Chapter V: Part 5

"Yes," said I, "you have been upon the sliding scale. You began with a _whiff_, and you will end with a _blast_ that will carry you to Botany Bay."

"Yes, yes," he responded, "I now see that a very small gratification may be fed up into a passion, and that passion to a crime, and then the burst." And after some time he added, "But maybe the judges may have pity on me, when they know how I was pushed on from less to more."

"Then they would pity all that come before them," said I; "all crimes have small beginnings and big endings."

And so I took him to the Office, where I proceeded to search him, and here is something curious: He wore a kind of bonnet--a Gilmerton bonnet, because it is usually worn by the carters of that village. The article has often a hoop in it, to keep it light on the head; and concealed in the case of the hoop there were a number of plies of the stolen twist. Nor was this all. On pulling up the legs of his trousers, there were discovered three or four ply on each leg, serving the purpose of garters. Then within his neckcloth there were so many plies, that he might have been said to have had a tobacco neckerchief. You might have called him a tobacco idol, fitted for being set up to be worshipped by the votaries of the leaf.

No doubt he admitted afterwards that he had stolen from the shop the other articles amissing, but he asserted that it was the desire to possess the tobacco that urged him to the robbery, and that once being in he had laid hold of whatever came to his hand. I cannot help remarking, that my poor tobacco-fancier paid dear for his quid, in giving for it seven long years of servitude in Botany Bay. I have sometimes wondered whether, when there, he ever took a pipe into his mouth. Not unlikely.

The Thieves' Wedding.

I have already alluded to the subject of the flinty-heartedness of the fraternity among whom I have so long laboured, and I may illustrate the same feature by another case, which is calculated as well to shew a peculiarity somewhat better known--the elasticity of their enjoyments, if the rant and roar of their mirth can go by a name expressive of a heartfelt affection.

Is there any reason in the world why thieves should not marry one with another? or rather, were we to bear in mind the words of the priest, importing the necessity of faith and confidence in each other, might we not rather expect that these celebrations should occur oftener than they do? The nature of the connexion might, indeed, suggest an addition to the formula, to the effect that they should be made to promise not "to peach" on each other; and as for the words, "Whom God hath joined together let no man separate," these might be dispensed with, to save the judges and such as I from breaking a law of the Bible. The "duty," "obedience," and "affection" might remain as approved by experience. But however decorous these unions, (and pearls, you know, have been called unions, as well they might,) it is certain that we see very few of them. When they occur, they are very genuine, in so much as the contracting parties _know each other_,--a peculiarity almost entirely confined to their case; but, as I have said, they occur very seldom. They seem to have a sort of instinct that they are liable to changes of _dwelling_ as well as changes of _country_, and hence their notion that it is better for both males and females to join their fortunes and affections in that loose and easy way, which enables them to snap the silken bands when it is necessary to assume the iron fetters.

So much of prosy prelude to that gay scene which occurred in Bailie's Court, head of the Cowgate, in January 1855, when Richard Webb and Catharine Bryce were, amidst the strains of the Tam Lucas of the feast, made man and wife. That they knew each other was beyond doubt, for had not the gay Catharine been twice condemned for shop-lifting, and Richard carried the honours of as many convictions for the minor crime of theft? Yes, it would be well for our Beatrices and Birons if they knew beforehand tempers so well developed. When did you ever hear of thieves disgracing themselves by going to the divorce courts? They are contented with the justiciary, or even the sheriff. They despise, too, restorations of tocher; and as for the one turning witness against the other's frailties, you never hear of it.

This celebration, when I heard of it, appeared to me curious. I don't say ludicrous, because marriage is an august ceremony, originated in Paradise, and so very often ending there. And why should not M'Levy be among his children, to whose happiness he had devoted so many years of his life, of toil and danger? I know that you will say, Why should he not be there? And to be sure there he was. I got indeed no invitation, any more than I did when the handsome hawker was to have been joined, by a "closing thread" well birsed, to the disappointed snab. When people are insulted in this way, they get over it by calling it an oversight--yet they don't put the parties right by going as I did, and shewing that degree of magnanimity which consists in heaping coals of fire on the head.

As Bailie's Court, in the Cowgate, does not often respond to the strains of a marriage fiddle, there behoved to be a crowd, and it behoved that crowd to be witty at the expense of the happy pair; for when were not the poor, who form such crowds, envious? When I arrived, I found them all in that kind of uproar--hurraing at every new comer--which characterises scenes of this nature; and my appearance quickened the humour into such bursts as "M'Levy is to join them with handcuffs," "Let up the priest," "Where is your white cravat," and the like--jokes which were really not happy, in so much as the nuptial knot had already been tied, and the sacred restraints of the guests were loosened to the extent of the freedom of dancing. On going up stairs, I found that all my suspicions of affront at not being invited were mocked by an open door for all comers, whence issued just such sounds of fiddle, feet, and fun, as one might expect. On my entry, there awaited me an honour which I believe would not have been awarded to the Lord Justice-Clerk; for my very appearance stopt the merrymakers when in full spring, just as if they were overawed by the appearance of a winged messenger. And no wonder, for I saw there many for whom I had procured lodgings, supplied with food, and even sent on an excursion to the sunny climes of the south; but no man has a right to enforce more gratitude than what is due to him, and I was vexed at throwing a cloud over so happy a scene.

