insinuate themselves more especially into the groups which surround the ambulatory exhibitions and the print-shops. In short, every crowded place is the theatre of their activity. These are the voluntary members of the fraternity; but many join it unwillingly, being driven to do so by the neglect or the cruelty of their masters: many are orphans. The efforts made by the police to reclaim these juvenile offenders are unceasing; but severity and kindness are alike ineffectual. Again and again are they arrested, and punished or pardoned as the case requires; and again and again do they resume the same lawless course of life. A singular case is on record of one of these children, who was arrested no less than forty times: he was always alone; and, strange to say, in no one instance had he committed any punishable crime; his only proveable offence was that of being day and night a houseless wanderer.'

The points of resemblance between the pickpockets, the sharpers, and the robbers of Paris and London are so numerous and so strong as to render it unnecessary for us to follow our author through the whole of his details. Many of his statements might be mistaken for extracts from our own police reports. We shall therefore touch only on those forms of crime which are least known in England.

The octroi duty, which is levied on all articles of consumption brought into Paris, forms by far the most considerable portion of the city revenue. In 1840 it amounted to no less a sum than 40,606,535 francs (£1,624,261). To evade this tax innumerable modes of smuggling are resorted to, and not only by professed thieves, and by women and children, who devote themselves to it as a legitimate branch of industry, but also by a large number of the operative classes, when out of employment. These latter, however, when their own accustomed occupation is again offered them, willingly quit their illicit trade. Many of these bands of smugglers are armed, have their captains (chef's d'équipes), and carry on their trade avowedly, and in defiance of the agents of the octroi, with whom they sometimes come into open collision. But by far the greater quantity of smuggled goods are introduced secretly.....La fraude sous vêtement is effected by bladders arranged around the corsets of women, or by a hollow cuirass of tin neatly fitted to the shape. La fraude par escalade takes place only during the night: a ladder, with a strong cord at the end of it, is placed against the city wall; up this the smuggler ascends, charged with a leathern sack filled with wine or spirit, and the cord enables him to descend with his burden on the other side. La fraude par jet de vessie is practised in open day. The point of communication being fixed upon, the exterior smuggler throws bladder after bladder over the wall, and they are caught by his accomplice. Unwholesome meat is introduced into the city in the same manner. But of all the modes of smuggling, the one which most largely detracts from the city revenues is that effected by means of subterranean excavations. A gang hire a house outside the wall, having attached to it a court or garden suitable to their purpose: opposite to this, inside the walls, they occupy another building, and

from

from the one to the other they open a subterranean communication, through which articles of every description are conveyed in immense quantities. Once within the walls, they are speedily forwarded to the retailers, between whom and the smuggler there is an established league. The seizures made by the police are innumerable; and formerly it was the custom in many of the stations to collect and hang up the various arms, instruments, and curious apparatus which had been captured; but these became so numerous, that the offices were gradually converted into museums and arsenals, and it was deemed expedient to destroy the whole.'

The great abundance and variety of silver coin give the sharpers of Paris an important advantage over their London brethren. Le vol à l'Américaine would be little productive with us: in France, although it has been perpetually exposed in the newspapers, it is still practised with as much success as ever.

Those who devote themselves to this branch of industry loiter near the Bank of France, the Treasury, or the coach-offices, on the watch for persons carrying a sack of crown pieces; and when they espy a rustic-looking man or woman thus burdened, and whose appearance pleases them, they immediately commence operations. A young girl, for instance, is seen to come out of the Treasury with a budget well filled, and carefully tied round; two sharpers follow her, and the one who plays the part of the American steps forward some hundred paces; the other accosts her in so civil and good-humoured a tone as not to alarm her; she answers him as civilly; the conversation goes on; he talks economy, praises savings-banks, and wishes there were more young workwomen of her age who had as prudent and saving habits as he is sure she has. In the midst of these flattering words the American retraces his steps, and, on approaching the girl, asks her in broken French if she will change the crowns she is carrying for gold; if so, he will give her a bonus of 100 sous on every 20 francs. She is startled, and somewhat shocked at this offer. Not so the complimentary gentleman by her side; he is less scrupulous, and says at once that he himself will accept the terms. The American forthwith produces a handful of gold pieces; the poor girl's surprise augments, but it becomes extreme when the careless foreigner declares that he has brought tons of gold with him to France on board his vessel, and that current coin he must have at once, let it cost him what it will. She now, in a timid whisper, tells her new acquaintance that she thinks she should like to participate in the traffic. He confirms her in the prudent resolution, and proposes that they should go into a wine-shop. with the rich foreigner. Having established themselves in a private room, the American not only displays numerous pieces of gold, but also a beautiful little sack made of some rich skin, fastened with a padlock, and crammed full of the rouleaux which he wants to change. The other man now feels the responsibility of his situation: the transaction is an important one; he will not part with his own silver, nor will he allow the young woman to part with hers, until he has ascertained the purity of some

