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Let the Englishman boast of his Turpins and Sheppards, as cocks of the walk,

His Mulsacks, and Cheneys, and Swiftnecks15— it’s all botheration and talk; Compared with the robbers of Ireland, they don’t come within half a mile, There never were yet any rascals like those of my own native isle!

First and foremost comes Redmond O’Hanlon, allowed the first thief of the world,16 That o’er the broad province of Ulster the Rapparee banner unfurled; Och! he was an elegant fellow, as ever you saw in your life, At fingering the blunderbuss trigger, or handling the throat-cutting knife.

And then such a dare-devil squadron as that which composed Redmond’s tail! Meel, Mactigh, Jack Reilly, Shan Bernagh, Phil Galloge, and Arthur O’Neal; Shure never were any boys like ’em for rows, agitations, and sprees, Not a rap did they leave in the country, and hence they were called Rapparees.17

Next comes Power, the great Tory18 of Munster, a gentleman born every inch, And strong Jack Macpherson of Leinster, a horse-shoe who broke at a pinch; The last was a fellow so lively, not death e’en his courage could damp, For as he was led to the gallows, he played his own “march to the camp.”19

Paddy Fleming, Dick Balf, and Mulhoni, I think are the next on my list,

All adepts in the beautiful science of giving a pocket a twist;

Jemmy Carrick must follow his leaders, ould Purney who put in a huff, By dancing a hornpipe at Tyburn, and bothering the hangman for snuff.

There’s Paul Liddy, the curly-pate Tory, whose noddle was stuck on a spike,

And Billy Delaney, the “Songster,”20 we never shall meet with his like; For his neck by a witch was anointed, and warranted safe by her charm, No hemp that was ever yet twisted his wonderful throttle could harm.

And lastly, there’s Cahir na Cappul, the handiest rogue of them all,

Who only need whisper a word, and your horse will trot out of his stall;

Your tit is not safe in your stable, though you or your groom should be near,

And devil a bit in the paddock, if Cahir gets hould of his ear.

Then success to the Tories of Ireland, the generous, the gallant, the gay!

With them the best Rumpads21 of England are not to be named the same day! And were further proof wanting to show what precedence we take with our prigs, Recollect that our robbers are Tories, while those of your country are Whigs.

“Bravissimo!” cried Jack, drumming upon the table.

“Well,” said Coates, “we’ve had enough about the Irish highwaymen, in all conscience. But there’s a rascal on our side of the Channel, whom you have only incidentally mentioned, and who makes more noise than them all put together.”

“Who’s that?” asked Jack, with some curiosity.

“Dick Turpin,” replied the attorney: “he seems to me quite as worthy of mention as any of the Hinds, the Du-Vals, or the O’Hanlons, you have either of you enumerated.”

“I did not think of him,” replied Palmer, smiling; “though, if I had, he scarcely deserves to be ranked with those illustrious heroes.”

“Gads bobs!” cried Titus; “they tell me Turpin keeps the best nag in the United Kingdom, and can ride faster and further in a day than any other man in a week.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Palmer, with a glance of satisfaction. “I should like to try a run with him. I warrant me, I’d not be far behind.”

“I should like to get a peep at him,” quoth Titus.

“So should I,” added Coates. “Vastly!”

“You may both of you be gratified, gentlemen,” said Palmer. “Talking of Dick Turpin, they say, is like speaking of the devil, he’s at your elbow ere the word’s well out of your mouth. He may be within hearing at this moment, for anything we know to the contrary.”

“Body o’ me!” ejaculated Coates, “you don’t say so? Turpin in Yorkshire! I thought he confined his exploits to the neighborhood of the metropolis, and made Epping Forest his headquarters.”

“So he did,” replied Jack, “but the cave is all up now. The whole of the great North Road, from Tottenham Cross to York gates, comes within Dick’s present range; and Saint Nicholas only knows in which part of it he is most likely to be found. He shifts his quarters as often and as readily as a Tartar; and he who looks for him may chance to catch a Tartar — ha! — ha!”

“It’s a disgrace to the country that such a rascal should remain unhanged,” returned Coates, peevishly. “Government ought to look to it. Is the whole kingdom to be kept in a state of agitation by a single highwayman? — Sir Robert Walpole should take the affair into his own hands.”

“Fudge!” exclaimed Jack, emptying his glass.

“I have already addressed a letter to the editor of the Common Sense on the subject,” said Coates, “in which I have spoken my mind pretty plainly: and I repeat, it is perfectly disgraceful that such a rascal should be suffered to remain at large.”

