elter him in the flash kens,
which were the natural harbours of pickpockets. But now, says his
biographer, he began to seek evil company, and, the victim of his own
fame, found safety only in obscene concealment.

At the Hulks he recovered something of his dignity, and discretion
rendered his first visit brief enough. Even when he was committed on a
second offence, and had attempted suicide, he was still irresistible,
and he was discharged with several years of imprisonment to run. But,
in truth, he was born for honour and distinction, and common actions,
common criminals, were in the end distasteful to him. In his heyday
he stooped no further than to employ such fences as might profitably
dispose of his booty, and the two partners of his misdeeds were both
remarkable.

James, the earlier accomplice affected clerical attire, and in 1791 'was
living in a Westphalian monastery, to which he some years ago retired,
in an enviable state of peace and penitence, respected for his talents,
and loved for his amiable manners, by which he is distinguished in an
eminent degree.' The other ruffian, Lowe by name, was known to his own
Bloomsbury Square for a philanthropic and cultured gentleman, yet only
suicide saved him from the gallows. And while Barrington was wise in the
choice of his servants, his manners drove even strangers to admiration.
Policemen and prisoners were alike anxious to do him honour. Once when
he needed money for his own defence, his brother thieves, whom he had
ever shunned and despised, collected L100 for the captain of their
guild. Nor did gaoler and judge ever forget the respect due to a
gentleman. When Barrington was tried and condemned for the theft of Mr.
Townsend's watch at Enfield Races--September 15, 1790, was the day of
his last transgression--one knows not which was the more eloquent in his
respect, the judge or the culprit.

But it was not until the pickpocket set out for Botany Bay that he took
full advantage of his gentlemanly bearing. To thrust 'Mr.' Barrington
into the hold was plainly impossible, even though transportation
for seven years was his punishment. Wherefore he was admitted to
the boatswain's mess, was allowed as much baggage as a first-class
passenger, and doubtless beguiled the voyage (for others) with the
information of a well-stored mind. By an inspiration of luck he checked
a mutiny, holding the quarter-deck against a mob of ruffians with
no weapon but a marline-spike. And her