of

of the gold pieces. He takes two or three of them to the nearest moneychanger, and returns with crown-pieces: all doubts on their side are now at an end. Not so with the American: he, in his turn, says that he must ascertain that her silver is good. His ignorance excites a laugh, and the nature of the coinage of the country is fully explained to him. Still he persists; and at length the friendly adviser consents, but on the express condition that he himself shall go with him to the shop with the girl's packet of silver. She feels deeply this kind attention, and pours out her thanks. They depart and leave her alone, gazing intensely on the beautiful little padlocked purse, which is left in her care. Half an hour passes, but of course no one returns; she becomes alarmed, the master of the wine-shop is summoned; he is, or affects to be, astonished; the purse is cut open, and, to the unspeakable horror of the poor girl, the rouleaux are of copper.'

A man of unexceptionable appearance enters a shop, makes some purchases, produces gold, and requests that the change may be given him in some particular coin, that of the Republic, for instance, or of the Kingdom of Italy. The obliging shopkeeper pours out his sack of silver on the counter, and the customer draws out with great care from the heap the peculiar coinage which he seeks. During this public process of selection he carries on a private one; and, with a skill which many a professed juggler might envy, abstracts as many crown-pieces as he can venture to take, without too much diminishing the heap. Then follow thanks and apologies for giving trouble; and complimentary speeches having been made on both sides, the unsuspicious tradesman restores the diminished silver into its bag; and it is only when at the end of the day he counts its contents that he discovers his loss, which sometimes amounts to 600 or 1000 francs.

The ladies are proficients in this art: their powers of conversation and their personal attraction aid greatly; but the mystery lies in their fingers, of which, says M. Frégier, la souplesse et la force a quelque chose de merveilleux.' The fair sex are indeed great shoplifters. Their pelisses and mantles are furnished with huge pockets, artfully constructed in the foldings: an immense shawl is very favourable to the operation; and those who assume the garb of Paysannes have their coarse thick petticoat formed into a perfect series of secret compartments. One of the modes adopted is new to us, and there is a shade of maternal tenderness thrown over the transaction, which gives it a peculiar interest. A well-dressed lady enters a shop, followed by a nursery-maid with a baby in long and flowing robes: the lady requires all manner of smart things to be shown her, lays them aside with the usual fastidiousness of female taste, and demands others. In the midst of her purchases she is seized

with a sudden paroxysm of tenderness for her baby; the goodhumoured smiling bonne sets the darling on the counter, that its little face may be close to mamma's; and, when the caresses are concluded, takes it again upon her arm, and with it, under cover of its long robe, two or three selected pieces of silk.

