el of people--parcel of sky--parcel of water--parcel
of ships--parcel----"

"Of fools!" grinned little Robin, pointing at the same time towards the
oratorical cook, who so little relished the compliment, as to elevate
the polished remnant of a mutton shoulder-blade, and aim a well-directed
blow at the manikin, which he avoided only by springing with great
agility through the aperture in the tree, so as to alight at some
distance on the other side of the hollow trunk. This harlequinade
excited much boisterous laughter among the crowd; and no one joined in
it more mirthfully than young Springall, who, for some reason known best
to Hugh Dalton, yet sanctioned by Sir Robert Cecil, had spent the last
few days in the kitchens and buttery of Cecil Place. There was another
youth of the same party, who perchance enjoyed the merriment, but who
looked as if he could have still more enjoyed melancholy. He was seated
next to Springall, on the rude bench; and the boy-sailor treated him
with such marks of attention, as manifested that he regarded him more in
the light of a superior, than as an equal. The stranger, however,
remained with his hat so much slouched over his face, that his features
were in complete shadow, while his cloak was muffled over the lower part
of his countenance.

"I say, Robin," exclaimed Springall, "come out of your shell; you have
remained there long enough to tell over a dozen creeds or paters, were
they in fashion--Come out, are you bewitched? Robin the Ranger, I say,
come forth, and give us a taste of your calling--a melody--a melody! But
you should hear our Jeromio sing his lingo songs some night astern: and
though I do hate that cunning rascal, yet, my eyes! how he does sing!"

"Singing," observed Solomon Grundy, whose potations had wonderfully
increased his piety, "singing is an invention of the beast's, yea, of
the horned beast's, of him who knoweth not a turtle from a turtle-dove,
but would incontinently stew them in the same caldron, over brimstone
and pitch; therefore shall my voice bubble and boil over against such
iniquities--yea, and my tongue shall be uplifted against them, even in
the land of Ham!"

"Go to sleep, Solomon, and you, youngster, give us a song yourself,"
growled Grimstone, who had all the outward bearing of a savage; "the
evening is nigh closing, and the birds are gone to their nests.
Nevertheless, the song must be right proper: so tune up, tune up, my
boy!"

Springall, with d