"Ah, if one could!" sighed Tyrrell, wistfully. "Thornton tells me, that
he has won thousands from him, and that they are mere drops in his
income. Thornton is a good, easy, careless fellow, and might let me into
a share of the booty: but then, in what games can I engage him?"

Here I passed this well-suited pair, and lost the remainder of their
conversation. "Well," thought I, "if this precious personage does starve
at last, he will most richly deserve it, partly for his designs on the
stranger, principally for his opinion of Thornton. If he was a knave
only, one might pity him; but a knave and fool both, are a combination of
evil, for which there is no intermediate purgatory of opinion--nothing
short of utter damnation."

I soon arrived at Mr. Thornton's abode. The same old woman, poring over
the same novel of Crebillon, made me the same reply as before; and
accordingly again I ascended the obscure and rugged stairs, which seemed
to indicate, that the road to vice is not so easy as one generally
supposes. I knocked at the door, and receiving no answering
acknowledgment, opened it at once. The first thing I saw was the dark,
rough coat of Warburton--that person's back was turned to me, and he was
talking with some energy to Thornton (who lounged idly in his chair, with
one ungartered leg thrown over the elbow.)

"Ah, Mr. Pelham," exclaimed the latter, starting from his not very
graceful position, "it gives me great pleasure to see you--Mr. Warburton,
Mr. Pelham--Mr. Pelham, Mr. Warburton." My new-made and mysterious
acquaintance drew himself up to his full height, and bowed very slightly
to my own acknowledgment of the introduction. A low person would have
thought him rude. I only supposed him ignorant of the world. No real
gentleman is uncivil. He turned round after this stiff condescension de