expression?"

"What! him in the kerseymere breeches and green jacket?" said I.

"The same," answered Gordon. "His real name, when he does not travel with
an alias, is Job Jonson. He is one of the most remarkable rogues in
Christendom; he is so noted a cheat, that there is not a pick-pocket in
England who would keep company with him if he had anything to lose. He
was the favourite of his father, who intended to leave him all his
fortune, which was tolerably large. He robbed him one day on the high
road; his father discovered it, and disinherited him. He was placed at a
merchant's office, and rose, step by step, to be head clerk, and intended
son-in-law. Three nights before his marriage, he broke open the till, and
was turned out of doors the next morning. If you were going to do him the
greatest favour in the world, he could not keep his hands out of your
pocket till you had done it. In short, he has rogued himself out of a
dozen fortunes, and a hundred friends, and managed, with incredible
dexterity and success, to cheat himself into beggary and a pot of beer."

"I beg your pardon," said I, "but I think a sketch of your own life must
be more amusing than that of any one else: am I impertinent in asking for
it?"

"Not at all," replied Mr. Gordon; "you shall have it in as few words as
possible."

"I was born a gentleman, and educated with some pains; they told me I was
a genius, and it was not very hard to persuade me of the truth of the
assertion. I wrote verses to a wonder--robbed orchards according to
military tactics--never played at marbles, without explaining to my