, and wears a
spotted neckcloth; Tom--what could his name be but Tom?"

"Is he about five-and-thirty?" asked Vincent, "rather short, and with
reddish coloured hair and whiskers?"

"Precisely," said I; "are not all Toms alike?"

"Ah," said Vincent, "I know him well: he is a clever, shrewd fellow, but
a most unmitigated rascal. He is the son of a steward in Lancashire, and
received an attorney's education; but being a humorous, noisy fellow, he
became a great favourite with his father's employer, who was a sort of
Mecaenas to cudgel players, boxers, and horse jockies. At his house,
Thornton met many persons of rank, but of a taste similar to their
host's: and they, mistaking his vulgar coarseness for honesty, and his
quaint proverbs for wit, admitted him into their society. It was with
one of them that I have seen him. I believe of late, that his character
has been of a very indifferent odour: and whatever has brought him among
the English at Paris--those white-washed abominations--those 'innocent
blacknesses,' as Charles Lamb calls chimney sweepers, it does not argue
well for his professional occupations. I should think, however, that he
manages to live here; for wherever there are English fools, there are
fine pickings for an English rogue."

"Ay," said I, "but are there enough fools here, to feed the rogues?"

"Yes, because rogues are like spiders, and eat each other, when there is
nothing else to catch; and Tom Thornton is safe, as long as the ordinary
law of nature lasts, that the greater knave preys on the lesser, for
there cannot possibly be a greater knave than he is. If you have made
his acquaintance, my dear Pelham, I advise you most soberly to look to
yourself, for if he doth not steal, beg, or borrow of you, Mr. Howard de
Howard will grow fat, and even Mr. Aberton cease to be a fool. And
now, most noble Pelham, farewell. Il est plus aise d'etre sage pour les
autres que de l'etre pour soi-meme."

CHAPTER XXI.

This is a notable couple--and have met But for some secret knavery.
--The Tanner of Tyburn.

I had now been several weeks in Paris, and I was not altogether
dissatisfied with the manner in which they had been spent. I had enjoyed
myself to the utmost, while I had, as much as possible, combined profit
with pleasure; viz. if I went to the Opera in the evening, I learned
to dance in the morning; if I drove to a soiree at the Duchesse de
Perpignan's, it was not till I had fenced an hour at the