“You don’t happen to have that letter by you, I suppose,” said Jack, “or I should beg the favor to hear it? — I am not acquainted with the newspaper to which you allude; — I read Fog’s Journal.”

“So I thought,” replied Coates, with a sneer; “that’s the reason you are so easily mystified. But luckily I have the paper in my pocket; and you are quite welcome to my opinions. Here it is,” added he, drawing forth a newspaper. “I shall waive my preliminary remarks, and come to the point at once.”

“By all means,” said Jack.

“‘I thank God,’” began Coates, in an authoritative tone, “‘that I was born in a country that hath formerly emulated the Romans in their public spirit; as is evident from their conquests abroad, and their struggles for liberty at home.’”

“What has all this got to do with Turpin?” interposed Jack.

“You will hear,” replied the attorney —“no interruptions if you please. ‘But this noble principle,’” continued he, with great emphasis, “‘though not utterly lost, I cannot think at present so active as it ought to be in a nation so jealous of her liberty.’”

“Good!” exclaimed Jack. “There is more than ’common sense‘ in that observation, Mr. Coates.”

“‘My suspicion,’” proceeded Coates, “‘is founded on a late instance. I mean the flagrant, undisturbed success of the notorious Turpin, who hath robb’d in a manner scarce ever known before for several years, and is grown so insolent and impudent as to threaten particular persons, and become openly dangerous to the lives as well as fortunes of the people of England.’”

“Better and better,” shouted Jack, laughing immoderately. “Pray go on, sir.”

“‘That a fellow,’” continued Coates, “‘who is known to be a thief by the whole kingdom, shall for so long a time continue to rob us, and not only rob us, but make a jest of us ——’”

“Ha — ha — ha — capital! Excuse me, sir,” roared Jack, laughing till the tears ran down his cheeks —“pray, pray, go on.”

“I see nothing to laugh at,” replied Coates, somewhat offended; “however, I will conclude my letter, since I have begun it —‘not only rob us, but make a jest of us, shall defy the laws, and laugh at justice, argues a want of public spirit, which should make every particular member of the community sensible of the public calamity, and ambitious of the honor of extirpating such a notorious highwayman from society, since he owes his long successes to no other cause than his immoderate impudence, and the sloth and pusillanimity of those who ought to bring him to justice.’ I will not deny,” continued Coates, “that, professing myself, as I do, to be a staunch new Whig, I had not some covert political object in penning this epistle.22 Nevertheless, setting aside my principles ——”

“Right,” observed Jack; “you Whigs, new or old, always set aside your principles.”

“Setting aside any political feeling I may entertain,” continued Coates, disregarding the interruption, “I repeat, I am ambitious of extirpating this modern Cacus — this Autolycus of the eighteenth century.”

“And what course do you mean to pursue?” asked Jack, “for I suppose you do not expect to catch this ’ought-to-lick-us,’ as you call him, by a line in the newspapers.”

“I am in the habit of keeping my own counsel, sir,” replied Coates, pettishly; “and to be plain with you, I hope to finger all the reward myself.”

“Oons, is there a reward offered for Turpin’s apprehension?” asked Titus.

“No less than two hundred pounds,” answered Coates, “and that’s no trifle, as you will both admit. Have you not seen the king’s proclamation, Mr. Palmer?”

“Not I,” replied Jack, with affected indifference.

“Nor I,” added Titus, with some appearance of curiosity; “do you happen to have that by you too?”

“I always carry it about with me,” replied Coates, “that I may refer to it in case of emergency. My father, Christopher, or Kit Coates, as he was familiarly called, was a celebrated thief-taker. He apprehended Spicket, and Child, and half a dozen others, and always kept their descriptions in his pocket. I endeavor to tread in my worthy father’s footsteps. I hope to signalize myself by capturing a highwayman. By-the-by,” added he, surveying Jack more narrowly, “it occurs to me that Turpin must be rather like you, Mr. Palmer?”

“Like me,” said Jack, regarding Coates askance; “like me — how am I to understand you, sir, eh?”

“No offence; none whatever, sir. Ah! stay, you won’t object to my comparing the description. That can do no harm. Nobody would take you for a highwayman — nobody whatever — ha! ha! Singular resemblance — he — he. These things do happen sometimes: not very often, though. But here is Turpin’s description in the Gazette, June 28th, A.D. 1737:—’It having been represented to the King that Richard Turpin did, on Wednesday, the 4th of May last, rob on his Majesty’s highway Vavasour Mowbray, Esq., Major of the 2d troop of Horse Grenadiers‘— that Major Mowbray, by-the-by, is a nephew of the late Sir Piers, and cousin of the present baronet —’and commit other notorious felonies and robberies near London, his Majesty is pleased to promise his most gracious pardon to any of his accomplices, and a reward of two hundred pounds to any person or persons who shall discover him, so as he may be apprehended and convicted.’”

