country, happened to be playing bowls. The breadth of the bandit's manner and the air of court and capital, which unmistakably clung to him, arrested the functionary's attention and Nicks's alibi proved triumphant upon the testimony of a Lord Mayor.

According to this story, then, Nicks, who had well earned the pre-nomen Swift," covered a distance of about 190 miles within 15 hours. But it is not necessary to suppose that he covered the whole of it on the fine bay mare aforesaid.

Nicks or Swift Nick has been identified with John Nevison or Nevinson, the Claude Du Val of the North.

"Did your ever hear tell of that hero,

Bold Nevinson, that was his name;

He rode about like a bold hero,

And with that he gained great fame."

There is good reason to believe that Nevinson, in the capacity of ringleader, was concerned in the incidents commemorated in Bloody News from Yorkshire: or the great robbery committed by 20 highwaymen on 15 butchers, as they were riding to Northallerton Fair in 1674. Two years later, upon evidence connected with this primeval battle of drovers and brigands, Nevinson was captured, betrayed by his receivers, as threequarters of the victims of justice were in that age. In April 1676 he was reprieved in the hope that he would discover his accomplices, but the hope proved vain, for none of his accomplices were discoverable, and the "pardoned" culprit was drafted into one of the regiments destined for Tangier. Fortunately for him, Nevinson succeeded in escaping from the tender mercies- of Captain Kirke, to which he had been committed. He deserted, and resumed his practice on the highway, devoting his attention no longer to Yorkshire graziers, but to Kentish merchants and homing seafarers.

It was at this period of his career that Nevinson achieved his great ride to York, the story of which is said to have amused no less a connoisseur than King Charles II. The appellation of "Swift Nicks" is even said to be due to the fountain-head of all titles of honour, to the royal saunterer himself.*

*The story is related in the Memoirs of Charles Lewis, Baron de Pollnitz, under date 4th May, 1733, and also in Defoe's Tour through Great Britain. We subjoin a slightly variant version of the York exploit, related above, in the ipsissima verba of the author of Robinson Crusoe. "After leaving Chelmsford he rode to Braintree, Bocking, Wethersfield; then over the downs to Cambridge, and from thence, keeping still the cross roads, he went by Fenny

The later career of "Swift Nicks" can be briefly Like so many of his kind he fell a victim to his amours. fair Elizabeth Burton, subsequent to her arrest for steal embroidered farthingale and other articles of feminine ador recollected some whispered colloquies which she had ove between Nevinson, the Boniface and the ostler of the Inn at Newark. Several untoward accidents on the Road were unmistakably traced to the midnight conferen these three worthies. As a consequence of the frail Mrs B depositions, the unhappy Nevinson was captured in a low at Sandal, and was executed off Micklegate Bar, in York c the fourth of May, 1685. This, at any rate, is the date giv Gent. Oliver Heywood, in his Diary, states that he ex his sins on 15th March. "He was something stupid [pro drunk] at the gallows, yet he confesssed everything." He remained a favourite with the indulgent Yorkshire folk: "He maintained himself like a gentleman, Besides, he was good to the poor.

He rode about like a brave hero,

And he gained himself favour therefore."+

It is reasonable to suppose that Nicks may have had a connection with what is, in all probability, an ancient my the North road [Fuller, in his Worthies, attributes a some similar exploit to one John Lepton as far back as 1606] such a very commonplace ruffian as Richard Turpin, who all his fame to the literary skill of Ainsworth.

According to one of the circumstantial versions of the leg Turpin set out upon his adventurous ride on the famous n Black Bess, from the Broadway, Westminster, whence, Walcott, the Black Horse Tavern in Broadway has its na but unfortunately the Black Horse is mentioned in the edition of Stow's Survey as early as 1722.

Stanton to Godmanchester and Huntingdon, where he and his mare bated about an and as he said himself he slept about half an hour; then holding on the North Road not keeping at full gallop most of the way he came to York the same afternoon, his boots and riding cloths and went dressed, as if he had been an inhabitant place, to the bowling green, where, among the gentlemen was the Lord Mayor city. He singled out his Lordship, studied to do something particular that the might remember him by; and then takes occasion to ask his Lordship what o'cl was, who pulling out his watch told him the hour, which was a quarter before or a qu after eight. Upon a prosecution of this robbery the whole merit of the case turned this single point; the person robbed swore to the place, the man, and to the time in the fact was committed; but Nicks proving by the Lord Mayor that he was as far Yorkshire in that day the jury acquitted him on the bare supposition that it was impo the man could be at two places so remote in the same day."

+See Holroyd's Yorkshire Ballads, 1892, p. 187.

