he chance of a God-send before you."

"Ay, the night is fine enough," said Ned, who was rather a grumbler,
as, having finished his groom-like operation, he now slowly mounted.
"D---it, Oliver! [The moon] looks out as broadly as if he were going
to blab. For my part, I love a dark night, with a star here and there
winking at us, as much as to say, 'I see you, my boys, but I won't say
a word about it,' and a small, pattering, drizzling, mizzling rain, that
prevents Little John's hoofs being heard, and covers one's retreat, as
it were. Besides, when one is a little wet, it is always necessary to
drink the more, to keep the cold from one's stomach when one gets home."

"Or in other words," said Augustus, who loved a maxim from his very
heart, "light wet cherishes heavy wet!"

"Good!" said Ned, yawning. "Hang it, I wish the captain would come. Do
you know what o'clock it is? Not far short of eleven, I suppose?"

"About that! Hist, is that a carriage? No, it is only a sudden rise in
the wind."

"Very self-sufficient in Mr. Wind to allow himself to be raised without
our help!" said Ned; "by the way, we are of course to go back to the Red
Cave?"

"So Captain Lovett says. Tell me, Ned, what do you think of the new
tenant Lovett has put into the cave?"

"Oh, I have strange doubts there," answered Ned, shaking the hairy
honours of his head. "I don't half like it; consider the cave is our
stronghold, and ought only to be known--"

"To men of tried virtue," interrupted Tomlinson. "I agree with you; I
must try and get Lovett to discard his singular protege, as the French
say."

"'Gad, Augustus, how came you by so much learning? You know all the
poets by heart, to say nothing of Latin and French."

"Oh, hang it, I was brought up, like the captain, to a literary way of
life."

"That's what makes you so thick with him, I suppose. He writes (and
sings too) a tolerable song, and is certainly a deuced clever fellow.
What a rise in the world he has made! Do you recollect what a poor sort
of way he was in when you introduced him at Gentleman George's? and now
he's the Captain Crank of the gang."

"The gang! the company, you mean. Gang, indeed! One would think you were
speaking of a knot of pickpockets. Yes, Lovett is a clever fellow; and,
thanks to me, a very decent philosopher!" It is impossible to convey
to our reader the grave air of importance with which Tomlinson made his
concluding laudation. "Yes," said he, after a paus