“Well, sir,” continued I, “I have visited Waltham Abbey, and Chinkford Church, merely from the stories I heard, when a boy, of his exploits there, and I have searched Epping Forest for the cavern where he used to conceal himself.  You must know,” added I, “that I am a sort of amateur of highwaymen.  They were dashing, daring fellows; the last apologies that we had for the knight errants of yore.  Ah, sir! the country has been sinking gradually into tameness and commonplace.  We are losing the old English spirit.  The bold knights of the post have all dwindled down into lurking footpads and sneaking pick-pockets.  There’s no such thing as a dashing gentlemanlike robbery committed now-a-days on the king’s highway.  A man may roll from one end of England to the other in a drowsy coach or jingling post-chaise without any other adventure than that of being occasionally overturned, sleeping in damp sheets, or having an ill-cooked dinner.

“We hear no more of public coaches being stopped and robbed by a well-mounted gang of resolute fellows with pistols in their hands and crapes over their faces.  What a pretty poetical incident was it for example in domestic life, for a family carriage, on its way to a country seat, to be attacked about dusk; the old gentleman eased of his purse and watch, the ladies of their necklaces and ear-rings, by a politely-spoken highwayman on a blood mare, who afterwards leaped the hedge and galloped across the country, to the admiration of Miss Carolina the daughter, who would write a long and romantic account of The adventure to her friend Miss Juliana in town.  Ah, sir! we meet with nothing of such incidents now-a-days.”

“That, sir,”—­said my companion, taking advantage of a pause, when I stopped to recover breath and to take a glass of wine, which he had just poured out—­“that, sir, craving your pardon, is not owing to any want of old English pluck.  It is the effect of this cursed system of banking.  People do not travel with bags of gold as they did formerly.  They have post notes and drafts on bankers.  To rob a coach is like catching a crow; where you have nothing but carrion flesh and feathers for your pains.  But a coach in old times, sir, was as rich as a Spanish galleon.  It turned out the yellow boys bravely; and a private carriage was a cool hundred or two at least.”

I cannot express how much I was delighted with the sallies of my new acquaintance.  He told me that he often frequented the castle, and would be glad to know more of me; and I promised myself many a pleasant afternoon with him, when I should read him my poem, as it proceeded, and benefit by his remarks; for it was evident he had the true poetical feeling.

“Come, sir!” said he, pushing the bottle, “Damme, I like you!—­You’re a man after my own heart; I’m cursed slow in making new acquaintances in general.  One must stand on the reserve, you know.  But when I meet with a man of your kidney, damme my heart jumps at once to him.  Them’s my sentiments, sir.  Come, sir, here’s Jack Straw’s health!  I presume one can drink it now-a-days without treason!”