"Go on, my lads and lasses," said I. "You know you belong to me, but this night you shall have your liberty."

"Give him a dram," cried the bride.

And straightway, to be sure, I got my glass of whisky; but not content with that gift, they pulled me into the middle of a reel, where I am not sure if I did not actually dance,--nay, I won't answer for it that I was not whirled round by some very passable arms, not only for good colour, but for softness.

I remained only for a short time. I had gratified my curiosity, and I wished to save them from the embarrassment of a presence in many ways suggestive of associations. I had not been disappointed; but I am sure that when I appeared again to the crowd without having Webb or Catharine with me, or at least some of the guests, they were disappointed--so envious, I am sorry to say, is that common nature of ours, and so impatient of the joys of others. Another thing gave a kind of satisfaction. I saw no chance for this celebration being disgraced by pocket-picking--an occurrence so common in crowds--for here truly there were no pockets to pick, that is, no pockets with anything in them, beyond a quid of tobacco and a pipe, or at most a few pence. You will see how this fond hope was destined to be disappointed.

Having joined my assistant, who waited for me at the foot of the stair, we went along to the Cowgate on the look-out; and having finished our survey, we turned to retrace our steps by the scene of the marriage. It was a frosty night, I remember, with thick snow, heaps of which were thrown up on the sides of the cart-ruts. As we were thus proceeding, I heard coming up the rapid steps of a runner; and who should this be but Bill Orr, one of my own. He stumbled against a heap of snow, and fell at my feet.

"What's all the hurry, Bill?" said I, as he was getting up.

But Bill clearly did not like the question, far less did he like the anticipation of being laid hold of, for he was up in an instant and off, much quicker than a wind-driven snow-flake.

"Where's the pursuer?" said I to my assistant; "Bill Orr is not the man to run at that rate to get out of the snow."

The pertinancy of the question was no more apparent to me, than to you, or any one who notices the common actions of mankind, which display a proportion in their vivacity corresponding to the degrees of impulse; nor did the notion leave me that something was wrong with my old friend, and I was accordingly on the outlook. On coming again to Bailie's Court I was attracted by some noises, not at all like the fun I had witnessed before in that quarter; and on going forward, ascertained, from the lamentations of an old poors'-house pensioner--a very old woman, who in spite of her age and poverty had been attracted in that cold night by the festivity of the marriage--that she had been robbed; yes, a poors'-house pensioner robbed of the sum of four pennies and one halfpenny. Ludicrous enough; ay, but pitiful enough too, when you remember that that fourpence-halfpenny would keep, and was intended to keep, that very _poor_ pauper a day out of the very few she would see on this side of the grave. Don't wonder, therefore, at a grief which was intense, if it did not amount to as strong an agony as those shrivelled nerves could bear without snapping. I had here my sympathies; and if anything could add to my disturbance, it was that in spite of my hopes this auspicious wedding was disgraced.

"Be easy, my good woman," said I; "I will get both your fourpence-halfpenny and the heartless rogue that took it."

"God bless you, Mr M'Levy; ye've saved mony a ane's property, and ye're sent here this night to save mine."

And had she no right to think fourpence-halfpenny entitled to be designated _property_? It was at least her all; and when all is lost, it is, I suspect, of little importance whether it be a thousand pounds or a penny. Nor was she less miserable than one would be at the loss of a fortune,--only the _tear_ was not there, perhaps because an out-door pensioner does not get nourishment with sap enough in it to produce that peculiar evidence (which is said to be limited to our species) of human grief.

And now there was another contrast between what was going on up-stairs and that which was enacted below. There, merriment was the produce of thieving; here, the offspring of the same parent was sorrow.

"Wait there, my good woman," said I, "till I bring you your property and the thief."

And upon the instant there arose a cry of, "Hurra for M'Levy," which I received with becoming modesty.

So away I went back the road I had come; nor did I diverge till I came to the house of Mrs M'Lachlan, who sold beer and whisky to be _consumed_ and to _consume_ on the premises, where, in a room, surrounded by some of his own tribe, who should have been at the marriage, I discovered Bill Orr, with his own stoup before him, in all the confidence of security, and in all the joy of his fourpence-halfpenny.

"What was your hurry, Bill, when you fell?" said I. "You haven't told me that yet."

"Perhaps to get to this jug of ale in a cold night," replied the rogue.

"No," said I; "you wanted away from the poor old pensioner whom you robbed of fourpence-halfpenny."

Bill was choked with the truth.

"Mrs M'Lachlan," continued I, "has Bill paid for his stoup?"

"Ay, I never trust till the ale's drunk," replied she; "for sometimes it taks awa' the memory, and they get confused, and say they paid afore."

