A CERTAIN small critic once took it into his head to laugh at another critic for commencing a learned essay with the words, “We are all born idiots,” and the reason of the chuckle, though on the wrong side, was evident enough; and yet, methinks, the wise saying might have had a tail, to the effect, “and many of us live and die idiots.” At least I know that I have met many imbeciles,—ay, even of that absolute kind who will not be taught that pain is pain, so that I am obliged to differ with Solomon when he says that “experience teacheth fools.” How many beacon flashes, with red streaks in them, have I not thrown out, amidst the darkness of crime, to keep my children off the quicksands and the shelving rocks, and the shipwrecks have been as numerous as ever! Have I not proved the Happy Land to be a hell, resounding with oaths, screams, and hysterical ravings, not the songs of angels, and yet case after case proved the truth of the wise saying?

Another flash of the beacon—with perhaps redder streaks—something of the old story, yet with a difference. On the second flat of the Happy Land there lived for some considerable time, in 1848, two young women, Isabella Marshall and Margaret Tait. Their den was of the common order,—the room and the hiding-hole, the bed, the fir-table, and two chairs, the teapot and cups, two or three broken plates, the bottle and glass, and so forth,—squalor everywhere, like the green mould which springs up the more when the sun of domestic comfort flies away at the sight of crime. Yes, the green mould on the once fair living temples; for let them wash, and scrub, and “scent up” as they pleased, and deck out in the stolen or thrice-redeemed finery, the snare of uncircumcised eyes and sensual hearts was only the covering of impurity. Yet how all this goes on and thrives. One might be tempted to say, that the lovers of “the beautiful” (?) are something like the gobemouches, who admire a little tang or hautgout. Look you, I use the adjective here, just with the proper amount of derision; for although the fairer of the two conjunct tenants of the den, Bella, was admired, no one could miss the Cain mark of the class. Don’t you know it? Coarse snobs, with cassowary gizzards, might think they saw delicacy of skin and colour; while others, with a modicum of true refinement, would try to find another name—not easy, I confess—perhaps livid sickliness, reminding one of a decayed peony of the pale variety. Don’t let us mention the faded lily. But what matters it, when the thing is patent to all but those who will not be taught by experience, just because there is nothing inside to respond to the touch of common sense. Yet withal there is something curious about Nature’s manoeuvres, in fencing as she does to conceal the cancer-spots on her favourites, just as if she were so fond of her few beauties that she will cling to them to the last, supporting their charms even amidst the blight of vice. Of Margaret I must speak otherwise,—a strong, burly wench, with little to attract, but capital hands at a grip, or what is not exactly the same, a gripe, and a tilt where ferocity stands against self-preservation. The two were very well mated; for while the one could allure, the other could secure.

But as the den was incomplete without the hiding-hole, so neither was this copartnership of Marshall & Co. perfect without the indispensable “bully;” for though Margaret could do wonders in her way, she could derive little aid from the delicate Isabella. So James Kidd, a stout young fellow, the Fancy of both, who apportioned his protection and favour between them according as they supplied him with money, was the chosen partner,—a fellow who, in such a connexion and conspiracy, had found an attraction which tore him from his home and his mother, whose heart he had broken. Nor is it easy otherwise to form a proper estimate of this species of ruffian, pouncing from a hole on a man whose powers of resistance he does not know. He must close in a struggle, which, though never intended to be deadly on his part, may become so, by a resistance or counter attack more powerful than his own. All this he must do in the very heart of a populous city, and in a large house of many flats, where he can count upon no more than the hush of other fiends, who may screen, though they will take no hand in another’s business. It is in such a scene, enacted in a close room, sometimes with the light extinguished, and the actors doing their work in the dark, that we can form an adequate idea of the true furor of robbery. Even a listener at the door would hear only the bodily contortions—the deep breathing—the muttered vengeance—all a deep bass to the stifled treble of a woman’s passion grasping at gold. I have known of two such conflicts going on in this “Happy Land” at the same moment,—the great scenes being illustrated the while by orgies in the other dens, the laughter from which drowned the dull sounds of the conflicts.

