Lord L⸺ and Mr. Jackson were by this time close to them, and his lordship, his countenance expressive of much disgust, was just beginning to guide his rein with a careful hand, and measure his distances with a cautious eye, for the purpose of passing through this sooty train without soil, when the whole troop, closing round both gentlemen, and whirling their hats in the air, gave a loud cheer, followed by sudden silence and a simultaneous grin, which shewed at one flash the teeth of the whole party. The next moment, seeming to perceive that they were not understood, numerous voices uttered at once, “Some ’ot te drink—an ye please.” Lord L⸺, as soon as he could be got to comprehend, complied with the request, and was passing on, amid three cheers louder than the former, when Mr. Jackson, addressing him in an under tone, said he felt inclined to have some conversation with those people, as it was not at all impossible that a seemingly careless question might obtain some accidental clue to information. Lord L⸺ smiled incredulously, but checked his horse, and Mr. Jackson, adapting his language to his company, and addressing the man nearest him, said, “Have you had many people to see the Bottom lately?” The whole troop halted and wheeled, for they had just begun to move forward. Their intrepid leader, finding herself, by this unexpected evolution, in the centre of her forces, placed the fore-feet of her beast on a mound of earth, to give herself a certain elevation above the rest, planted her arms a-kimbo, and assumed a listening attitude, “I doon’t na I’s sure,” replied the man spoken to. A second fellow here interposed with, “It’s no se lang sine Sir Sydney was doon wid——” “Haud yeer gab, ye feul!” interrupted our Amazon, in a voice of authority. “Sir Sydney, indeed! Its lang enew sine Sir Sydney was doon! He’s no been on dry land for monny a day.” “And pray,” inquired Mr. Jackson, who remembered the mention he had once heard of the name from the lips of Henry, “who is Sir Sydney?” “The best friend,” replied the man who had just been interrupted, “the Bottom folk hay.” “No but a feller that’s oot on his mind,” said Jin of the Gins, with a marked impatience, which she endeavoured to screen, by increasing boldness of deportment, and repeated kicks on the sides of her charger. He, however, was in no haste to move, and the man replied again: “He may be no just quite right; bit he gives folk plenty te drink, for aw that!” “Out of his mind!” repeated Mr. Jackson. “But did you not say, that the last time this Sir Sydney was down, he had gentlefolk with him?” Now, Mr. Jackson was quite aware, that the fellow had not yet said so. “Gentlefolk?” repeated the man, “whough aye: ’at was the night ’at——”