and James Murel, the horse-thief, celebrated by Mark Twain,
whose favourite disguise was that of an itinerant preacher, cherished
no less a project than an insurrection of negroes and the capture of New
Orleans. The robber of to-day is a stern realist. He knows nothing of
romance. A ride under the stars and a swift succession of revolver-shots
have no fascination for him. He likes to work in secret upon safe or
burglar-box. He has moved with the times, and has at his hand all the
resources of modern science. If we do not know all that is to be known
of him and his ambitions it is our own fault, since the most expert
of his class, Langdon W. Moore, has given us in 'His Own Story of his
Eventful Life' (Boston, 1893) a complete revelation of a crook's career.
It is an irony of life that such a book as this should come out
of Boston, and yet it is so quick in movement, of so breathless an
excitement, that it may outlive many specimens of Bostonian lore and
culture. It is but one example out of many, chosen because in style as
in substance it outstrips all competitors.

Without knowing it, Langdon W. Moore is a disciple of Defoe. He has
achieved by accident that which the author of 'Moll Flanders' achieved
by art. There is a direct simplicity in his narrative which entitles
him to a place among the masters. He describes hair-breadth escapes and
deadly perils with the confident air of one who is always exposed to
them. He gives the impression of the hunted and the hunter more vividly
than any writer of modern times. When he is opening a safe, you hear, in
spite of yourself, the stealthy step upon the stair. If he watches for
a pal at the street end, you share his anxiety lest that pal should
be intercepted by the watchful detective. And he produces his effects
without parade or ornament. He tells his story with a studied plainness,
and by adding detail to detail keeps your interest ever awake. Like many
other great men, he takes his skill and enterprise for granted. He does
not write of his exploits as though he were always amazed at his own
proficiency. Of course he has a certain pride in his skill. He cannot
describe his perfect mastery over all the locks that ever were made
without a modest thrill. He does not disguise his satisfaction at
Inspector Byrnes' opinion that "he had so deeply studied combination
locks as to be able to open them from the sound ejected from the
spindle." For the rest, he recognises that he is merel