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"Be you fro me

beneath his hoary brows as I set down my tankard

"Yes," said I

"Well, think o' that now--I've been a-goin' to Lunnon this five

an' forty year--started out twice, I did, but I never got no

furder nor Sevenoaks!"

"Hoas that?" I inquired

"Why, theer's 'The White Hart' at Sevenoaks, an' they brews fine

ale at 'The White Hart,' d'ye see, an' one glass begets another"

"And they sent ye back in the carrier's cart!" said the fatbroader than ever

"Ever see the Lord Mayor a-ridin' in 'is goold coach, sir?"

pursued the old man

"Yes," said I

"Ever speak to 'im?"

"Why, no"

"Ah well, I once knowed a man as spoke to the Lord Mayor o'

Lunnon's coachman--but 'e's dead, took the smallpox the year

arterwards an' died, 'e did"