road, that it was accounted a distinction to be stopped by him; he made
a point of robbing none but gentlemen, and--Tom's shade would quarrel
with us were we to omit them--ladies. His acquaintance with Turpin was
singular, and originated in a rencontre. Struck with his appearance,
Dick presented a pistol, and bade King deliver. The latter burst into a
laugh, and an explanation immediately ensued. Thenceforward they became
sworn brothers--the Pylades and Orestes of the road; and though seldom
seen together in public, had many a merry moonlight ride in company.

Tom still maintained three mistresses, his valet, his groom--tiger, we
should have called him,--"and many a change of clothes besides," says
his biographer, "with which he appeared more like a lord than a
highwayman." And what more, we should like to know, would a lord wish to
have? Few younger sons, we believe, can boast so much; and it is chiefly
on their account, with some remote view to the benefit of the unemployed
youth of all professions, that we have enlarged so much upon Tom King's
history. The road, we must beg to repeat, is still open; the chances are
greater than they ever were; we fully believe it is _their_ only road to
preferment, and we are sadly in want of highwaymen!

Fancy Tom lounging at D'Osyndar's, carelessly tapping his boots on the
steps; there he stands! Is he not a devilish good-looking, gentlemanlike
sort of fellow? You could never have taken him for a highwayman but for
our information. A waiter appears--supper is ordered at twelve--a
broiled chicken and a bottle of Burgundy--his groom brings his nags to
the door--he mounts. It is his custom to ride out on an evening--he is
less liable to interruption.[93] At Marylebone Fields--now the Regent's
Park,--his groom leaves him. He has a mistress in the neighborhood. He
is absent for a couple of hours, and returns gay or dispirited, as his
luck may have turned out. At twelve he is at supper, and has the night
before him. How very easy all this seems. Can it be possible we have no
Tom Kings?

To return to Tom as he was in the arbor. Judging from his manner, he
appeared to be almost insensible to the presence of his companions, and
to be scarcely a partaker in their revelry. His back was towards his
immediate neighbor; his glass sparkled untouched at his elbow; and one
hand, beautifully white and small, a mark of his birth and
breeding--_crede_ Byron--rested upon the edge of the table, while