"A penny the stoup?"

"Ay."

"And therefore I expect there's threepence-halfpenny in your pocket, Bill. Turn it out." But he wouldn't, and I was obliged to extract it.

"And now, Mrs M'Lachlan," said I, "though stolen money cannot be reclaimed, when I tell you that our friend Bill here stole it from the pocket of an old woman-pensioner, you'll not refuse to repay it."

"No, though it were a shilling," replied she, as she put down the penny.

"Now there is one I shall make happy," said I, as I put the money in my pocket, and taking Bill by the coat I carried him off, without even permitting him to finish his pot, the remaining contents of which would be a halfpenny to Mrs M'Lachlan for her penny.

So pulling Bill along--I might safely have allowed him to walk between me and my assistant, but I felt some yearning to hold him tight--I took my "pearl of Orr's Island" to Bailie's Court, where there waited for me my poor pensioner, as well as the crowd, who no doubt wanted to see whether I would fulfil my promise. The moment they saw Bill in my hands they raised three cheers, more grateful to me than the _eclat_ of having recovered a thousand pounds. There stood the woman, and before her Bill, the personification of lusty youth preying on shrivelled old age; but Bill was as unmoved as a stone, and I thought of making him feel a little, if that were possible. I knew I had no right to give up the money, but I was inclined to make an exception, were it for nothing else than to save the credit of the thieves' wedding.

"Now," said I, "Bill, you will give this money to the woman to whom it belongs."

And the rogue, finding it useless to disobey, took the money and handed it to the woman, in the midst of another shout. I never received so many blessings from a sufferer all my life as I did from this poor pensioner; and the feelings of the crowd, depraved as many of them no doubt were, shewed that there was something at the bottom of the most callous spirits that responds to justice. But I was not satisfied, for I made him declare to his victim that he was sorry he had robbed her,--an admission due to the fear he entertained of being torn by the angry people. Nor was even this all, for I sent up to the wedding-party for a dram to the sufferer, whereby I still maintained the _honour_ of the marriage, and had the satisfaction to see the old woman's eye lighted up as bright as that of the bride.

And having gone through all these manoeuvres, which afforded me no little satisfaction, and perhaps more to the crowd, I again took hold of Bill, and dragged him as roughly to the Office as was compatible with my obligation not to punish a man before sentence.

Sometime after, Bill was tried by the High Court. He was an old offender, and this had its weight with the judge; but it was easily to be seen that the peculiar circumstances of the case had more than their usual weight. The judge became quite eloquent, and no doubt he had a good subject to handle, but a very impenetrable object to impress. Bill was as unmoved as ever; I am not sure if he did not laugh,--another example of what I have so often stated, that the hardihood of these creatures is not modified by punishment, nay, even transportation. Yet I have no doubt that if this young fellow's heart had been handled softly when it was capable of being mollified, he might have been of some use to his kind, if not a credit to himself. We have sometimes reason to doubt the effect of training even among the children of respectable people, but I suspect such a result arises from their being otherwise spoiled. The parents let out at the one end the web woven by the schoolmaster at the other, and thus education loses the character of its efficacy. With the "Raggediers" in an industrial school, no such spoiling would be permitted. The good tendency would be all in one way; and the devil would not, through the parents, be permitted to pull in the opposite direction. What though Bill Orr got a _year_ for every _penny_, and one to boot for the odd halfpenny! He would be the same Bill Orr at the end as he was that night of the thieves' wedding.

So much for another phase of the "sliding scale," exhibiting, as it does, the facility with which the thief can _descend_ even to the zero of criminality, as exemplified in this pitiful robbery,--the very minimum point, I may say, in the whole scale of theftuous depravity.

The Pleasure-Party.

No kind of literature can be more detrimental to morals than that of which we have had some melancholy examples from the London press, where the colours that belong to romance are thrown over pictures of crime otherwise revolting. Nor is much required for this kind of writing,--a touch of fate calling for sympathy, or a dash of cleverness extorting admiration, will suffice. Shave the fellow's head, and put a canvas jacket on him, and you have your hero as he ought to be. See M'Pherson with the fiddle out of his hands, and think of his beating the rump of a poor widow's cow which he had stolen, and was to feed on half raw, like a savage, as he was, and what comes of Burns' immortal song? Catch nature painting up those things with any other colours than those of blood and mud. And yet I have been a little weak sometimes in this way myself, when I have found boldness joined to dexterity. One needs an effort to get quit of rather natural feelings in contemplating some four youths, male and female, well endowed in person and intellect, and with so much of that extraneous elegance derived from the tailor and a well-practised imitation of the great, set down to plan an invasion of a foreign country, strange to them in language and manners, and with no other weapons for spoil than their boldness and their wits. A little attention enables us to disabuse ourselves, by pointing out that the boldness is impudence, and the invention deceit, and we come pleasantly back to the huckaback--the rig and furrow, and the shaved head.

