and any memory so indifferent
that even in the easiest passages I soon come to a stand. My best notes
are in the falsetto; and as for my execution--But we won't talk of
that."

"Nay, nay; you are so modest," said Mrs. Slopperton. "I am sure you
could oblige us if you would."

"Your command," said the stranger, moving to the harpsichord, "is
all-sufficient; and since you, madam," turning to Lucy, "have chosen
a song after the old school, may I find pardon if I do the same? My
selection is, to be sure, from a lawless song-book, and is supposed to
be a ballad by Robin Hood, or at least one of his merry men,--a very
different sort of outlaws from the knaves who attacked you, sir!"

With this preface the stranger sung to a wild yet jovial air, with a
tolerable voice, the following effusion:

THE LOVE OF OUR PROFESSION; OR THE ROBBER'S LIFE.

On the stream of the world, the robber's life
Is borne on the blithest wave;
Now it bounds into light in a gladsome strife,
Now it laughs in its hiding cave.

At his maiden's lattice he stays the rein;
How still is his courser proud
(But still as a wind when it hangs o'er the main
In the breast of the boding cloud),

With the champed bit and the archd crest,
And the eye of a listening deer,
Like valour, fretful most in rest,
Least chafed when in career.

Fit slave to a lord whom all else refuse
To save at his desperate need;
By my troth! I think one whom the world pursues
Hath a right to a gallant steed.

"Away, my beloved, I hear their feet!
I blow thee a kiss, my fair,
And I promise to bring thee, when next we meet,
A braid for thy bonny hair.

Hurrah! for the booty!--my steed, hurrah!
Thorough bush, thorough brake, go we;
And the coy moon smiles on our merry way,
Like my own love,--timidly."

The parson he rides with a jingling pouch,
How it blabs of the rifled poor!
The courtier he lolls in his gilded coach,
--How it smacks of a sinecure!

The lawyer revolves in his whirling chaise
Sweet thoughts of a misc