tly. Is she not superb? As to her temper, the lamb is not
more gentle. A child might guide her.

But hark back to Dick Turpin. We left him rattling along in superb
style, and in the highest possible glee. He could not, in fact, be
otherwise than exhilarated; nothing being so wildly intoxicating as a
mad gallop. We seem to start out of ourselves--to be endued, for the
time, with new energies. Our thoughts take wings rapid as our steed. We
feel as if his fleetness and boundless impulses were for the moment our
own. We laugh; we exult; we shout for very joy. We cry out with
Mephistopheles, but in anything but a sardonic mood, "What I enjoy with
spirit, is it the less my own on that account? If I can pay for six
horses, are not their powers mine! I drive along, and am a proper man,
as if I had four-and-twenty legs!" These were Turpin's sentiments
precisely. Give him four legs and a wide plain, and he needed no
Mephistopheles to bid him ride to perdition as fast as his nag could
carry him. Away, away!--the road is level, the path is clear. Press on,
thou gallant steed, no obstacle is in thy way!--and, lo! the moon breaks
forth! Her silvery light is thrown over the woody landscape. Dark
shadows are cast athwart the road, and the flying figures of thy rider
and thyself are traced, like giant phantoms, in the dust!

Away, away! our breath is gone in keeping up with this tremendous run.
Yet Dick Turpin has not lost his wind, for we hear his cheering
cry--hark! he sings. The reader will bear in mind that Oliver means the
moon--to "whiddle" is to blab.

OLIVER WHIDDLES!

Oliver whiddles--the tattler old!
Telling what best had been left untold.
Oliver ne'er was a friend of mine;
All glims I hate that so brightly shine.
Give me a night black as hell, and then
See what I'll show to you, my merry men.

Oliver whiddles!--who cares--who cares,
If down upon us he peers and stares?
Mind him who will, with his great white face,
Boldly _I'll_ ride by his glim to the chase;
Give him a Rowland, and loudly as ever
Shout, as I show myself, "Stand and deliver!"

"Egad," soliloquized Dick, as he concluded his song, looking up at the
moon. "Old Noll's no bad fellow, either. I wouldn't be without his white
face to-night for a trifle. He's as good as a lamp to guide one, and let
Bess only hold on as she goes now, and I'll do it with ease. Softly,
wench, softly--dost not see it's a hill we