Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,

Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your

Pitiful story.'

Knife-grinder.

'Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir,

Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers,

This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were

Torn in a scuffle.

'Constables came up for to take me into

Custody; they took me before the justice;