oubled me with any remarks on the subject
of the songs and ballads.

As it was my intention to travel on foot, with a bundle and a stick, I
despatched my trunk containing some few clothes and books to the old
town. My preparations were soon made; in about three days I was in
readiness to start.

Before departing, however, I bethought me of my old friend the
apple-woman of London Bridge. Apprehensive that she might be labouring
under the difficulties of poverty, I sent her a piece of gold by the
hands of a young maiden in the house in which I lived. The latter
punctually executed her commission, but brought me back the piece of
gold. The old woman would not take it; she did not want it, she said,
'Tell the poor thin lad,' she added, 'to keep it for himself, he wants it
more than I.'

Rather late one afternoon I departed from my lodging, with my stick in
one hand and a small bundle in the other, shaping my course to the
south-west: when I first arrived, somewhat more than a year before, I had
entered the city by the north-east. As I was not going home, I
determined to take my departure in the direction the very opposite to
home.

Just as I was about to cross the street called the Haymarket, at the
lower part, a cabriolet, drawn by a magnificent animal, came dashing
along at a furious rate; it stopped close by the curb-stone where I was,
a sudden pull of the reins nearly bringing the spirited animal upon its
haunches. The Jehu who had accomplished this feat was Francis Ardry. A
small beautiful female, with flashing eyes, dressed in the extremity of
fashion, sat beside him.

'Holloa, friend,' said Francis Ardry, 'whither bound?'

'I do not know,' said I; 'all I can say is, that I am about to leave
London.'

'And the means?' said Francis Ardry.

'I have them,' said I, with a cheerful smile.

'Qui est celui-ci?' demanded the small female, impatiently.

'C'est--mon ami le plus intime; so you were about to leave London,
without telling me a word,' said Francis Ardry, somewhat angrily.

'I intended to have written to you,' said I: 'what a splendid mare that
is.'

'Is she not?' said Francis Ardry, who was holding in the mare with
difficulty; 'she cost a hundred guineas.'

'Qu'est ce qu'il dit?' demanded his companion.

'Il dit que le jument est bien beau.'

'Allons, mon ami, il est tard,' said the beauty, with a scornful toss of
her head; 'allons!'

'Encore un moment,' said Francis Ardry; 'and when sh