Long Ned, naturally more capacious than the rest, succumbed the last.
"As leaves of trees," said the chairman, waving his hand, "'As leaves of trees the race of man is found, Now fresh with dew, now withering on the ground.'" "Well said, my Hector of Highways;" cried Tomlinson; and then helping himself to the wine, while he employed his legs in removing the supine forms of Scarlet Jem and Long Ned, he continued the Homeric quotation, with a pompous and self-gratulatory tone,-- "'So flourish these when those have passed away!'" "We managed to get rid of our friends," began Clifford-- "Like Whigs in place," interrupted the politician.
"Right, Tomlinson, thanks to the milder properties of our drink, and perchance to the stronger qualities of our heads; and now tell me, my friend, what think you of our chance of success?
Shall we catch an heiress or not ?" "Why, really," said Tomlinson, "women are like those calculations in arithmetic, which one can never bring to an exact account; for my part, I shall stuff my calves, and look out for a widow.

You, my good fellow, seem to stand a fair chance with Miss ------" "Oh, name her not!" cried Clifford, colouring, even through the flush which wine had spread over his countenance.

"Ours are not the lips by which her name should be breathed; and, faith, when I think of her, I do it anonymously." "What, have you ever thought of her before this evening ?" "Yes, for months," answered Clifford.

"You remember some time ago, when we formed the plan for robbing Lord Mauleverer, how, rather for frolic than profit, you robbed Dr.Slopperton, of Warlock, while I compassionately walked home with the old gentleman.

Well, at the parson's house I met Miss Brandon--mind, if I speak of her by name, you must not; and, by Heaven!--But I won't swear.