"But what's the tune?" said Tom.

"Oh, you can't miss it; go ahead;" and so Tom, who was dropping into the humour of the thing, droned out from the MS. handed to him--

"Chairs to mend, Old chairs to mend, Rush bottom'd cane bottom'd, Chairs to mend.

Maid, approach, If thou wouldst know What the stars May deign to show."

"Now, tinker," said Drysdale, nodding at Blake, who rattled on,--

"Chance feeds us, chance leads us; Round the land in jollity; Rag-dealing, nag-stealing, Everywhere we roam; Bra.s.s mending, a.s.s vending, Happier than the quality; Swipes soaking, pipes smoking, Ev'ry barn a home; Tink, tink, a tink a tink, Our life is full of fun, boys; Clink tink, a tink a tink, Our busy hammers ring; Clink, tink, a tink a tink, Our job will soon be done boys; Then tune we merrily The bladder and the string."

DRYSDALE, as _Silly Sally_.

"Oh, dear! what can the matter be?

Dear, dear! what can the matter be?

Oh, dear! what can the matter be?

There's such a look in her eye.

Oh, lawk! I declare I be all of a tremble; My mind it misgives me about Sukey Wimble, A splatter faced wench neither civil nor nimble She'll bring Billy to beggary."

TOM, as _Mother Patrico_.

"Show your hand; Come show your hand!

Would you know What fate has planned?

Heaven forefend, Ay, heav'n forefend!

What may these Cross lines portend?"

BLAKE, as _the Tinker_.

"Owl, pheasant, all's pleasant, Nothing comes amiss to us; Hare, rabbit, snare, nab it; c.o.c.k, or hen, or kite; Tom cat, with strong fat, A dainty supper is to us; Hedge-hog and sedge-frog To stew is our delight; Bow, wow, with angry bark My lady's dog a.s.sails us; We sack him up, and clap A stopper on his din.

Now pop him in the pot; His store of meat avails us; Wife cook him nice and hot, And granny tans his skin."

DRYSDALE, as _Silly Sally_.

"Oh, lawk! what a calamity!

Oh, my! what a calamity!

Oh, dear! what a calamity!

Lost and forsaken be I.

I'm out of my senses, and nought will content me, But pois'ning Poll Ady who helped circ.u.mvent me; Come tell me the means, for no power shall prevent me: Oh, give me revenge, or die."

TOM, as _Mother Patrico_

"Pause awhile!

Anon, anon!

Give me time The stars to con.

True love's course Shall yet run smooth; True shall prove The favor'd youth."

BLAKE, as _the Tinker_.

"Tink tink, a tink a tink, We'll work and then get tipsy, oh!

Clink tink, on each c.h.i.n.k, Our busy hammers ring.

Tink tink, a tink a tink, How merry lives a gypsy, oh!

Chanting and ranting; As happy as a king."

DRYSDALE, as _Silly Sally_.

"Joy! Joy! all will end happily!

Joy! Joy! all will end happily!

Joy! joy! all will end happily!

Bill will be constant to I.

Oh, thankee, good dame, here's my purse and my thimble; A fig for Poll Ady and fat Sukey Wimble; I now could jump over the steeple so nimble; With joy I be ready to cry."

TOM, as _Mother Patrico_.

"William shall Be rich and great; And shall prove A constant mate.

Thank not me, But thank your fate, On whose high Decrees I wait."

"Well, won't that do? won't it bring the house down? I'm going to send for dresses to London, and we'll start next week."

"What, on the tramp, singing these songs?"

"Yes; we'll begin in some out-of-the-way place till we get used to it."

"And end in the lock-up, I should say," said Tom; "it'll he a good lark, though. Now, you haven't told me how you got home."

"Oh, we left camp at about five-"

"The tinker having extracted a sovereign from Drysdale,"

interrupted Blake.

"What did you give to the little gypsy yourself?" retorted Drysdale; "I saw your adieus under the thorn-bush.--Well, we got on all right to old Murdock's, at Kingston Inn, by about seven, and there we had dinner; and after dinner the old boy came in. He and I are great chums, for I'm often there, and always ask him in. But that beggar Blake, who never saw him before, cut me clean out in five minutes. Fancy his swearing he is Scotch, and that an ancestor of his in the sixteenth century married a Murdock!"

"Well, when you come to think what a lot of ancestors one must have had at that time, it's probably true," said Blake.

"At any rate, it took," went on Drysdale. "I thought old Murdock would have wept on his neck. As it was, he scattered snuff enough to fill a pint pot over him out of his mull, and began talking Gaelic. And Blake had the cheek to jabber a lot of gibberish back to him, as if he understood every word."

"Gibberish! it was the purest Gaelic," said Blake laughing.