In September 1856, I was in Princes Street on a general survey. It was a fine day for the time of the year, and the street was crowded with that mixed set of people, preponderating so much towards the grand and gay, for which that famous promenade has of late years become remarkable. Yes, there has been a change going on, and I have marked it:--a far more expensive style of dressing in the middle classes--a more perfect imitation of the gait and manners of the higher, so that I defy you to tell a shopkeeper's son or daughter from a lord's--more of the grandees, too, and ten foreigners for one formerly seen--the only indelible mark remaining being that of the female "unfortunates," destined to be for ever distinguished, and something about my old friends which they cannot conceal from a practised eye. Between St David Street and St Andrew Street, my attention was claimed by two ladies and a gentleman, who appeared to me to be English. They were what we call "tops,"--that is, you could hardly suppose it possible for one to be more obliged to the secretion of the silk-worm, or the ingenuity of the tailor or milliner. It was far more easy for me to mark them than to give you reasons why they had an interest for me. What though I were to say that they appeared a degree too curious about the dresses of the lady-promenaders, and verified too much the common saying, which really has no reference to pocket-fanciers, that if you look in at a window, you will presently find people at your back?

At any rate, I thought I had some claims upon them, not that they were "old legs," as we call the regulars, for, as I have hinted, they were entirely new to me, but that it appeared they thought they had claims upon others,--the natural claims, you know, that are born with us. A new-born infant will hang at any breast, or even fix to a glass nipple, and these people only retain their infantine nature. So I told Riley to shew deference, and keep off before them, always within eyeshot, while I kept up my interesting observation. I soon noticed that they were hopeful, with all that fidgettiness which belongs to flattering expectation. They wanted something, and would doubtless have been glad to see an old lady or gentleman faint; but there were none in that way, and no runaway horse would strike against a lamp-post, and throw its rider on the pavement. Neither did those clots of people at the windows seem worthy of their attention, yet they flitted about them, parted to meet again, and were as active as butterflies whirling in the air, and sucking no honey. With all this idle play, they kept up their cheerfulness, indulging in jokes, laughter, and other high jinks, so that I was doubtful whether they were less happy than I.

With the same fluttering levity, indulged in amidst what appeared to me might have been considered heavy expectations, they all three went tripping gaily up St Andrew Street, at the top of the northern division of which they met a very little dapper dandy, not over five feet and an inch or two. A more exquisite miniature for the cabinet of a fine lady I had never seen before,--dressed, brushed, combed, studded, ringed, and anointed; and so nimble, that if Gulliver had put him into his coat-pocket, it wouldn't have been without danger to his silver snuff-box. He seemed to be the friend of the taller belle, and, as I afterwards learned, bore the historical name of Beaumont, while she travelled by the name of Miss Mary Grant; the other, Evans, was devoted to the lesser lady, Miss Mary Smith. The little man must have been more successful than they, if I could judge from a united laugh which followed a stealthy glimpse of something which he shewed cautiously, and which I naturally took for a purse. They seemed to have much in hand--one pointing one way--another, another--then a few minutes' deliberation, not without signs of impatience, as if they thought they were losing time. At length Beaumont, who, though small, seemed to be the leader, pointed north, drawing out the while a watch, and they appeared decided, all setting off along St Andrew Square. I immediately concluded they were for Scotland Street station, for I knew the northern train went about the time, and there is there often a conveniently crowded platform.

My conjecture was right. The party made direct for Scotland Street, and I signalled for Riley, who had kept his distance, without losing his vision. We followed, keeping apart, and enjoyed as we went the frolics of the party, who, coming from the heart of civilisation, probably considered themselves among some savage people, who could not help admiring--and would not be difficult to rob. As for the police of Scotland, they need not be much considered, and they at least had not heard of so humble an individual as I. So new to the town were they, that one of them, taking me by surprise, came running back, and asked me the way to the station. It was Miss Mary Grant.

"Very easy, ma'am--down to the end of the street, turn the railing on the left, and go round till you come to Scotland Street on a line with this."

"Thank you, sir, and much obliged."

Your _obligation_ may be increased by and by, said I to myself, as I saw her hopping on to join the party--not the first time I've been asked the way to the net.

Miss Mary had understood my directions very well, for they never hesitated or stopped till they got to the top of the stair leading to the station-house. Being so utterly unknown to our English friends, there was no necessity for my usual caution; and accordingly, the moment they disappeared, Riley and I went forward to the parapet overlooking the stair and platform, and placing our elbows upon it, we put ourselves in the position of lounging onlookers. Our point of observation was excellent. We could see the entire platform, and everything that was going on there. A crowd of people were there, among whom a number of likely ladies, with pockets far better filled than those of mere promenaders in Princes Street. A kindred feeling might suggest to our "party of pleasure," that people can't travel now-a-days without a considerable sum of money with them, and therefore wherever there was a pocket there would also be money. And then the habit of purse-carrying, which brings all the money together--the notes in the one end, and the silver or gold in the other--is a preparation just made for thieves, a convenience for which, with little time to spare, they cannot be too grateful. My friends seemed to be delighted with the bustling assemblage, but then it was to last only for a few minutes, when the train would be down, and the platform left in solitude. So they behoved to make hay while the sun shone, and they knew it. The first observation I made was to the effect that they took no tickets--just as I suspected. My second, that they began play at once, though with care, and in that shy way preliminarily to the required boldness when the hurry-scurry would begin with the coming of the train. It rather seemed that they only _marked_ victims in the meantime--keeping separate--threading the crowd with alacrity and hope, picking up suitabilities by rapid glances.