In the particular conspiracy I am now to relate, the scheme of attack was different from what was usually followed, as you will understand when I introduce Mr —— of ——; and you have only at present to keep in mind the general way of “doing” the victims:—the spring-out of the concealed bully—the seizure of his object—the assistant women rifling and robbing in the still flickering light—the sudden disappearance of the principal actor, which aids the blasphemous oaths of the subordinates that they know nothing of him, while it leaves the conversational winding-up to those whose conversational powers are so seldom at fault.

On a certain night of the cold month of December, the delicate Isabella, dressed in the usual mackerel-bait, only a little subdued by the soft muff and boa, so suggestive of softness and delicacy in the wearer, went out on her mission of love, leaving Kidd and Margaret to await the bringing in of the prey. Nor was it long before she encountered the sympathetic Mr —— from Cumberland, who could make pleasure wait on business—just as a pretty handmaiden who comes and goes, and goes and comes. Oh yes, seldom coy, that faithful helpmate of anxious hearts—always everywhere and yet nowhere, turning her face and disappearing to return again. Then why shouldn’t sympathy for a tender creature, exposed to a December chill, help the sympathy due to himself? He would not prey on that tenderness—only purchase a little pleasure with money that would nurse the seller in that land of bliss, where Justice would see to a fair bargain, Love filling the scales with hearts. So Mr —— would go with Isabella; all in the old way—respectable house—matronly mistress. Why, it would even be a duty to warm with a glass of generous spirits so gentle a creature. Up the North Bridge, and down the High Street—a sudden stand at the foot of the stair of the Happy Land. Mr —— did not think there was much promise of pleasure in that dark old region of sin, and he would be off and leave her who required so much sympathy from hard-hearted man. But Mr —— was a man of feeling notwithstanding, and how could he resist an appeal to his heart by one who asked no more than his arm up the stair? Nor did he. With Isabella receiving the proffered support, he mounted the stair. They entered the dingy lobby, and came to a door. The gentle knock, not to disturb the decent woman, and Margaret

opened, but not until Kidd had got into the closet.

Whether it was that our gentleman had heard some noise of a retreat, or that he had had his prior doubts confirmed by the smoky appearance of the den, I cannot tell, but certain it is that the startled lover stopped again.

“No, I have seen enough,” he cried, and was retreating, when Margaret, laying hold of him, pulled him in by main force.

“Away so soon,” she cried, laughing, while yet retaining her masculine grasp, “and not even bid us good night?”

“Or offer us a glass,” added the gentle Bella. “Surely two women can’t harm a man!”

But Mr ——, who had felt, and was feeling, the tenderness of Margaret’s love embrace, was perhaps more dissatisfied than ever, and hearing the click of the bolt under Isabella’s stealthy hand got more resolute. Out goes the light, and now commenced one of those struggles for which the Happy Land was so famous. Another man, on thus finding himself encaged, and so suddenly deprived of light, might have succumbed to fear; but our hero was not of the timid order, who can enjoy love and be dead to the trump of war. Not even when he heard the spring of Kidd, as he bounced from his cell, did he think of yielding, but, by a strong effort throwing off the women, he made towards the door. He had even succeeded so far as to search for the lock, but found, to his dismay, that the key had been taken out. On turning round he was immediately in the grasp of Kidd, with the women hanging upon him. And now was the real conflict; all the contortions—the deep breathings from the oppressed lungs—the thumps on the sides of the room—but not a word of speech, only smothered mutterings and oaths ground between the teeth.

