"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 pause, "he has a bold,
plain way of viewing things, and, like Voltaire, he becomes a philosopher
by being a Man of Sense! Hist! see my horse's ears! Some one is coming,
though I don't hear him! Keep watch!"

The robbers grew silent; the sound of distant hoofs was indistinctly
heard, and, as it came nearer, there was a crash of boughs, as if a hedge
had been ridden through. Presently the moon gleamed picturesquely on the
figure of a horseman, approaching through the copse in the rear of the
robbers.

Now he was half seen among the sinuosities of his forest path; now in
full sight, now altogether hid; then his horse neighed impatiently; now
he again came in sight, and in a moment more he had joined the pair!
The new-corner was of a tall and sinewy frame, and in the first bloom of
manhood. A frock of dark green, edged with a narrow silver lace, and
buttoned from the throat to the middle, gave due effect to an upright
mien, a broad chest, and a slender but rounded waist, that stood in no
need of the compression of the tailor. A short riding-cloak, clasped