Austin, may repeat it if he pleases to his master, Jonathan Wild,—I have not. " And, as he spoke, he took up a sheet of paper, and hastily traced a few lines upon it. He went on with his song, accompanying it with the most ridiculous grimaces: "When years were gone by, she began to rue Her love for the gentleman, (meaning you!) 'I slighted the journeyman fond,' quoth she, 'But where is my gallant of high degree? Where! where! Oh! where is my gallant of high degree?' Ho! ho! ho!" "What are you doing here!" demanded Thames. . " "No," replied Sir Rowland, who appeared completely prostrated.
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