The effort on the part of the assailants was to get the gentleman on his back on the floor; nor could this issue be prolonged for many minutes, with a force of three arrayed against one. Yet the attempt failed more than once, an interval being occupied by a cry for help, shouted at the top of his voice, and responded to by an orgie-laugh from the further end of the lobby, and some suppressed mirth at the back of the door, as if some creatures of human shape were there, in the full enjoyment of what was likely to be their own game at another time. As confessed by Mr —— afterwards, this evidence of how completely he was, as it were, doubly or trebly caged, struck him with more dismay than even the extinguishing of the light or the bound of Kidd from his recess. The idea took hold of him that he was to be murdered, and though under this energy, inspired by the love of life, the increased strain brought up in his enemies by his now desperate resistance laid him flat on his back, with such force that his head dirled to the brain.

The remaining part of the process was easy—the gold watch pulled out of his pocket, the click of the bolt, and Kidd was gone.

“Catch the thief!” cried Margaret, with just enough of force as to reach the ears of the poor victim, as he lay stunned with the knock on the head, and almost exhausted by the struggle.

“He’s gone,” added the gentle Isabella.

“Who is gone?” said Mr ——, as he looked up in the now lighted room.

“Why, the d——d villain who has taken your watch,” replied Margaret.

“An accomplice,” groaned the victim, as he attempted to rise.

“It’s a lie, sir,” replied Margaret again, with increased fury, as she breathed fast from her exertions. “The fellow lives ben in the other room, and this is not the first time he has played us a trick of the same kind; but he’ll be hanged some day.”

“Yes, and the sooner the better,” joined Isabella. “Come, we cannot help it. There’s no use following him. Give us a dram for defending you.”

“Ay, for saving your life,” added her neighbour; “for we know he would have murdered you.”

“I felt your hand on my throat,” cried Mr ——.

“Bob’s, you mean,” was the answer. “He has a hand like a woman, and yet it would choke a tiger.”

“I felt all your six hands on me,” roared he, unable to stand even this transparent dodge.

“How could we know you from him in the dark?” cried Margaret. “We intended to pull him off, and that’s our thanks, and you’ll not even give us a ‘budge,’ but accuse two innocent girls for being robbers.”

“Oh, it’s the way with them all,” added Isabella. “They first ruin us, and then charge us with theft; but we deserve it, don’t we, for trusting their lying words.”

“Liars and thieves, one and all of you,” replied the gentleman. “You know you inveigled me here to be robbed by your bully. That watch cost me £20.”

“Well, then,” said Margaret, “give us £5—you have money about you somewhere—and we’ll tell you where you will catch him.”

“Worse and worse,” ejaculated Mr ——; “but what am I doing here?” he added, as he for the first time, after recovering from his stupor, bethought himself of following the thief; and gathering up his hat, and arranging his torn garments, he made for the door.

“Not till you pay us for saving your life,” said Margaret, as she stood between him and the door, with the intention, no doubt, merely of gaining time for Kidd.

And so, to be sure, she made only a faint effort to hold him back, and he, pulling open the door, rushed out into the dark passage, saluted as he disappeared by the hoarse laugh of the women, and, as he thought, some other indications of the same kind from the sympathisers further ben. Glad to get off a living man, but yet not inclined to give up as lost his valuable property, he half walked and half tumbled down the stair of this, to him, most unhappy land; nor did he stop till he was in my presence in the Office. A few words, uttered with much difficulty, very soon satisfied me that he was one of a host who had been turned away from the Happy Land with less ceremony than “Frau Schnipps,” on an occasion not altogether similar.

“Wait there,” said I, “I will bring up the women in the first place.”

“Oh, you know them?” said he.

“Yes, about as well as you, sir.”

“And that’s too well,” said he, with something like a heave of the chest.

“Bell Marshall and Margaret Tait,” said I; “but they haven’t the watch, and I know they will say they were helping you. The man is my object.”

So leaving him, and taking with me two constables, I went to the scene. As I expected, I found the girls. Two or three of the children of the Happy Land were with them, all engaged in drinking and laughing, no doubt at the excellent drama that had just ended, and upon which they thought that the green curtain had been drawn for ever, for it is not very often that the slain hero makes his appearance again at our Office; and there can be no question that sometimes it is as prudent to pocket shame as it is to put a gold sovereign into your purse, with the difference, that while the one ought to remain, the other should come out for the benefit of society. I was not expected, and was accordingly greeted with the honour of perfect silence.

