Aye, and stout fellows to pad the hoof over them too? Come,
sir, my service to you - I agree with you perfectly."
"Poets in old times had right notions on this subject," continued I;
"witness the fine old ballads about Robin Hood, Allen A'Dale, and other
staunch blades of yore."
"Right, sir, right," interrupted he. "Robin Hood! He was the lad to cry
stand! to a man, and never flinch."
"Ah, sir," said I, "they had famous bands of robbers in the good old
times. Those were glorious poetical days. The merry crew of Sherwood
Forest, who led such a roving picturesque life, 'under the greenwood
tree.' I have often wished to visit their haunts, and tread the scenes
of the exploits of Friar Tuck, and Clym of the Clough, and Sir William
of Coudeslie."
"Nay, sir," said the gentleman in green, "we have had several very
pretty gangs since their day. Those gallant dogs that kept about the
great heaths in the neighborhood of London; about Bagshot, and
Hounslow, and Black Heath, for instance - come, sir, my service to you.
You don't drink."
"I suppose," said I, emptying my glass - "I suppose you have heard of
the famous Turpin, who was born in this very village of Hempstead, and
who used to lurk with his gang in Epping Forest, about a hundred years
since."
"Have I?" cried he - "to be sure I have! A hearty old blade that; sound
as pitch. Old Turpentine! - as we used to call him. A famous fine
fellow, sir."
"Well, sir," continued I, "I have visited Waltham Abbey, and Chinkford
Church, merely from the stories I heard, when a boy, of his exploits
there, and I have searched Epping Forest for the cavern where he used
to conceal himself. You must know," added I, "that I am a sort of
amateur of highwaymen. They were dashing, daring fellows; the last
apologies that we had for the knight errants of yore. Ah, sir! the
country has been sinking gradually into tameness and commonplace. We
are losing the old English spirit. The bold knights of the post have
all dwindled down into lurking footpads and sneaking pick-pockets.
There's no such thing as a dashing gentlemanlike robbery committed
now-a-days on the king's highway. A man may roll from one end of
England to the other in a drowsy coach or jingling post-chaise without
any other adventure than that of being occasionally overturned,
sleeping in damp sheets, or having an ill-cooked dinner.
"We hear no more of public coaches being stopped and robbed by a
well-mounted gang of resolute fellows with pistols in their hands and
crapes over their faces. What a pretty poetical incident was it for
example in domestic life, for a family carriage, on its way to a
country seat, to be attacked about dusk; the old gentleman eased of his
purse and watch, the ladies of their necklaces and ear-rings, by a
politely-spoken highwayman on a blood mare, who afterwards leaped the
hedge and galloped across the country, to the admiration of Miss
Carolina the daughter, who would write a long and romantic account of
The adventure to her friend Miss Juliana in town. Ah, sir! we meet with
nothing of such incidents now-a-days."
"That, sir," - said my companion, taking advantage of a pause, when I
stopped to recover breath and to take a glass of wine, which he had
just poured out - "that, sir, craving your pardon, is not owing to any
want of old English pluck. It is the effect of this cursed system of
banking. People do not travel with bags of gold as they did formerly.
They have post notes and drafts on bankers. To rob a coach is like
catching a crow; where you have nothing but carrion flesh and feathers
for your pains. But a coach in old times, sir, was as rich as a Spanish
galleon. It turned out the yellow boys bravely; and a private carriage
was a cool hundred or two at least."
I cannot express how much I was delighted with the sallies of my new
acquaintance. He told me that he often frequented the castle, and would
be glad to know more of me; and I promised myself many a pleasant
afternoon with him, when I should read him my poem, as it proceeded,
and benefit by his remarks; for it was evident he had the true poetical
feeling.
"Come, sir!" said he, pushing the bottle, "Damme, I like you! - You're a
man after my own heart; I'm cursed slow in making new acquaintances in
general. One must stand on the reserve, you know. But when I meet with
a man of your kidney, damme my heart jumps at once to him. Them's my
sentiments, sir. Come, sir, here's Jack Straw's health! I presume one
can drink it now-a-days without treason!"
"With all my heart," said I gayly, "and Dick Turpin's into the
bargain!"
"Ah, sir," said the man in green, "those are the kind of men for
poetry. The Newgate kalendar, sir! the Newgate kalendar is your only
reading! There's the place to look for bold deeds and dashing fellows."
We were so much pleased with each other that we sat until a late hour.
I insisted on paying the bill, for both my purse and my heart were
full; and I agreed that he should pay the score at our next meeting. As
the coaches had all gone that run between Hempstead and London he had
to return on foot, He was so delighted with the idea of my poem that he
could talk of nothing else. He made me repeat such passages as I could
remember, and though I did it in a very mangled manner, having a
wretched memory, yet he was in raptures.
