MEETING OF THE DELEGATES. 499 



mother, and she'd seventeen, thou'll make 'em all unionists.' f I will, 

 fether,' she said, ' else I'll break their backs !' So you see, my lads, 

 as I've always the good of our cause at th' heart. God bless you all, 

 an' I hope we shall mister all them richfellors." 



It was now past midnight, and as our sixpences had been paid for 

 muskets, we proposed pulling up some hedgestakes, and going to 

 drill on the forest. On looking over our subscription list, while mine 

 host was putting us up in bottles twelve gallons of ale, beside a pro- 

 portionate quantity of tobacco, to take with us on our exercise, I 

 could perceive some had paid a shilling, with this item " Jos Bole, 

 wun shillin tuwardes a dubble-barell gun, to shute too wi." After 

 having borrowed all mine host's besoms and pitchforks, and tearing 

 up his fences for the hedgestakes, and loading ourselves with stone 

 bottles, pipes, tobacco, and a tinder-box, we staggered to the forest, 

 there to learn our exercise, and make ready to kill all tyrants, and 

 set England free. The old shoemaker bore a gallon bottle, and kept 

 lessening its weight every ten or twenty yards ; while the stock- 

 inger marched first, shouldering a hedgestake, and whistling the 

 " Rogues' March." Before we reached the forest, I perceived the 

 shoemaker linger behind, until at last, stepping aside to a pond 

 covered with ducks'-meat, he again filled his bottle, which he alone 

 had emptied during our march ; then, staggering first, he threw 

 down the bottle upon a large stone, as if by accident, and swore it 

 was a bad job spilling all that good ale. After having seated our- 

 selves upon the dewy grass, and deeply dived into John Barleycorn, 

 we arose to do our exercise, one half of us smoking short pipes : 

 " Shoulder arms !" cried the stockinger. " O Lord 1" exclaimed a 

 Johnny wop, " your hitten me over my chin we that dam'd pitch- 

 fork' " Ground arms !" " Dam it, Bill, dont knock a man's toes off 

 we your great garden-rail." " Eyes right !" t( A say, Ned, you've 

 burnt my cheek why your pipe. " Stand at ease !" " Joe, you've 

 fetch'd the skin off my cheek we your blasted besom." " March !" 

 O, genius of Dundas ! what marching ! " Dont tread on my heels !" 

 " Are you going to poke my eye out ?" " How you keep popping 

 that besom in my face." " Jack, is your pipe out ?" ee Sam, give us 

 a light." " Tom, is there ought in the bottle ?" " Dam it, Fred, 

 save us a sup ; dont be a hog, be matish ;" with many other military 

 phrases, were constantly vociferated, while we were preparing to 

 liberate England. At length we grounded arms, when the stock- 

 inger, after finishing the last draught of ale, addressed us in the fol- 

 lowing manner : 



" Brother soldiers, I have been in the militia two years, and out of 

 that time have been up six weeks doing exercise ; but never did I 

 behold a finer body of men than these now before me. You are an 

 honour to your country, and the glorious cause in which you have 

 listed, and are more masters of your exercise in this bit of time than 

 the regular militia, and, as soon as you get your muskets will be 

 ready to tackle any garrison in England. Proud am I that my 

 knowledge of militia discipline makes me compos mentus to larn you 

 your exercise. You will retire soberly and orderly to your homes, 

 and this day fortnight us delegates will again come to give you farder 