Then came the rumble of the train down the tunnel, at the sound of which the passengers began to move, carrying their luggage to the edge of the platform, and all on the tiptoe of expectation. But now I fairly admit that I never more regretted so much the want of half-a-dozen of eyes. The nimble artistes were all at work at the same time--they were, in short, in a hurry of pocket-picking; and though myself cool enough, I was for an instant or two under the embarrassment of a choice to direct my vision from one to another, or to fix upon one. Miss Mary Smith was at the farther end--Evans busy helping a fat lady with her luggage--the little Beaumont deep among floating silks, and invisible. My mark was Miss Grant, who was devoted to the first-class passengers, and though versatile in the extreme, had a main chance in her eye, a lady who afterwards turned out to be Mrs C----n in Danube Street. From this lady, I saw her take a purse, just as the silk gown was being pulled in after the body. The whistle blows, away goes the train, and our friends are left all but alone on the platform.

It was now our time. Moving slowly--for though they had been in a great hurry, that was no reason for my being so too--accompanied by Riley, I entered the door at the top of the gangway, where we met the party coming up. Miss Mary Grant had not had time even to deposit her purse in her pocket, and Riley seizing her hand took it from her. They saw at once that they had been watched, and the face of the Miss Mary, whom I had directed to the scene, paled under my eye. A sign to the porters behind me brought them ready to help, and the station-master coming forward, with his assistance we bundled the whole four into the station-house. A telegraphic message was instantly sent to Burntisland, calling for the lady who had been robbed to return, and I then proceeded to search my "party of pleasure." The purse captured contained only 9s. 6d., but from their pockets altogether I took notes to the amount of £50. And next came an evidence of the strength of that friendship which exists among this class of people, and which in those four, in particular, appeared to be so strong and heartfelt only a short time before. They swore beautiful English oaths that no one of them was known to the other; and as to the unfortunate Mary, who had the purse, they all repudiated her, even the dapper Beaumont, who swore that he was an English gentleman of family, connected distantly--how far, a point of honour prevented him from condescending on--with the noble family of that name. But if the unhappy Mary was thus disowned, she could be a self-sacrifice, for she acknowledged that she did not know them, and that she had angled on her own hook. We had thus, like a bomb thrown among combustibles, severed a very close connexion; but then I had the consolation to think that we would be able to bring them together again at the bar of the court, where, if they should be once more separated, they might celebrate the occasion with tears.

It was, I admit, rather an occasion that, on which, helped by the station-master and the gallant porters, and escorted by an admiring crowd who wondered at such fine gentry being in the hands of the police, I conducted my swells to my place of deposit. I'm not sure if we had not some hurras, though I did not court notoriety of this kind; but the moment the people got an inkling they were English thieves, the old feelings between the nations seemed to rise up again--at least I could see nothing but satisfaction in the faces around us; nor was my satisfaction less when I introduced my friends to my superior, who doubtless did not expect the honour of receiving in his chambers four persons so distinguished, one being no less than a Beaumont--by Jupiter, 5 feet 2 inches, by the line!

The great Jack Cade, after swaying thousands of people, at last fell into the hands of a very simple clown. So here, as we soon understood, I had had the good fortune, in a very accidental way, of catching, at the very commencement of their Scotch career, four of the most celebrated of the English swells. They were quite well known to the authorities of London, Liverpool, and Manchester, where they had exercised their skill with so much adroitness that they had slipt through many well-drawn loops of the law; and having escaped so often there, where the detectives are supposed to be so much cleverer than ours, they had some grounds for the hope, so well expressed by their hilarity, short-lived as it was, that they would again cross the borders well loaded with Scotch booty.

Next day Mrs C----n obeyed the telegraph--an instrument, by the by, which seems to have more command at the end of the wire than spoken or written words, the more by token, perhaps, that it speaks like old Jove, through lightning. She at once identified the purse with the 9s. 6d.--yes, that 9s. 6d. which condemned parties who had ravished England of hundreds, and brought down a pillar of the house of Beaumont. The trial was just as easy an affair as the capture. Sheriff Hallard, that judge so steeled against all difference between rich and poor, genteel or ungenteel, tried them. I figured more than I desired or merited in his speech--which, by the by, I would like to reproduce, but I fear to affront the honourable judge's eloquence. There is no harm in an attempt at shewing my powers of memory, when I give warning that they are feeble in forensic display, whatever they may be in retaining the faces of thieves.