“The old game, my lasses,” said I, as I beckoned to the others to get off, which they very soon did, growling as they went along the passage; “where is the gentleman’s watch?”

“Search, and answer for yourself,” replied Margaret. “The man has it.”

“What man?”

“How should we know? He came in upon us; we did our best to save the gentleman, and the scurvy dog wouldn’t give us a penny to buy pins.”

“Came out, you mean,” said I; “the old story, ‘the great unknown.’ Yet I think I know him.”

Just as I was speaking, I felt some small object under my foot, and stooping down found a small gold watch-key. The women looked sharp to try and find out what I had picked up and put into my pocket, but they said nothing, neither did I.

“Come,” said I. “The gentleman is in the Office, and wishes to thank you for trying to save his life.”

“Umph, and true, by ——,” said the reprobate.

“A terrible fellow this ‘unknown,’” said I, rather by way of amusing myself as they were getting equipped. “Don’t pare your nails, for I intend to introduce him to you.”

And proceeding to make a search, which I knew would be attended by no greater result than a mocking laugh from my lasses, I was forced to be content with my small recovery of the gold key.

I marched them up to quarters where they had been before. It was too late that night to go after Kidd. I was sure enough of him, and an early catch was of no use as regarded the recovery of the watch, which I knew he would not carry with him a moment longer than he could find a hiding-place for it, and that he would find far more readily than one for himself.

Next morning some of the constables, who knew where Kidd’s mother lived in the Pleasance, thought very wisely they might help me in their way by searching the house. This they accordingly did before I was well out of bed; but their report was unfavourable. He was not in the house, and the mother denied all knowledge of her worthless son. I have often had reports of this kind made to me before, but I have been always fond of making my own searches. So away I went to do the work over again; but, to say the truth, I had little hope. It was as early as nine.

“I want to know where James is,” said I, as I entered the little shop.

“God bless me,” said she, with wondering eyes, “more policemen! why the men are scarcely awa’. They searched the hail house, and found naebody. Am I no enough tormented and heartbroken wi’ a neer-do-weel son, but I maun be treated as his keeper, whether I hae him or no, and my house searched by man after man, as if I mysel’ were a breaker of the laws.”

“I know you are not a breaker of the laws, Mrs Kidd,” replied I, calmly, “and that’s the very reason why you should even cheerfully allow an officer to go through your house. I am not in the habit of stealing, and, besides, I wish you to go along with me.”

“But there’s nae occasion,” was the reply. “Have I no tauld ye your men are scarcely out o’ the house, and lang and sair they searched. It’s no that I fear aught, nor the trouble either, but it’s the nonsense.”

“I will put up with the nonsense,” said I.

“Maun I tell you a third time,” said she, with increased firmness, “that my house has been searched by twa men, wi’ twa een each, this morning already?”

“Then two eyes more can do the less harm,” replied I, with a quiet pertinacity at least equal to her own, especially, and no doubt a consequence of, the said pertinacity on her part, which appeared to me somewhat more than was required, according to her own theory.

“Weel, een here or een there, there’s naebody in my house, and what’s the use of our paying for your men, when you have nae faith in them ony mair than in me?”

An adroit reply, but somehow the more she said the more I thought, only in a different direction. I had dallied myself into suspicion, and had little time to spare.

“Come,” said I, “let us end this; but I have consideration. I don’t want to trouble you to go up stairs with me.”

“I’ve been up already with the men,” she persisted, “and really I’m no just pleased to hae my word doubted. I’m no a policeman, and I’ve aye thought that when a man doesna believe me, he thinks me a leer. Just gae your wa’s, and be sure there’s nae James Kidd in my house.”

