reminded me of a dog, in deliberation whether to bite or run away.

"I do know a Mr. Tyrrell!" he said, after a short pause.

"What sort of a person is he?" I asked with an indifferent air--"a great
gamester, is he not?"

"He does slap it down on the colours now and then," replied Thornton. "I
hope you don't know him, Mr. Pelham!"

"Why?" said I, evading the question. "His character is not affected by a
propensity so common, unless, indeed, you suppose him to be more a
gambler than a gamester, viz. more acute than unlucky."

God forbid that I should say any such thing," replied Thornton; "you
won't catch an old lawyer in such imprudence."

"The greater the truth, the greater the libel," said Warburton, with a
sneer.

"No," resumed Thornton, "I know nothing against Mr. Tyrrell--nothing! He
may be a very good man, and I believe he is; but as a friend, Mr. Pelham,
(and Mr. Thornton grew quite affectionate), I advise you to have as
little as possible to do with that sort of people."

"Truly," said I, "you have now excited my curiosity. Nothing, you know,
is half so inviting as mystery."

Thornton looked as if he had expected a very different reply; and
Warburton said, in an abrupt tone--"Whoever enters an unknown road in a