"Prisoners, you have been found guilty of robbing from the person. It is not often that I have to pass sentence on people of your description from England, but I hope the circumstance of my being a Scottish judge will not be held to sway me in the discharge of my duty. Yet I am not sure if the circumstance of your being English men and women is not a considerable aggravation of your crime. What did Scotland ever do to you that you should come here, hundreds of miles, to prey upon her unwary subjects? Was it not rather that you thought her honest and simple people would become easy victims in hands made expert by efforts to elude the grasp of English authorities? You forgot, too, that in comparison of England we are poor, and less able to lose what we earn by hard labour. But such considerations have small weight with persons of your description, who, if you can get money to be spent in debauchery, care little whether it come from the rich or the poor. Now the issue has proved that you had made a wrong calculation, not only as to the intelligence and sharpness of our people, but the boldness and adroitness of our detectives; and I hope you will bear in mind, and tell your compeers in England, what we fear they sometimes forget, that we have not renounced our emblem of a thistle--the pricks of which you may expect to feel, when I now sentence you to sixty days' hard labour. I am only sorry it cannot be made months,--a period more suited to your offence. For the advantage you thus gain, you are indebted to that cleverness in Mr M'Levy and his assistant by which you were so soon caught; for if you had been allowed to go on, you would have earned the attention of the High Court, and the privilege of being transported. I hope you may profit by the lesson he has taught you."

The Club Newspaper.

The sliding scale is so far applicable to us as well as to thieves. As the latter proceed from crime to crime, the less to the greater--in the scarlet tint from the lighter to the deeper, so we slide on from trace to trace till we get to the fountain. And there is this similarity, too, between the cases. Our beginnings are small, but they are hopeful, and as the traces increase, we get more energetic and bolder: so with the thieves; there is an achieved success which leads to the greater triumph. Nay, I have known the parallel carried further. If we fail in one attempt, we try again; and I have a case to give, but not just now, where the urchin Gibbon's first attempt at a till, from which he appropriated _one farthing_, and for which he was punished by confinement, was quickly succeeded by a greater triumph, to the amount of _seventeen shillings and sixpence_. My present case has a peculiarity, in so far as I contrived to make a _paltry_ theft the lever whereby to raise up another of a serious description.

In 1840, Mr Ellis, the manager of the Queen Street Club, was exposed to much trouble, suspicion, and difficulty, by complaint after complaint, on the part of the officers frequenting and sleeping in the house, that money, in five and ten-pound notes, had been taken from their portmanteaus. The case was painful to Mr Ellis in more respects than one; for although no suspicion could attach to him, yet in all such concealed robberies, the natural shades that spread everywhere over all in positions liable to be suspected, require to be elevated or dispersed by the light of reason, and that light comes always with an effort. Mr Ellis came to the Office, and I got my charge. I saw at once that the culprit was one of the waiters; but then there were several in the house, and I knew all the difficulties of a case of that kind. The wider spread the suspicion, the less easy the concentration. I would do my best, and Mr Ellis had confidence at least in my zeal.

Repairing, accordingly, to the Club, one forenoon, I questioned Mr Ellis as to the habits of the waiters, and, in particular, which of them lived out of the house. I found that one man, Donald M'Leod, had a house in Rose Street, with a wife and no children; and in order that I may not take too much credit to myself, I may state that that man was more suspected by his master than any of the others. I was now so far on my way. I called the waiters together in a room with closed doors.

"Now, gentlemen," (that's my polite way) "I have to inform you that there is a robber among you. Bags and portmanteaus have for a lengthened period been opened in this house, and sums of money extracted. All who are innocent will be glad to answer in the affirmative to my question. Will you consent to your trunks and persons being searched?"

"Yes," answered every one.

"Donald M'Leod," continued I, "an honest married man, with a decent wife, I have no doubt can have no objection to my going to his house and taking a look about it--not that I have any suspicion of him because he lives out of the Club, but that his trunks being at home, I must make him like the others."

"No objection," replied honest Donald, whose honesty, however, did not sit so easy upon him as honest Rab's of certain romantic notoriety.

"You will all remain here till I finish my process in the house."

To which last question having got the answer I expected, I went out and told Mr Ellis to take care that no messenger should, in the meantime, be allowed to leave the house. The search among the trunks yielded me just as much as I expected--perhaps a little more, in the shape of certain love epistles, which might have made a little fortune to the street speech-criers. What a strange undercurrent, swirling in eddies, does love keep for ever moving! But what had I to do with love, who only wanted money,--two things that are so often cruelly separated, but which should be for ever joined.

I then proceeded to Rose Street, and soon finding my house, I knocked gently. A quiet, decent-looking woman opened it.

"Are you Mrs M'Leod?"

"Ay," she answered without fear or suspicion, for what did she know of James M'Levy the thief-catcher?

