“Aye, to be sure,--brought two good fellows together. What shall we have?--It's cold.--What d'ye say to Hopping John, made Tom Nottle's fashion?--Landlord, mix pint of brandy wi' half a gallon of your best cider, sugared to your own taste; and,--d'ye mind?--pop in about a dozen good roasted apples, hissing hot, to take the chill off.” In a short time, the two cousins were seated by the fire, in a little room behind the bar of the Sawney's Cross, with a smoking bowl of liquor on the table before them, and Ned Creese assisting them to empty it. By degrees, the cousins became elevated, and their chat was enlivened by budding jokes and choice flowers of rustic song. Harry's forehead frequently reminded him, in the midst of his glee, of the adventure in the road; and he recurred to it, for the fifth time, since the sitting, as Ned brought in a second brewage of hot Hopping John:--“I'd lay a wager I know where my blind galloway is, just about now,” quoth he; “it's odd to me if he isn't stopping at the Dragon's Head, where he always pulls up, and tempts me to call for a cup of cider and a mouthful of hay.” “Gentlemen,” said Creese, “I'll give you a toast--a Devonshire one--and it's this:--A back fall, or a side fall, or any fall but a fall out.” “For my part,” continued Ned, after his toast was duly honoured,--“I expected no less than a fight, if you were able to stand, after what I saw would happen;--but I hardly hoped to see both get on your legs, with nothing but one bloody nose between the pair of you.” “I must say, landlord, I fell very comfortably, indeed, considering,” said Harry. “And I came down very much to my own satisfaction,” quoth Ralph, “only that I soiled my uniform.” “It struck me,” observed Ned Creese, “that you must have gone over head and ears into the pond, which is deeper than it should be in the middle; but I consoled myself;--for, thinks I,--if so be that he should, the _frogs_ on his dragoon jacket will save him, if swimming can do it If you'd both broke your necks I couldn't but giggle to see you. It's my belief 'twould have made a horse laugh; as my sign says, it was truly 'good entertainment for man and beast.'--Don't be hipped because I'm jocular: joking's a malady with many a man, and here stands one of'em; we can no more help it than an ague fit. But come, folks; here's 'The West Country Orchards!'--and then let's rouse the crickets with the old apple-tree hymn.--I'll begin.” So saying, Creese commenced, and, assisted by Ralph and Harry, chaunted forth the following rhymes, in a manner that would have amazed Mozart, although it gladdened the hearts of the rustic guests in the Sawney's Cross kitchen. 1. The white rose was, aye, a dainty flower, And the hawthorn a bonny tree; A grove of oaks is a rich dame's dower; But the barley-straw for me! 2.