“Well,” replied I, getting impatient, “I must just step up myself.”

“Weel,” was the tardy reply, “a wilfu’ man maun hae his ain way. Come awa’, and ye’ll see what you’ll mak o’t.”

And leading the way very reluctantly, she preceded me up to the little flat. I entered the kitchen, and began to peer about as carelessly to appearance as usual; but I confess I saw nothing which could lead me to suspect that there was any human being there except Mrs Kidd and myself; and she did not seem inclined to condole with me in my disappointment, though I could see, too, that she abstained from shewing any triumph in my discomfiture.

“You see how little harm my survey is doing you,” said I. “It is even pleasant work.”

“It’s no to me, whatever it may be to you,” said she. “You are searching for my son, and isn’t that enough for the heart of a mother? You’re maybe no a father, and canna ken thae things. Ay, it’s sair to hae the heart broken by the hands that should hae comforted it and bound it up. It’s the turning back o’ the yearning that braks it; but now I fancy ye’re satisfied James is no here.”

And I felt for the poor woman. I had the parlour to look through; but as the sounds of her grief fell on my ear, I stood musing a little, and when the mind is occupied, the eye trifles, and mine trifled, as well as did my foot, as I used it in kicking away a bit of coal, a “churl” as we call it, that lay before me. At the same instant my eye caught the heap of coals in the corner, and two thoughts came into my head—first, why the coals should be in that place; and secondly, why the “churl” should be in this place. It had not come there where it lay by having been dropped, because it was not in the line to the fire, and then it was at the edge of a little door which had escaped my notice; or rather, I should say, it was so small an affair, without sneck or lock-handle, that I thought it a mere cupboard. Again, why was the “churl” so situated as if it had come out of the small recess? And once more, why was the cupboard without a projection whereby it could be opened? Ah, well, how the mind will work even when it is playing.

“What place is this?” said I.

“Oh, a little cupboard,” said Mrs Kidd; “just a place for cups and saucers.”

“Which you use every day?”

“Every day.”

“And yet there is no sneck-handle, whereby you can get in when you are maybe in a hurry for a cup of tea?”

No answer from poor Mrs Kidd, and the thought came that the coals in the corner were surely out of place, in a little tidy house; and just mark how that kind of natural logic works.

“I should just like to look in.”

“And what would be the use? Hae ye never seen a number o’ marrowless cups and saucers?”

And maybe something even more marrowless, thought I, as, taking out a penknife and inserting it in a small slit, something like that of a check lock, I opened the door, and there, lying in a hole—the veritable bunker—was my friend of the Happy Land, extended on a small mattress. On this exposure, the poor mother covered her face with her hands and sobbed hysterically.

“The last o’t,” she said, in a voice broken by sobs. “The lang train o’ griefs a’ frae whaur there should hae come comfort and help is wound up. I hide and conceal nae mair, and what signified my hiding when God saw through a’. Tak him, sir; and may ye mak o’ him a better man to his brither-man, than he has been a son to me.”

“Has he given you a watch?” said I, in the expectation of profiting by what I considered to be a breaking down.

“No,” she replied, “I have never had ony o’ his secrets, nor for a lang time has he been near me, except when he wanted meat. His wild ways are best kenned to himsel’, but I fear women and drink have been his ruin.”

“Rise, James,” said I, “and give me the watch you robbed the gentleman of last night in the Happy Land.”

“I deny it,” replied the incorrigible rogue, as he rose slowly, cursing between his teeth.

I searched the house, but the watch was never recovered. The three were brought to the High Court. It was a difficult case, in consequence of the darkness of the scene, which prevented recognition of Kidd; but a strange circumstance supplied the want. Mr —— could swear that Kidd had a large hard wart upon the right hand—the rough pressure of which in his neck had pained him so as to leave an impression on his mind. The wart was found still upon the thumb. Then the watch-key served its purpose, and it was found that Kidd was the daily associate of the women. They were each transported for fourteen years.