"Well, my good woman," said I, as I shut the door behind me somewhat carefully, and afterwards sat down, "you don't know, I fancy, that some things have been amissing belonging to the gentlemen of the Club? Donald, no doubt, so far as I know, is innocent; but as all the waiters, like honest men, have consented that their trunks should be searched, it is but fair, you know, that I should take a look through your house, to put them all on a footing of equality."

"And that's right," said she, with really so little timidity, or rather with so much apparent sincerity, that, if I had not been M'Levy, I would have thought that Donald was an honest man after all.

With this permission, and under so kindly a sanction, I commenced my search, by no means a superficial one--perhaps deeper in proportion to Mrs M'Leod's seeming sincerity. It was not altogether unsuccessful--small thefts lead on in the scale to big ones, and superficial traces to deeper. I got some newspapers, one with the Club's address, and putting them together, said--

"Mrs M'Leod, you will allow me to take these papers; I fancy Mr Ellis allows Donald, as a favourite, to take away an old one now and then to amuse him at home, and, perhaps, to read to you."

"Nae doot," said she, "ye dinna fancy Donald wad steal them."

"By no means. I never said it," replied I. I was not bound to say I never _thought_ it--a little beyond my candour.

So I bade Mrs M'Leod good day, and making my way to the Club, I told Mr Ellis the result of my search.

"Well," replied he, "you have got something, and you have got nothing."

"Had Donald M'Leod any authority from you to take these papers, and this one especially directed to the Club?"

"Certainly not; but the matter is so small, that I can't see how anything can be made of it."

"And you would give up the charge?"

"Yes; it cannot lead to my money."

"Well," said I, "if that is your decision, I bow to it; but I tell you this, that out of that solitary old newspaper I will get your money. Will you give me my own way?"

"Well, I have heard so much of your success in desperate cases, I don't care though I do."

"Agreed," said I.

And without further parley, I went to Donald, who was at the time in the lobby.

"Donald," said I, "I want you up to the Office."

"Me," replied Donald, with an ounce less blood in his cheek-veins than he had a minute before, "do you think I'm the robber?"

"I don't say so," said I; "but I want some information from you which I cannot so well get here."

And Donald, a little reconciled, and with a little of the blood in the act of returning, took his hat.

When I got him to the Office, I immediately clapped him into a cell, and locking the door, was under way once more for Rose Street.

"Mrs M'Leod," said I, as the honest Gael opened the door, and shut it, "I am a little vexed."

"What's the matter? I hope naething's wrang wi' Donald?"

"Why, not much," said I; "I am only troubled about these old useless newspapers. The authorities up the way--dangerous creatures these authorities--have taken it into their wise heads that Donald stole the papers from the Club; nay, they have locked him up in a cell as dark as pitch, with bread and water for fare, and, I fear, no hope of anything but judgment and punishment."

"Fearfu' news!" said the woman. "Oh, terrible news! condemn a man for an auld newspaper!" and hiding her face in her hands, she burst into tears.

I need not say I pitied her, for in reality I did; for at that time I had not the slightest reason to suppose that she could know that the papers were not given to Donald, or allowed to be taken as having served their purpose, and being consequently useless.

"But there's hope," said I.

"Hope!" she cried, "Hope!" as she took away her hands, "Whaur?--how?--speak, for God's sake!"

"The charge is a small one," said I, "and I have no doubt it would be scored off, provided the missing money were got. I'm sure you don't have it; I have searched the house; but perhaps"----

"What?" she broke in, "what?"

"Perhaps you may know through Donald where it is?"

I watched her face, which was now pale. She began to think, and she did think; for if ever thought came out of a face, it might have been read in the point of her nose, sharpened by the collapse of the muscles through fear.

If in this agony she sat a minute, she sat fully five; but I was patient. I turned my face from her, and looked at nothing, perhaps because my mind was directed to something. She was under a struggle; I heard the signs,--the quick breath, the heaving chest, the sobs, the efforts to suppress them,--still I was patient and pitiful. Sad duties ours! Yes, we must steel ourselves against human woes; nay, we must turn nature's yearnings to the advantage of official selfishness. At length,

"Are you sure the newspapers will be scored aff?"

"Sure."

And then another sinking into the battle of her thoughts,--the lips quivering, the desultory movements of the hands, the jerking from one position to the other,--at length calmness--the calmness of one whose agony is over,--a rest of many minutes.

"And you're sure," she said again, as she fixed her eyes upon me, with such speech in them that my soul revolted at its very wickedness. Must I admit it? Yes, it is put upon us. A lie is one thing, the keeping deep down in our hearts the truth another. The one I abhor, the other is a duty. I knew that the money, if produced, would form a charge in place of the newspapers. I knew she didn't think this; but I knew also I was not bound to tell her that she was wrong in not thinking it. Nay, there are worse cases than mine, that may be and are justified every day. When robbers are at the window, and you cry, "Bring me the gun," when there is no gun in the house, you lie; but you are not bound to tell men whose hands are at your throat that you lie. There are necessities that go beyond all moral codes, and laugh at them. If this woman knew where that stolen money was, she was, by her own doing, under the sharp consequences of that necessity, and must abide the result as an atonement for an act not perpetrated under that necessity. Behold my logic! I am at the mercy of the public.