The system of several distinct families living in one house, with a common staircase, affords the Parisian robber facilities unknown in London. Bonjouriers, Voleurs au bonjour, Chevaliers grimpans, are the happily significant names given to the numerous class of whom we are now speaking. They disdain the use of false keys, break open no doors, scale no walls; their only preparation is ascertaining the name of two of the residents, and this the printed Directories enable them to do. Well dressed, shod with noiseless pumps, and relying on his self-possession and ease of manner, one of these thieves boldly demands of the porter whether M. B- is at home, M. A- being the person he intends to rob. No sooner is he upon the stairs than he is all eyes to detect an unfastened door. He sees one with a key in it; he knocks again and again; if no one appears he steps in as far as the dining-room, makes straight for the buffet, fills his pockets and hat with silver, and glides out again. Should the owner of the apartment, M. A——, make his appearance, the robber with a courteous and smiling air demands whether he has not the honour to address M. B- ? he is told that M. B- lives on the next floor, and the unsuspected villain, uttering a thousand apologies, departs with the best grace imaginable :—or suspicion may be half aroused, the party may be a matter-of-fact Englishman, or a slowwitted German, who looks grave and dangerous, and the Frenchman perceives that his safety hangs upon a thread. Nothing daunted, the rogue reiterates his rapid apologies, and performs a semicircle of active bows until he gets in a straight line with the door, and then vanishes with the rapidity of lightning. Nay, should he be seized, and the stolen plate actually found upon him, he is not without his resources. He has a tale of woe, ready cut and dried for all such perilous occasions. Falling on his knees, he implores, with an eloquence almost irresistible, the pardon, the compassion, of the benevolent man whom he frankly admits he has so deeply injured-it is his first, his only offencethe fatal love of play has led him to it—to decide upon his fate will be to decide also upon the fate of as respectable a father as ever breathed-a father who would die were he to know of his son's dishonour! This frequently succeeds: the proprietor contents himself with kicking the penitent down stairs; who, well aware that his honour is of that description that knows no stain, considers this mode of retreat equivalent to a victory.

Every crowded street, every theatre, has its contingent of pickpockets, between whom and the police there is one unceasing conflict. As a specimen of our author's style, we will give his lively sketch of this warfare :

Les inspecteurs de police sont attirés dans les groupes par les motifs même qui y conduisent les filous. Ils ont, les uns comme les autres, les yeux fixés sur les poches des curieux, mais les premiers veillent à leur défense quand les seconds songent à les dépouiller. De là, cette animosité mutuelle, et pour ainsi dire instinctive, qui existe entre eux. Quel est celui d'entre nous qui appréhende les entreprises des filous à la promenade ou ailleurs? combien peu qui savent gré à la police de sa sollicitude, qui se doutent même de cette sollicitude? Il est pourtant vrai que dans un grand nombre de circonstances les agens de police et les filous luttent entre eux sur le terrain d'observations, de précautions, et d'adresse, précisément à l'occasion du sujet qui nous occupe le moins. Ce sont les seuls qui ne soient pas attentifs aux spectacles ou aux divertissemens qui fixent les regards de tous. Cette inattention doit être pour chacun d'eux une cause de défiance et de crainte, un signe d'hostilité, excepté quand l'inspecteur et le filou se connaissent, ce qui arrive assez souvent. Alors les rôles deviennent plus simples, l'évènement de la lutte ne tient plus qu'à une question de fait, au flagrant délit. Le public n'aperçoit qu'un accident imprévu dans ce fait que la rumeur porte à sa connaissance, tandis qu'il y a eu un drame, un dénoûment, des acteurs, le tout enveloppé d'un mystère profond.'

6

The pickpockets of the highest class are enabled, by the elegance of their dress and manners, to insinuate themselves into all public assemblies, even the most select. Splendidly dressed foreigners are the grand objects of their attention. Ils recherchent avidement les Anglais, et s'attachent à leurs pas comme à une proie riche et facile,' the outside and well-filled pockets of our countrymen being greatly to their taste.

Exploiter les positions sociales is the professed occupation of a numerous class of swindlers. Many an industrious family, who bear a fair reputation in the world, have some fatal secret connected with them, which, if divulged, would crush them for ever. A liberated convict, for example, has become a reformed man, has married a respectable woman, and has set up in business, neither his wife nor his neighbours having the slightest idea of his former habits of life. One of his companions in prison finds him out, or the fact becomes known, by hazard, to some of the wretches who are constantly on the look-out for their prey. They open a correspondence with the wife; mysterious dangers are hinted to her; she becomes suspicious and alarmed; the husband is compelled to divulge his secret to her; and the dread of exposure induces them to accede to the demands of the robbers,