“Odsbodikins!” exclaimed Titus, “a noble reward! I should like to lay hands upon Turpin,” added he, slapping Palmer’s shoulder: “I wish he were in your place at this moment, Jack.”

“Thank you!” replied Palmer, shifting his chair.

“’Turpin,’” continued Coates, “’was born at Thacksted, in Essex; is about thirty‘— you, sir, I believe, are about thirty?” added he, addressing Palmer.

“Thereabouts,” said Jack, bluffly. “But what has my age to do with that of Turpin?”

“Nothing — nothing at all,” answered Coates; “suffer me, however, to proceed:—’Is by trade a butcher,’— you, sir, I believe, never had any dealings in that line?”

“I have some notion how to dispose of a troublesome calf,” returned Jack. “But Turpin, though described as a butcher, is, I understand, a lineal descendant of a great French archbishop of the same name.”

“Who wrote the chronicles of that royal robber Charlemagne; I know him,” replied Coates —“a terrible liar! — The modern Turpin ’is about five feet nine inches high‘— exactly your height, sir — exactly!”

“I am five feet ten,” answered Jack, standing bolt upright.

“You have an inch, then, in your favor,” returned the unperturbed attorney, deliberately proceeding with his examination —”’he has a brown complexion, marked with the smallpox.’”

“My complexion is florid — my face without a seam,” quoth Jack.

“Those whiskers would conceal anything,” replied Coates, with a grin. “Nobody wears whiskers nowadays, except a highwayman.”

“Sir!” said Jack, sternly. “You are personal.”

“I don’t mean to be so,” replied Coates; “but you must allow the description tallies with your own in a remarkable manner. Hear me out, however —’his cheek bones are broad — his face is thinner towards the bottom — his visage short — pretty upright — and broad about the shoulders.’ Now I appeal to Mr. Tyrconnel if all this does not sound like a portrait of yourself.”

“Don’t appeal to me,” said Titus, hastily, “upon such a delicate point. I can’t say that I approve of a gentleman being likened to a highwayman. But if ever there was a highwayman I’d wish to resemble, it’s either Redmond O’Hanlon or Richard Turpin; and may the devil burn me if I know which of the two is the greater rascal!”

“Well, Mr. Palmer,” said Coates, “I repeat, I mean no offence. Likenesses are unaccountable. I am said to be like my Lord North; whether I am or not, the Lord knows. But if ever I meet with Turpin I shall bear you in mind — he — he! Ah! if ever I should have the good luck to stumble upon him, I’ve a plan for his capture which couldn’t fail. Only let me get a glimpse of him, that’s all. You shall see how I’ll dispose of him.”

“Well, sir, we shall see,” observed Palmer. “And for your own sake, I wish you may never be nearer to him than you are at this moment. With his friends, they say Dick Turpin can be as gentle as a lamb; with his foes, especially with a limb of the law like yourself, he’s been found but an ugly customer. I once saw him at Newmarket, where he was collared by two constable culls, one on each side. Shaking off one, and dealing the other a blow in the face with his heavy-handled whip, he stuck spurs into his mare, and though the whole field gave chase, he distanced them all, easily.”

“And how came you not to try your pace with him, if you were there, as you boasted a short time ago?” asked Coates.

“So I did, and stuck closer to him than any one else. We were neck and neck. I was the only person who could have delivered him to the hands of justice, if I’d felt inclined.”

“Zounds!” cried Coates; “If I had a similar opportunity, it should be neck or nothing. Either he or I should reach the scragging-post first. I’d take him, dead or alive.”

“You take Turpin?” cried Jack, with a sneer.

“I’d engage to do it,” replied Coates. “I’ll bet you a hundred guineas I take him, if I ever have the same chance.”

“Done!” exclaimed Jack, rapping the table at the same time, so that the glasses danced upon it.

“That’s right,” cried Titus. “I’ll go you halves.”

“What’s the matter — what’s the matter?” exclaimed Small, awakened from his doze.

“Only a trifling bet about a highwayman,” replied Titus.

“A highwayman!” echoed Small. “Eh! what? there are none in the house, I hope.”