These were not my thoughts at the time; my conduct was merely the effect of them, and I was simply watchful. At length Mrs M'Leod rose from the chair,--she stood for a moment firm,--she then went into a closet, where, having remained a little, she came forth, to my astonishment, changed; she was dressed--shawl, bonnet, and veil.

"Come with me," she said in a low voice, sorrowful, but without a tremor.

I said nothing, only obeyed. She shut the door, and proceeding down the stair, beckoned me to follow her. Not a word was spoken. We got down to the foot of the stair, then to the street, and I followed her as she led. We proceeded in this silent way until we came to Frederick Street. We then went along that street till she came to the area gate of a gentleman's house; that gate she opened, and going down the stair, she again beckoned me to follow her. We now stood before the kitchen-door, at which she rapped. The knock was obeyed, and a young woman made her appearance.

"Peggy," said Mrs M'Leod in a whisper, which I heard very well, "I ha'e come for yon."

"Yon!" muttered I to myself; strange Scotch word--something like the mysterious "it," when applied to a ghost.

"Weel!" replied the girl, "come in."

We both entered, and were led along a dark passage till we came to a bedroom--no doubt that of the young woman. We entered it, and the servant, who seemed to be struck with the sympathy of our silence, proceeded to open a blue trunk, from which she took out a small bundle, composed of a roll of a red handkerchief.

"There it is," said she, as she put it into the hands of Mrs M'Leod.

We then left the room, returning again to the kitchen, from which we proceeded into the area.

"There's the siller," said she, as she put the bundle into my hands.

I took the parcel and placed it in my pocket. We mounted the stair, and Mrs M'Leod left me. It is needless to say that I could not restrain my curiosity; nor did I try. I went down towards Princes Street Gardens, and seating myself on the parapet, proceeded to undo the red handkerchief. I found within a large bundle of banknotes, composed of tens and fives, and upon counting them found the amount to be £180. Now I fairly admit I was not satisfied. I wanted something more; and tying up my bundle I repaired again to Rose Street.

"Mrs M'Leod," said I, as I entered, "it will be necessary that you mark these notes for me. My masters, the authorities, will not believe I got them from you unless I get your name to them. Have you pen and ink?"

"Ay," said she, "but I daurna mark them, Donald would be angry."

"But you forget the authorities," said I.

"The authorities!" she repeated, with a kind of a tremble at the very sound of the word.

"Yes, they may be angry, and you know the anger of the authorities is very different from that of Donald M'Leod."

"Very true," replied she.

And bringing the pen and ink I got her name to every note. I was _now_ satisfied, and taking the direction of Queen Street, arrived at the Club, where I saw Mr Ellis.

"How much money was taken altogether?" inquired I.

"Why," said he, "I collected the different complaints, and adding up the sums found they amounted to £180."

"The Highlanders are a very careful people," said I. "The sum I have recovered, and which is tied up in this handkerchief, is just £180."

"Recovered!" said he, in astonishment. "Why, I thought it was a forlorn hope. Where in all the earth did you get it; or rather, I should ask, how?"

"Just by means of the old newspaper with the name of the Club upon it. I think I told you that if I took my own way, and not yours, I would get the cash."

"You did," replied he; "but to be very candid with you, I had no hope, though I admitted I had faith in your name. But tell me where you got it, for I am dying to know?"

"I can hardly explain all in the meantime," said I. "I am bent for the Office, and up for time. But I may inform you that Donald M'Leod is the man, and we must keep him in custody."

"The newspaper!" again ejaculated Mr Ellis, as if he was in great perplexity. "How a piece of printed paper should be the means of getting £180! Was the money marked upon it?"

"No; yet I repeat it was the means of getting your money. Of course I cannot leave the notes with you. You will get them after Donald receives his sentence."

And with this I went away, leaving Mr Ellis to divine how the old newspaper came to have so much virtue. I then proceeded to the Office, where, having deposited the money, and explained the affair to the Superintendent, I was asked, "Where is the woman?"

And I knew that this question would be asked of me, and I knew also what would be my answer.

"Why, sir," said I, "do you really think that I should be the man to apprehend that woman?"

"Strictly, you should," said he, with a smile; "but if ever there was a case in which an officer might be passed over for a duty, it is this. I would rather go for her myself than put this duty on you. I acknowledge you were justified in the words you used, that the newspapers would be scored, and that you were entitled to your mental reservation. The question may be said to be a subtle one, suited to the logic of casuists, but I affirm that it may be resolved by a sturdy moralist. As for the rest, you have shewn a feeling creditable to the heart of a right man, in leaving the apprehension of the woman to another."

Mrs M'Leod was in the evening brought up by my assistant. The two were tried at the High Court, and Donald was sentenced to seven years' transportation, while Mrs M'Leod, as being under the iron rule of the Gael, was acquitted.

A Want Spoils Perfection.