"I have it too!" exclaimed Hogarth, busily plying his pencil. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. I might utter a million, and still I doubt if I could make you understand. " "I should like to satisfy myself on that score," rejoined Wild, drily. ’ ‘Well, but he was a deserter, you see. “Go on!” “You know—in Paris they coupled my name with some one’s—an Englishman’s.
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