“I hope not,” answered Coates. “But this gentleman has taken up the defence of the notorious Dick Turpin in so singular a manner, that ——”

“Quod factu fœdum est, idem est et Dictu Turpe,” returned Small. “The less said about that rascal the better.”

“So I think,” replied Jack. “The fact is as you say, sir — were Dick here, he would, I am sure, take the freedom to hide ’em.”

Further discourse was cut short by the sudden opening of the door, followed by the abrupt entrance of a tall, slender young man, who hastily advanced towards the table, around which the company were seated. His appearance excited the utmost astonishment in the whole group: curiosity was exhibited in every countenance — the magnum remained poised midway in the hand of Palmer — Dr. Small scorched his thumb in the bowl of his pipe; and Mr. Coates was almost choked, by swallowing an inordinate whiff of vapor.

“Young Sir Ranulph!” ejaculated he, as soon as the syncope would permit him.

“Sir Ranulph here?” echoed Palmer, rising.

“Angels and ministers!” exclaimed Small.

“Odsbodikins!” cried Titus, with a theatrical start; “this is more than I expected.”

“Gentlemen,” said Ranulph, “do not let my unexpected arrival here discompose you. Dr. Small, you will excuse the manner of my greeting; and you, Mr. Coates. One of the present party, I believe, was my father’s medical attendant, Dr. Tyrconnel.”

“I had that honor,” replied the Irishman, bowing profoundly —“I am Dr. Tyrconnel, Sir Ranulph, at your service.”

“When, and at what hour, did my father breathe his last, sir?” inquired Ranulph.

“Poor Sir Piers,” answered Titus, again bowing, “departed this life on Thursday last.”

“The hour? — the precise minute?” asked Ranulph, eagerly.

“Troth, Sir Ranulph, as nearly as I can recollect, it might be a few minutes before midnight.”

“The very hour!” exclaimed Ranulph, striding towards the window. His steps were arrested as his eye fell upon the attire of his father, which, as we have before noticed, hung at that end of the room. A slight shudder passed over his frame. There was a momentary pause, during which Ranulph continued gazing intently at the apparel. “The very dress, too!” muttered he; then turning to the assembly, who were watching his movements with surprise; “Doctor,” said he, addressing Small, “I have something for your private ear. Gentlemen, will you spare us the room for a few minutes?”

“On my conscience,” said Tyrconnel to Jack Palmer, as they quitted the sanctum, “a mighty fine boy is this young Sir Ranulph! — and a chip of the ould block! — he’ll be as good a fellow as his father.”

“No doubt,” replied Palmer, shutting the door. “But what the devil brought him back, just in the nick of it?”

* * * * *

7. James Hind — the “Prince of Prigs”— a royalist captain of some distinction, was hanged, drawn, and quartered, in 1652. Some good stories are told of him. He had the credit of robbing Cromwell, Bradshaw, and Peters. His discourse to Peters is particularly edifying.

8. See Du-Val’s life by Doctor Pope, or Leigh Hunt’s brilliant sketch of him in The Indicator.

9. We cannot say much in favor of this worthy, whose name was Thomas Simpson. The reason of his sobriquet does not appear. He was not particularly scrupulous as to his mode of appropriation. One of his sayings is, however, on record. He told a widow whom he robbed, “that the end of a woman’s husband begins in tears, but the end of her tears is another husband.” “Upon which,” says his chronicler, “the gentlewoman gave him about fifty guineas.”

10. Tom was a sprightly fellow, and carried his sprightliness to the gallows; for just before he was turned off he kicked Mr. Smith, the ordinary, and the hangman out of the cart — a piece of pleasantry which created, as may be supposed, no small sensation.

11. Many agreeable stories are related of Holloway. His career, however, closed with a murder. He contrived to break out of Newgate but returned to witness the trial of one of his associates; when, upon the attempt of a turnkey, one Richard Spurling, to seize him, Will knocked him on the head in the presence of the whole court. For this offence he suffered the extreme penalty of the law in 1712.

12. Wicks’s adventures with Madame Toly are highly diverting. It was this hero — not Turpin, as has been erroneously stated — who stopped the celebrated Lord Mohun. Of Gettings and Grey, and “the five or six,” the less said the better.

13. One of Jack’s recorded mots. When a Bible was pressed upon his acceptance by Mr. Wagstaff, the chaplain, Jack refused it, saying, “that in his situation one file would be worth all the Bibles in the world.” A gentleman who visited Newgate asked him to dinner; Sheppard replied, “that he would take an early opportunity of waiting upon him.” And we believe he kept his word.

