“I'm a palmer come from the Holy Land.” (_Singing._) “Doubtless!” replied Uncle Timothy. “A palmer of traveller's tales upon such ignoramuses as will believe them. Why, that mysterious budget of thine contains every black-letter rarity that Captain Cox * of Coventry rejoiced in, and bibliomaniacs sigh for. Who, and what art thou?” * Laneham, in his Account of the Queen's Entertainment at Killingworth Castle, 1575, represents this military mason and bibliomaniac as “marching on valiantly before, clean trust, and gartered above the knee, all fresh in a velvet cap, flourishing with his ton sword and describing a procession of the Coventry men in celebration of Hock Tuesday, he introduces “Fyrst, Captain Cox, an od man I promiz yoo; by profession a mason, and that right skilfull; very cunning in fens, and hardy az Gavin; for hiz ton-sword hangs at hiz tabbz eend; great oversight hath he in matters of storie: for az for King Arthur z book, Huon of Burdeaus, the foour sons of Ay mon, Bevys of Hampton, the Squyre of lo degree, the Knight of Courtesy, the Wido Edyth, the King and the Tanner, Robin-hood, Adam Bel, Clim of the Clough and William of Cloudsley, the Wife lapt in a Morels Skin, the Sakfull of Nuez, Elynor Rumming, and the Nutbrown Maid. “What should I rehearz heer, what a bunch of Ballets and Songs, all auncient; and Broom broom on Hill, So Wo iz me begon, troly lo, Over a Whinny Meg, Hey ding a ding, Bony lass upon a green, My hony on gave me a bek, By a bank as I lay: and a hundred more he hath fair wrapt up in parchment, and bound with a whip cord. To stay ye no longer heerin, I dare say he hath as fair a library for theez sciencez, and az many goodly monuments both in prose and poetry, and at after noonz can talk az much without book, az ony inholder betwixt Brainford and Bagshot, what degree soever he be.” “Suppose, signors, I should be some eccentric nobleman in disguise,--or odd fish of an amateur collecting musical tribute to win a wager,--or suppose-” “Have done with thy supposes!” cried the impatient and satirical-nosed gentleman. “Or, suppose--_Uncle Timothy!_” Here, with the adroitness of a practised mimic, the voice was changed in an instant, the coal-black wiry wig thrown off, the bushy imperial sent to look after the stray mustachios, the thread-bare camlet cloak and rusty beaver cast aside, and the chaffing quaffing, loud-laughing Lauréat of Little Britain stood confessed under a stucco of red ochre! “Was there ever such a mountebank varlet!” shouted the middle-aged gentleman, holding fast his two sides. “I followed close upon your skirts, and dogged you hither.” “Dogged me, puppy!”