e, base calumniators," exclaimed Tom King, aroused from his
toothpick reverie by these aspersions of the best part of creation.
"Peace, I say. None shall dare abuse that dear devoted sex in the
hearing of their champion, without pricking a lance with him in their
behalf. What do you, either of you, who abuse woman in that wholesale
style, know of her? Nothing--less than nothing; and yet you venture,
upon your paltry experience, to lift up your voices and decry the sex.
Now I _do_ know her; and upon my own experience avouch, that, as a sex,
woman, compared with man, is as an angel to a devil. As a sex, woman is
faithful, loving, self-sacrificing. _We_ 'tis that make her otherwise;
_we_, selfish, exacting, neglectful men; we teach her indifference, and
then blame her apt scholarship. We spoil our own hand, and then blame
the cards. No abuse of women in my hearing. Give me a glass of grog,
Dick. 'The sex!--three times three!'--and here's a song for you into the
bargain." Saying which, in a mellow, plaintive tone, Tom gave the
following:

PLEDGE OF THE HIGHWAYMAN

Come, fill up a bumper to Eve's fairest daughters,
Who have lavished their smiles on the brave and the free;
Toast the sweethearts of DUDLEY, HIND, WILMOT, and WATERS,[94]
Whate'er their attraction, whate'er their degree.
Pledge! pledge in a bumper, each kind-hearted maiden,
Whose bright eyes were dimmed at the highwayman's fall;
Who stood by the gallows with sorrow o'erladen,
Bemoaning the fate of the gallant DU-VAL!

Here's to each lovely lass chance of war bringeth near one,
Whom, with manner impassioned, we tenderly stop;
And to whom, like the lover addressing his dear one,
In terms of entreaty _the question_ we pop.
How oft, in such case, rosy lips have proved sweeter
Than the rosiest book, bright eyes saved a bright ring;
While that _one other_ kiss has brought off a _repeater_,
And a bead as a _favor_--the _favorite_ string.

With our hearts ready rifled, each pocket we rifle,
With the pure flame of chivalry stirring our breasts;
Life's risk for our _mistress's praise_ is a trifle;
And each purse as a _trophy_ our _homage_ attests.
Then toss off your glasses to all girls of spirit,
Ne'er with names, or with number, your memories vex;
Our toast, boys, embraces each woman of merit,
And, for fear of omission, we'll drink the WHOLE