HIGHWAYMEN 71 



long since changed the dreary scene. Notliing so 

 romantic as the meeting of the hxwyer with the 

 redoubtable Dick is likely to befall the traveller in 

 these times : — 



As Tui})iii wiis liding on Houiislow Heath, 

 A lawyer there he chanced for to meet, 

 Who said, ' Kind sir, ain't you afraid 

 Of Turpin, that mischievons blade ? ' 



' Oh ! no, sir,' says Turpin, ' I've been more acute, 

 I've hidden my money all in my boot.' 

 ' And mine,' says the lawj'er, ' the villain can't find, 

 For I have sewed it into my cape behind.' 



They rode till they came to the Powder Mill, 

 When Turpin bid the lawyer for to stand still. 

 ' Good sir,' quoth he, ' that cape must come off, 

 For my horse stands in need of a saddle-cloth.' 



' Ah, well,' says the lawyer, ' I'm very compliant, 



I'll put it all right with my next coming client.' 



' Then,' says Turpin, ' we're l)oth of a trade, never doubt it. 



Only you rob by laM-, and I rob without it.' 



The last vestio'e is o-one of the bleak and barren 

 aspect of the road, and even the singular memorial 

 of a murder, which, according to the writer of a road- 

 book published in 1802, stood near by, has vanished : 

 ' Upon a spot of Hounslow Heath, about a stone's 

 throw from the road, on leaving that village, a small 

 wood monument is shockingly marked with a bloody 

 hand and knife, and the following inscription : " Buried 

 with a stake through his body here, the wicked mur- 

 derer, John Pretor, who cut the throat of his wife 

 and child, and poisoned himself, July 6, 1765."' 



