oment, neatly shaved, in clean linen, with every outward
appearance of virtue. If I went, I know I should be watching the
congregation, and thinking, "Is that one of the fellows who came over my
wall?" If, after the reading of the eighth Commandment, a man sang out
with particular energy, "Incline our hearts to keep this law," I
should think, "Aha, Master Basso, did you have pears for breakfast
this morning?" Crime is walking round me, that is clear. Who is the
perpetrator? . . . What a changed aspect the world has, since these last
few lines were written! I have been walking round about my premises, and
in consultation with a gentleman in a single-breasted blue coat, with
pewter buttons, and a tape ornament on the collar. He has looked at the
holes in the wall, and the amputated tree. We have formed our plan of
defence--PERHAPS OF ATTACK. Perhaps some day you may read in the papers,
"DARING ATTEMPT AT BURGLARY--HEROIC VICTORY OVER THE VILLAINS," &c. &c.
Rascals as yet unknown! perhaps you, too, may read these words, and
may be induced to pause in your fatal intention. Take the advice of a
sincere friend, and keep off. To find a man writhing in my man-trap,
another mayhap impaled in my ditch, to pick off another from my tree
(scoundrel! as though he were a pear) will give me no pleasure; but such
things may happen. Be warned in time, villains! Or, if you MUST pursue
your calling as cracksmen, have the goodness to try some other shutters.
Enough! subside into your darkness, children of night! Thieves! we seek
not to have YOU hanged--you are but as pegs whereon to hang others.

I may have said before, that if I were going to be hanged myself, I
think I should take an accurate note of my sensations, request to
stop at some Public-house on the road to Tyburn and be provided with a
private room and writing-materials, and give an account of my state
of mind. Then, gee up, carter! beg your reverence to continue your
apposite, though not novel, remarks on my situation;--and so we drive up
to Tyburn turnpike, where an expectant crowd, the obliging sheriffs, and
the dexterous and rapid Mr. Ketch are already in waiting.

A number of laboring people are sauntering about our streets and taking
their rest on this holiday--fellows who have no more stolen my pears
than they have robbed the crown jewels out of the Tower--and I say I
cannot help thinking in my own mind, "Are you the rascal who got over
my wall last night?" Is the suspici