Mr. W----'s pen stopped. "His friends, the Campbells--humph! So the Campbells are his friends, are they?" repeated he. "They _were_ his friends," answered Mackenzie; "but Mr. Forester thought proper, nobody knows why, to run away from them, some months ago; the only reason I could ever learn was that he did not like to live amongst gentlemen: and he has been living ever since incognito, amongst blackguards, and we see the fruits of it." Mackenzie eagerly handed the summons, as soon as it was signed, to a constable; and Mr. W---- directed the constable to Mr. ----'s, the bookseller, adding, "Book-sellers and printers are dangerous persons." The constable, who had seen Forester the night that he was confined with Tom Random, knew his face and person; and we have told our readers that he met Forester in George's-square, going to Dr. Campbell's, to vindicate the innocence of the poor washerwoman. The tailor's foreman was not a little alarmed when the summons was sent for our hero; he dreaded that the voice of truth should be heard, and he skulked behind the rest of the company. What astonishment did Forester feel when he entered the room, and saw the group that surrounded the justice's table!--Archibald Mackenzie, with an insulting sneer on his lips--Pasgrave, with eyes fixed upon him in despair--Mr. Macpherson, the tailor, pointing to an entry in his book--his foreman shrinking from notice--the banker's clerk, with benevolent scepticism in his countenance--and the justice, with a portentous scowl upon his brow.