er 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

[Much of whatever amusement might be occasioned by the not (we
trust) ill-natured travesties of certain eminent characters in this
part of our work when first published, like all political allusions,
loses point and becomes obscure as the applications cease to be
familiar. It is already necessary, perhaps, to say that Fighting
Attie herein typifies or illustrates the Duke of Wellington's abrupt
dismissal of Mr. Huskisson.]

THE SALLOW GENTLEMAN (in a hoarse voice).

Attie, the bingo's now with me;
I can't resign it yet, d' ye see!

ATTIE (seizing the bowl).

Resign, resign it,--cease your dust!
(Wresting it away and fiercely regarding the sallow gentleman.)
You have resigned it, and you must.

CHORUS.

You have resigned it, and you must.

While the chorus, laughing at the discomfited tippler, yelled forth the
emphatic words of the heroic Attie, that personage emptied the brandy at
a draught, resumed his pipe, and in as few words as possible called on
Bagshot for a song. The excellent old highwayman, with great diffidence,
obeyed the request, cleared his throat, and struck off with a ditty
somewhat to the tune of "The Old Woman."

OLD BAGS'S SONG.

Are the days then gone, when on Hounslow Heath