14. The word Tory, as here applied, must not be confounded with the term of party distinction now in general use in the political world. It simply means a thief on a grand scale, something more than “a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles,” or petty-larceny rascal. We have classical authority for this:—Tory: “An advocate for absolute monarchy; also, an Irish vagabond, robber, or rapparee.”—Grose’s Dictionary.

15. A trio of famous High-Tobygloaks. Swiftneck was a captain of Irish dragoons, by-the-bye.

16. Redmond O’Hanlon was the Rob Roy of Ireland, and his adventures, many of which are exceedingly curious, would furnish as rich materials for the novelist, as they have already done for the ballad-mongers: some of them are, however, sufficiently well narrated in a pleasant little tome, published at Belfast, entitled The History of the Rapparees. We are also in possession of a funeral discourse, preached at the obsequies of the “noble and renowned” Henry St. John, Esq., who was unfortunately killed by the Tories— the Destructives of those days — in the induction to which we find some allusion to Redmond. After describing the thriving condition of the north of Ireland, about 1680, the Rev. Lawrence Power, the author of the sermon, says, “One mischief there was, which indeed in a great measure destroyed all, and that was a pack of insolent bloody outlaws, whom they here call Tories. These had so riveted themselves in these parts, that by the interest they had among the natives, and some English, too, to their shame be it spoken, they exercise a kind of separate sovereignty in three or four counties in the north of Ireland. Redmond O’Hanlon is their chief, and has been these many years; a cunning, dangerous fellow, who, though proclaimed an outlaw with the rest of his crew, and sums of money set upon their heads, yet he reigns still, and keeps all in subjection, so far that ’tis credibly reported he raises more in a year by contributions à-la-mode de France than the king’s land taxes and chimney-money come to, and thereby is enabled to bribe clerks and officers, If Not Their Masters, (!) and makes all too much truckle to him.” Agitation, it seems, was not confined to our own days — but the “finest country in the world” has been, and ever will be, the same. The old game is played under a new color — the only difference being, that had Redmond lived in our time, he would, in all probability, not only have pillaged a county, but represented it in parliament. The spirit of the Rapparee is still abroad — though we fear there is little of the Tory left about it. We recommend this note to the serious consideration of the declaimers against the sufferings of the “six millions.”

17. Here Titus was slightly in error. He mistook the cause for the effect. “They were called Rapparees,” Mr. Malone says, “from being armed with a half-pike, called by the Irish a rapparee.”—Todd’s Johnson.

18. Tory, so called from the Irish word Toree, give me your money. —Todd’s Johnson.

19. As he was carried to the gallows, Jack played a fine tune of his own composing on the bagpipe, which retains the name of Macpherson’s tune to this day. —History of the Rapparees.

20. “Notwithstanding he was so great a rogue, Delany was a handsome, portly man, extremely diverting in company, and could behave himself before gentlemen very agreeably. He had a political genius— not altogether surprising in so eminent a Tory— and would have made great proficiency in learning if he had rightly applied his time. He composed several songs, and put tunes to them; and by his skill in music gained the favor of some of the leading musicians in the country, who endeavored to get him reprieved.”—History of the Rapparees. The particulars of the Songster’s execution are singular:—“When he was brought into court to receive sentence of death, the judge told him that he was informed he should say ‘that there was not a rope in Ireland sufficient to hang him. But,’ says he, ‘I’ll try if Kilkenny can’t afford one strong enough to do your business; and if that will not do, you shall have another, and another.’ Then he ordered the sheriff to choose a rope, and Delany was ordered for execution the next day. The sheriff having notice of his mother’s boasting that no rope could hang her son — and pursuant to the judge’s desire — provided two ropes, but Delany broke them one after the other! The sheriff was then in a rage, and went for three bed-cords, which he plaited threefold together, and they did his business! Yet the sheriff was afraid he was not dead; and in a passion, to make trial, stabbed him with his sword in the soles of his feet, and at last cut the rope. After he was cut down, his body was carried into the courthouse, where it remained in the coffin for two days, standing up, till the judge and all the spectators were fully satisfied that he was stiff and dead, and then permission was given to his friends to remove the corpse and bury it.”-History of the Rapparees.

21. Highwaymen, as contradistinguished from footpads.

22. Since Mr. Coates here avows himself the writer of this diatribe against Sir Robert Walpole, attacked under the guise of Turpin in the Common Sense of July 30, 1737, it is useless to inquire further into its authorship. And it remains only to refer the reader to the Gents. Mag., vol. vii. p. 438, for the article above quoted; and for a reply to it from the Daily Gazetteer contained in p. 499 of the same volume.