in a revery? What good man ever loves
to be interrupted in his meditations? Even Alfred the Great could not
bear it! Perhaps at this moment, with the true anxiety of a worthy
chief, the captain is designing something for our welfare!"

"Captain indeed!" muttered Long Ned, darting a wrathful look at
Clifford, who had not deigned to pay any attention to Mr. Pepper's
threat; "for my part I cannot conceive what was the matter with us when
we chose this green slip of the gallows-tree for our captain of the
district. To be sure, he did very well at first, and that robbery of the
old lord was not ill-planned; but lately--"

"Nay, nay," quoth Augustus, interrupting the gigantic grumbler; "the
nature of man is prone to discontent. Allow that our present design
of setting up the gay Lothario, and trying our chances at Bath for an
heiress, is owing as much to Lovett's promptitude as to our invention."

"And what good will come of it?" returned Ned, as he lighted his pipe;
"answer me that. Was I not dressed as fine as a lord, and did not I walk
three times up and down that great room without being a jot the better
for it?"

"Ah! but you know not how many secret conquests you may have made. You
cannot win a prize by looking upon it."

"Humph!" grunted Ned, applying himself discontentedly to the young
existence of his pipe.

"As for the captain's partner," renewed Tomlinson, who maliciously
delighted in exciting the jealousy of the handsome "tax-collector,"--for
that was the designation by which Augustus thought proper to style
himself and companions,--"I will turn Tory if she be not already half
in love with him; and did you hear the old gentleman who cut into our
rubber say what a fine fortune she had? Faith, Ned, it is lucky for
us two that we all agreed to go shares in our marriage speculations; I
fancy the worthy captain will think it a bad bargain for himself."

"I am not so sure of that, Mr. Tomlinson," said Long Ned, sourly eying
his comrade. "Some women may be caught by a smooth skin and a showy
manner; but real masculine beauty,--eyes, colour, and hair,--Mr.
Tomlinson, must ultimately make its way; so hand me the brandy, and
cease your jaw."

"Well, well," said Tomlinson, "I'll give you a toast,--'The prettiest
girl in England,' and that's Miss Brandon!"

"You shall give no such toast, sir!" said Clifford, starting from the
bench. "What the devil is Miss Brandon to you? And now, Ned," seeing
that the tall hero lo