“Thunder and oons, Old Bags!” quoth mine host of the Jolly Angler, “this will never do; we're all met here to be merry, and not to listen to your mullancolly taratarantarums. I says, Ned Pepper, s'pose you tips us a song, and I'll beat time with my knuckles.” Long Ned, taking the pipe from his mouth, attempted, like Walter Scott's Lady Heron, one or two pretty excuses; these being drowned by a universal shout, the handsome purloiner gave the following song, to the tune of “Time has not thinned my flowing hair.” LONG NED'S SONG. Oh, if my hands adhere to cash, My gloves at least are clean, And rarely have the gentry flash In sprucer clothes been seen. Sweet Public, since your coffers must Afford our wants relief, Oh! soothes it not to yield the dust To such a charming thief? “'And John may laugh at mine,'--excellent!” cried Gentleman George, lighting his pipe, and winking at Attie; “I hears as how you be a famous fellow with the lasses.” Ned smiled and answered, “No man should boast; but--” Pepper paused significantly, and then glancing at Attie, said, “Talking of lasses, it is my turn to knock down a gentleman for a song, and I knock down Fighting Attie.” “I never sing,” said the warrior. “Treason, treason!” cried Pepper. “It is the law, and you must obey the law; so begin.” “It is true, Attie,” said Gentleman George. There was no appeal from the honest publican's fiat; so, in a quick and laconic manner, it being Attie's favourite dogma that the least said is the soonest mended, the warrior sung as follows:-- FIGHTING ATTIE'S SONG. Air: “He was famed for deeds of arms.” I never robbed a single coach But with a lover's air; And though you might my course reproach, You never could my hair. Rise at six, dine at two, Rob your man without ado, Such my maxims; if you doubt Their wisdom, to the right-about! ( Signing to a sallow gentleman on the same side of the table to send up the brandy bowl.) Pass round the bingo,--of a gun, You musty, dusky, husky son! John Bull, who loves a harmless joke, Is apt at me to grin; But why be cross with laughing folk, Unless they laugh and win? John Bull has money in his box; And though his wit's divine, Yet let me laugh at Johnny's locks, And John may laugh at mine