For my part," added I,
"I should never think of making resistance against one of those
desperadoes."
"Say you so?" cried my friend in green, turning suddenly upon me, and
putting a pistol to my breast, "Why, then have at you, my lad! - come,
disburse! empty! unsack!"
In a word, I found that the muse had played me another of her tricks,
and had betrayed me into the hands of a footpad. There was no time to
parley; he made me turn my pockets inside out; and hearing the sound of
distant footsteps, he made one fell swoop upon purse, watch, and all,
gave me a thwack over my unlucky pate that laid me sprawling on the
ground; and scampered away with his booty.
I saw no more of my friend in green until a year or two afterwards;
when I caught a sight of his poetical countenance among a crew of
scapegraces, heavily ironed, who were on the way for transportation. He
recognized me at once, tipped me an impudent wink, and asked me how I
came on with the history of Jack Straw's castle.
The catastrophe at Crackscull Common put an end to my summer's
campaign. I was cured of my poetical enthusiasm for rebels, robbers,
and highwaymen. I was put out of conceit of my subject, and what was
worse, I was lightened of my purse, in which was almost every farthing
I had in the world.
