the flagitious act with which he is charged, and is at this present moment located in the two-pair back, up the chimney, whither it is my duty to lead you.”  Why, even Dodd himself, who was one of the greatest humbugs who ever lived, would not have had the face to say that he approved of his wife telling the truth in such a case.  Would you have had Flora Macdonald beckon the officers, saying, “This way, gentlemen!  You will find the young chevalier asleep in that cavern.”  Or don’t you prefer her to be splendide mendax, and ready at all risks to save him?  If ever I lead a rebellion, and my women betray me, may I be hanged but I will not forgive them:  and if ever I steal a teapot, and my women don’t stand up for me, pass the article under their shawls, whisk down the street with it, outbluster the policeman, and utter any amount of fibs before Mr. Beak, those beings are not what I take them to be, and—­for a fortune—­I won’t give them so much as a bad half-crown.

Is conscious guilt a source of unmixed pain to the bosom which harbors it?  Has not your criminal, on the contrary, an excitement, an enjoyment within quite unknown to you and me who never did anything wrong in our lives?  The housebreaker must snatch a fearful joy as he walks unchallenged by the policeman with his sack full of spoons and tankards.  Do not cracksmen, when assembled together, entertain themselves with stories of glorious old burglaries which they or bygone heroes have committed?  But that my age is mature and my habits formed, I should really just like to try a little criminality.  Fancy passing a forged bill to your banker; calling on a friend and sweeping his sideboard of plate, his hall of umbrellas and coats; and then going home to dress for dinner, say—­and to meet a bishop, a judge, and a police magistrate or so, and talk more morally than any man at table!  How I should chuckle (as my host’s spoons clinked softly in my pocket) whilst I was uttering some noble speech about virtue, duty, charity!  I wonder do we meet garroters in society?  In an average tea-party, now, how many returned convicts are there?  Does John Footman, when he asks permission to go and spend the evening with some friends, pass his time in thuggee; waylay and strangle an old gentleman, or two; let himself into your house, with the house-key of course, and appear as usual with the shaving-water when you ring your bell in the morning?  The very possibility of such a suspicion invests John with a new and romantic interest in my mind.  Behind the grave politeness of his countenance I try and read the lurking treason.  Full of this pleasing subject, I have been talking thief-stories with a neighbor.  The neighbor tells me how some friends of hers used to keep a jewel-box under a bed in their room; and, going into the room, they thought they heard a noise under the bed.  They had the courage to look.  The cook was under the bed—­under the bed with the jewel-box.  Of course she said she had