f
Canterbury--to which be all honor--was his theatre of action. His
history is so far curious, that it exemplifies, more strongly than a
thousand discourses could do, how prone we are to be governed by
appearances, and how easily we may be made the dupes of a plausible
impostor. Be it remembered, however, that we treat of the eighteenth
century, before the march of intellect had commenced; we are much too
knowing to be similarly practised upon in these enlightened times. But
we will let the knight of Malta, for such was the title assumed by the
ruffler, tell his own story in his own way hereafter; contenting
ourselves with the moral precepts we have already deduced from it.

Next to the knight of Malta stood the whip-jack, habited in his sailor
gear--striped shirt and dirty canvas trousers; and adjoining him was the
palliard, a loathsome tatterdemalion, his dress one heap of rags, and
his discolored skin one mass of artificial leprosy and imposthumes.

As Turpin's eye shifted from one to another of these figures, he chanced
upon an individual who had been long endeavoring to arrest his
attention. This personage was completely in the background. All that
Dick could discern of him was a brown curly head of hair, carelessly
arranged in the modern mode; a handsome, impudent, sun-freckled face,
with one eye closed, and the other occupied by a broken bottle-neck,
through which, as a substitute for a lorgnette, the individual
reconnoitered him. A cocked hat was placed in a very _degagee_ manner
under his arm, and he held an ebony cane in his hand, very much in the
style of a "_fassionable_," as the French have it, of the present day.
This glimpse was sufficient to satisfy Turpin. He recognized in this
whimsical personage an acquaintance.

Jerry Juniper was what the classical Captain Grose would designate a
"gentleman with three outs," and, although he was not entirely without
wit, nor, his associates avouched, without money, nor, certainly, in his
own opinion, had that been asked, without manners; yet was he assuredly
without shoes, without stockings, without shirt. This latter deficiency
was made up by a voluminous cravat, tied with proportionately large
bows. A jaunty pair of yellow breeches, somewhat faded; a waistcoat of
silver brocade, richly embroidered, somewhat tarnished and lack-lustre;
a murrey-colored velvet coat, somewhat chafed, completed the costume of
this beggar Brummell, this mendicant macaroni!

Jerry Jun