According to Ainsworth, whose Rookwood is after all the locus classicus for every detail of the entertainment, the ride of Richard Turpin was ridden in the summer of 1737, and Black Bess and her rider set out, not from Westminster, but from an old tavern on the Edgeware Road, in the parish of Kilburn.

From Kilburn Turpin skirted West-End and rode across Hampstead Heath, and, though this fact is not mentioned by Ainsworth, he must have stopped to refresh at the Spaniards Inn, where Turpin's knife and fork and other relics are still reverently preserved.*

Having quitted the Spaniards he passed by Highgate and Crouch-End to Hornsey, where he cleared a five-bar turnpikegate with spikes on the top rail. Then by Tottenham and Edmonton, where he dashed through a crowded street and cleared a donkey-cart in his mad career, to Ware.

At Ware he refreshed his horse, and galloped on through Godmanchester, Huntingdon, Stamford, Melton Mowbray, and Grantham. to Newark. At Newark Black Bess began to show signs of giving out. Galvanised into a sort of mechanical activity by the frequent application of alcohol both externally and internally, the gallant mare struggled on through Bawtry, Selby, and Cawood, until finally, in the parish of Fulford, on the very borders of the city, and in full sight of the Minster Towers, the noble Arabian sank down, and with a single tremor expired.

Successful as Ainsworth was in harrowing the feelings in the narrative which reaches its climax at this place, where Black Bess burst her heart in the service of her master, it must be admitted that he entirely despoiled the story of its point, which resided in the establishment by means of the ride of a successful alibi. Nothing but this could justify such a heart-breaking ride, which Ainsworth's hero appears to have undertaken in mere lightness of heart and dare-devilry, if not from a still unworthier motive, that of breaking a record.

Such circumstances deprive the reflection, that the whole story is apocryphal, of its sting. It is nevertheless amusing to see what havoc the legend has played with the topography of

* There are many other taverns in "Greater London which cultivate Turpinian traditions. Among these we may instance the Tally Ho" near the Archway, and the "Bull," at Shooter's Hill, where a mounting block is known as Turpin's stone. With highwaymens' relics as with all traditional tales and sayings and jests there is a strong centripetal tendency.

York. Black Bess is stated in one and the same breath expired on the outskirts of Fulford, to have jumped from the highest places on the city wall, and to have sobbed last breath before an admiring crowd on the York rac (Knavesmire.)

When he used a somewhat similar literary motif in "How the good news was brought from Ghent to A Browning, in answer to an ever increasing multitude pestering correspondents, was careful to point out that his p had no historical foundation whatsoever. Fortunately for vitality of the Turpin legend, Ainsworth vouchsafed no histor

explanations, and made concessions neither to consistency nor to probability. And what a wonderful vitality the legend that he consecrated has had!

Every hamlet through which the outlaw passed (in the imagination of Ainsworth) and many others besides, have their distinctive Turpin legends and relics. Go to Walthamstow, or Stamford Hill, or Enfield, and ask any man in shirt sleeves for information about Turpin. He will tell you how the bandit used to give his mare strong ale, and how on long journeys he would twist a morsel of raw beef-steak round her bit. Men talk of the saintly legends and miracles of popish superstition and the prolific imagination of protestant plotmongers, but where shall we find a superstition so real, so robust, or so enduring as that which clings to this legend of the North Road -to Dick Turpin and his famous ride?

The stories of all the highwaymen have been concentrated into a halo round this illustrious head. St. Turpin is the sweetest saint in all the Newgate Calendar. Every schoolboy in particular is a devout believer in gentleman Dick. And the belief symbolises two very fine things jumping five barred gates, and the love of a gallant rider for a gallant steed.

Let the Legend grow! It is one of the big verities of fiction, of Fiction which is so far greater and stronger than Truth! On clear nights, when the road winds upwards through dark copse and hollow to the dry and bracing upland, and spectral gates and railings reflect white light from the moon, my belief in Dick Turpin far outweighs my incredulity. I see the gallant outlaw dashing across the open, I hear the regular tlot-a-tlap of his horse's hoofs, I see the smoking breath of Black Bess, and watch the curve of her flanks as she stretches herself on the level turf. Forgotten are Thackeray and his cynical carpings, I am heart and soul with Harrison Ainsworth, I cheer onward his gallant robber and execrate the dastardly pack of his pursuers.

"Hurrah o'er Hounslow Heath to roam,

Hurrah for the stilly hour!"

Turfin Ba'lad.

The present writer in his youth could never manage to stick upon the back of a prancing steed or even of a high spirited. donkey, otherwise he has no doubt that he would have charged