance to revisit Edinburgh, and drop into the studio of our friend Patric Park, who has just completed his magnificent and classic model of Wallace--a work which would confer honour upon any age or country--we would earnestly caution him, for his own sake, to avoid a repetition of the offence. The scene is then transferred to Ireland, and we have some rough-riding and horse-taming, with a glimpse of a rapparee; all which is exceedingly commonplace. Back again to England goes young Borrow, and at a horse-fair he encounters his old acquaintance Jasper Petulengro, now fairly installed and acknowledged as the reigning Pharaoh, his father and mother having been "bitchadey pawdel." This, in the Rommany or gipsy tongue, corresponds to, the emphatic term of "herring-ponded," by which facetious malefactors are wont to indicate the compulsory voyages of their friends. Mr Borrow is always great upon the subject of the gipsies, who, in fact, constitute nine-tenths of his stock in trade; and, if we are to believe him, such lapses as popular song attributes to a former Countess of Cassilis are by no means unusual at the present day. Here is a sketch of a fascinating horse-stealer. "'And that tall handsome man on the hill, whom you whispered? I suppose he's one of ye. What is his name?'