Sir Temple, an English gentleman who has
been captured by the Thugs, but has made his
escape, deposes, when under examination, to
having seen three Englishmen in communication
with the Thugs, two of whom he failed to
recognise, but he states that the third is
Gilbert Patterson, the valet de chambre of
Lord Bentick. His lordship immediately
sends for Patterson, and then and there
questions him as to the truth of the charges
preferred against him. This, it is to be
observed, is done in his capacity of judge,
sitting in open court; in accordance with
British law, which, as we all know, supposes
an accused man to be guilty until proved innocent.
Patterson, with deep emotion, confesses
that he is affiliated to the confraternity of the
Thugs, and gives the following explanation of
the fact. He states that the Thugs had
obtained possession of his son, a little child,
whose life they had consented to spare, only on
condition that the father should join their
band. He consented, and the Thugs further
stipulated that each time he delivered up to
them a European victim, he should be allowed
to pass a day with his child. After this candid
confession the following dialogue takes place:

Lord Bentick: And you kept your promise?

Gilbert: I did; the Thugs had made
arrangements by which I could communicate
with them, and when I could no longer resist
my desire to see my child, I betrayed an
Englishman to them.

Lord Bentick: How did you accomplish your
purpose?

Gilbert: I stole some of your paper, and, after
practice, succeeded in imitating your signature.
When I wanted a victim, I wrote in your name
to some resident in a distant town, commanding
him to wait upon you without delay, and to
bring the letter with him, in order that he
might obtain an instant audience. The Thugs
warned by me, awaited him on the road, took
from him the letter, and—you can guess the
rest.

(It required all the authority of Lord
Bentick to restrain the audience; as to Gilbert,
after he commenced speaking he was no longer
the same man; he stood proudly erect, and a
mad exultation gleamed in his eye.)

Lord Bentick (hesitatingly): And how many
days did you pass with your son?

Gilbert: Ninety-three in three years!

Great light is also thrown on the doings of
the Thugs, by Bob Lantern, another witness,
who, when questioned by Lord Bentick (who
conducts all the examinations himself), is
invariably addressed by that functionary as Bob.

So much for English manners as illustrated
in French sensational romance. Let us now
refer to an equally accurate picture by a
journalist.

It may be remembered that in October, 1866,
a glove fight between two English pugilists,
which took place in a sporting public-house in
the vicinity of the Haymarket, resulted
unfortunately, and, by an accident, in the death of
one of the combatants. This occurrence was
described in a paragraph extracted from the
International, which went the round of the
French papers, shortly after it took place. The
paragraph was headed Les Boxeurs de Londres,
and contained not one word to show that the
so-called prize fight was a sparring match in gloves.
It opens thus: "A fight à l'outrance has taken
place between Edward W." (it is unnecessary
here to give the name in full) "and another
pugilist, behind Carlton-gardens near the Duke
of York's column; this time it occurred in the
midst of London by gas-light." A sensational
description is given of the commencement of
the fight in a public-house du West End in the
presence of numerous men and women. The
blows are described as "falling thick as hail, a
tooth is broken here, a jaw-bone smashed there,"
and the spectators, especially the women, are
said to have vehemently applauded any
particularly crashing hit delivered by either party.
After the fight had continued for an hour and
a quarter, the closing time of the public-house
arrived, and the boxers, with the whole of the
audience, adjourned to the "neighbourhood of
the residence of M. Gladstone close to the
Duke of York's column," and the fight was
again carried on for an hour, at the close of
which W., compelled to succumb, was carried
to the hospital, where he shortly afterwards
expired; and his corpse is said to have been so
mutilated that his wife could only recognise it
by his clothes. The paragraph concludes as
follows: "It was on Thursday, the 11th of
October, in the year of Grace 1866, at two
paces from the Strand and Regent-street, the
most densely peopled thoroughfares in London,
that this scene took place."

Let us now cite an instance from the drama,
and describe the plot of a piece produced in
Paris on the 18th of February 1860, at the
Théâtre de la Gaieté. It exhibits, perhaps, a
more remarkably delicate knowledge on the
part of two dramatists of no mean celebrity, of
the laws, manners, customs, and geography
even, of the country in which they have laid
their plot than could be easily found elsewhere
within the same compass.

The drama, in five acts, is entitled Le Prêteur
sur Gages (The Pawnbroker), and is the joint
production of Messieurs Anicet-Bourgeois and
Michel Masson.

Some time before the opening of the play, a
certain Maître Francis Bob, a rich London
pawnbroker and receiver of stolen goods, has
quarrelled with his son for marrying a woman
without money. Bob junior and his wife,
discarded by their wealthy relation, fall into evil
courses, and, with their little daughter Nancy,
seek refuge from the myrmidons of the law in
a notorious quarter of London called Jacob's
Isle. The daughter, when in search of food
for her parents, is captured by "les watchmen,"
and, although put to torture, refuses to disclose
the hiding place of her parents. The latter are
captured, however, and transported to Botany
Bay; while Nancy, as the offspring of convicts,