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 chink,
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.

"I heard a lot of Greek words myself," said Drysdale; "but old
Murdock was