ultimately seen to be derived from round-the-
corner practice of any kind. There is nothing in
war's strategy so unsatisfactory as an ambuscade,
no matter to which side you belong. It must
require something of a beast's heart—at the
least, of a savage's—to draw the concealed
trigger on a laughing and unconscious face.

Even the fact that a detective system is almost
a necessity cannot annul its innate detestability.
Say and do as we will, everything that is opposed
to open dealing, to that fair play that has no
second visage wherewith to mock and play the spy,
jars against the better man, and too often
engenders sympathy where it is little enough deserved.
Few, perhaps, for example, who condemned the
crime of the assassin Booth, can have read
without a certain disgust the bragging details of his
being hunted down; his pursuit by an entire army;
the penning of the disabled wretch into a blazing
barn; the safe shot through a crevice (though,
strange to say, the man that fired it was no
dastard); the imbecile lie that described a man,
pierced through the organs of speech, as
"cursing for three hours" (since modified into a
faltering message to his mother); the foul and
objectless mutilation of his corpse.

There is a species of eavesdropping at this
especial season of the year, so prevalent as to be,
like other epidemic diseases, worth a word of
sanitary caution. It has been a subject of much
subtle casuistry whether intelligence you may
have accidentally, and therefore legitimately,
overheard, may be utilised by you to the disadvantage
of your friend, who knows it not. Your stud-
groom, say, informs you that his brother, Bob
Wisp, employed in a certain training-stable,
witnessed a private trial spin, in which the Derby
favourite, Flashy, was beaten by an inferior
animal. Your friend, Jack Squareall, sweet upon
Flashy, implores you to bet him temptingly short
odds. You are a high-minded man, and you
hesitate. Ought you to suppress Robert Wisp?
The point is doubtful. You do so. Flashy is
beaten at the Corner, and you receive at the
hand of honourable Jack Squareall, five thousand
pounds.

It is a perfect marvel how men who would,
like Banquo, keep their bosom franchised, and
allegiance clear, can hold their ground at all
upon the turf. If such men do so— and we must
not challenge the possibility— it must be by a
combination of wonderful good fortune with a
power of resisting temptation worthy of the
purest age. Mark the fortune absolutely thrust
into their hands. A horse, heavily backed by his
owner, and high in the betting, sustains some
stable injury, slight in itself, but sufficient to
diminish his chances of winning such a race as
the Derby, almost to nothing. His owner has
backed him at eight to one— thousands. Is he
content to lose that thousand, when he can,
through friends and agents, before the change in
his horse's condition is known, reverse his bet,
increase it tenfold, and pocket, on the whole
transaction, seven thousand pounds?

But the ear of Dionysius itself would be too
small a conduit for the turf-secrets that are at
this moment being whispered in every direction,
the main part destined to be tried in the three-
minute crucible of the Great Derby, and to be
proved of one uniform disvalue. We quit the
course.

There is yet another description of
eavesdropping —if it may be so called—worthy of
notice, and to this we may turn with consciences
perfectly clear.

Has anybody calculated the vast amount of
information, both private and general, that may
be picked up in a walk of twenty minutes through
a crowded thoroughfare at any busy hour of the
day? Let us say the Strand—for the vague and
sickly twitter of the Parks has little kindred with
the healthy realities of life, and a promenade at
the Horticultural is like dining on caraway-
comfits. The Strand, too, has this additional
advantage, that the interruptions occasioned by
the continual passage of coal and other carts to
and from the river stores, enable you to give
undivided attention to what is, for the time,
being poured into your ear. Not to listen.
Goodness forbid! Listening to what is not
intended for one's behoof, is forbidden under
penalties so repugnant to one's self-esteem, that
it is surely needless to remark that nothing of
the sort is intended. Yet, if the garrulous public
will persist in telling you all about it, have you a
right to reject the confidence?

It is singular to what unlikely-looking people
one is sometimes indebted for striking and
important information.

It was to an elderly lady in a battered green
bonnet, and a dress which displayed almost as
much crinoline as gown, and carrying a stew-pan,
that the writer owed his knowledge of the
evacuation of Richmond. It is true that, unless "cut
'is lucky" is a term used in military tactics, his
informant described General Lee's manœuvre in
language not usually employed in despatches.
But the end was the same.

A couple of very dubious-looking gentlemen
indeed united in the intelligence that Counsellor
Ballantine had obtained a verdict for Pelizzioni,
and that the universal sentiment in Saffron-hill
circles was, that had the Prince of Darkness
occupied Pelizzioni's place, the gifted counsellor
before mentioned would have whitewashed him
as effectually.

A costermonger was herald of the fact that
the lord mayor's 'op last night was the werry
best of the season—a tip-top swell affair— kep'
up till five, it wos.

In the way of domestic gossip, it was
ascertained from two young ladies who respectively
fulfilled the office of kitchen-maid, that the missis
of one of them sternly forbade ringlets and
crinoline, regarded every follower in the light of a
professional burglar (with violence), and gave no
Sundays out. That the other's missis weighed
the cheese, counted the lump-sugar, locked up
the coals, and, melting down the candle-ends,