gambling tables, and they were parted with by degress, the proceeds lost,
and their late owner, in a short time, reduced to beggary, or nearly so.
His last literary labour, if it is worthy of the name, was a history of
the Three Days of July, published by Galignani.

In person, Mr. Colton was ungainly; he stooped much, his gait was slovenly,
and his dress mean and dirty; the reason he assigned for not removing the
dirt that accumulated on the lower part of his trousers and upon his boots,
was that none but shoeblacks looked below the knee in so dirty a city as
Paris. As if fond of contradiction, he wore at the same time a ridiculous
superfluity of jewellery; his unwashed hands were adorned with rings, and
his shirt, which probably had not visited his _blanchisseuse_ for a
fortnight, was garnished with numerous brooches and pins of considerable
value. A heavy gold chain secured his watch in his waistcoat pocket, and
he carried two massive gold boxes, one for snuff, though he took none
himself, and the other for tobacco. His face was pale and emaciated, the
cheek bones being remarkably prominent; his left arm was considerably
contracted, as he was fond of saying, from a pistol wound received in a
duel. His habits were low; when not at the gaming house, he was to be
found in one of the lower English houses, smoking and drinking,
entertaining his pot companions, and acting what is vulgarly called, the
"king of the company." He possessed a fund of anecdote and wit, and had
his manners been more polished, and his character less exceptionable, his
society would doubtless have been much courted.

His lodgings, which were in the Palais Royal, above the Café Phoenix, were
particularly filthy; his bedroom, into which all visiters were shown, was
truly disgusting; though he had at the same time two sitting-rooms,
handsomely furnished, which were constantly locked, and into which he
himself perhaps did not enter once in a month. An anecdote, which he