disappeared. Several times that night did the brightest eyes in Somersetshire rove anxiously round the rooms in search of our Hero, but he was seen no more.
It was on the stairs that Clifford encountered his comrades; taking an arm of each, he gained the door without any adventure worth noting—save that, being kept back by the crowd for a few moments, the moralizing Augustus Tomlinson, who honoured the moderate Whigs by enrolling himself among their number, took up, pour passer le tems, a tall gold-headed cane, and weighing it across his finger with a musing air, said, "Alas! among our supporters we often meet heads as heavy—but of what a different metal!" The crowd now permitting, Augustus was walking away with his companions, and in that absence of mind characteristic of philosophers, unconsciously bearing with him the gold-headed object of his reflection, when a stately footman stepping up to him, said, "Sir, my cane!"
"Cane, fellow!" said Tomlinson. "Ah, I am so
