surveyors on certain trees, to denote the lines
of the different townships, as they are cleared
from the woods. By means of these marks
the woodsman can readily direct himself
to a settlement—to find which was now
McQuaigh's object. Dragging the body of
the deer after us, we proceeded for about two
hours guided by the blazes, and, at last,
came to a small settlement, where we
procured a couple of sleighs, one for Jean
Baptiste and the slaughtered Moose, and the
other for ourselves. At a late hour of the
night we gained McQuaigh's residence,
considerably fatigued after our exertions.

We spent two days more with our eccentric
but warm-hearted host, after which he let us
depart reluctantly. We reached Quebec on
the following day, and soon regaled a party
of friends on our valuable trophy, the Moose
deer's nose.

THE MODERN SCIENCE OF THIEF-TAKING.

IF thieving be an Art (and who denies that
its more subtle and delicate branches deserve
to be ranked as one of the Fine Arts?), thief-
taking is a Science. All the thief's ingenuity;
all his knowledge of human nature; all his
courage; all his coolness; all his imperturbable
powers of face; all his nice discrimination
in reading the countenances of other people;
all his manual and digital dexterity; all his
fertility in expedients, and promptitude in
acting upon them; all his Protean cleverness
of disguise and capability of counterfeiting
every sort and condition of distress; together
with a great deal more patience, and the
additional qualification, integrity, are demanded
for the higher branches of thief-taking.

If an urchin picks your pocket, or a bungling
"artist" steals your watch so that you find it
out in an instant, it is easy enough for any
private in any of the seventeen divisions of
London Police to obey your panting demand
to " Stop thief! " But the tricks and
contrivances of those who wheedle money out of
your pocket rather than steal it; who cheat
you with your eyes open; who clear every
vestige of plate out of your pantry while your
servant is on the stairs; who set up imposing
warehouses, and ease respectable firms of large
parcels of goods; who steal the acceptances of
needy or dissipated young men;—for the
detection and punishment of such impostors a
superior order of police is requisite.

To each division of the Force is attached
two officers, who are denominated
" detectives." The staff, or head-quarters, consists
of six sergeants and two inspectors. Thus the
Detective Police, of which we hear so much,
consists of only forty-two individuals, whose
duty it is to wear no uniform, and to perform
the most difficult operations of their craft.
They have not only to counteract the machinations
of every sort of rascal whose only means
of existence is avowed rascality, but to clear
up family mysteries, the investigation of which
demands the utmost delicacy and tact.

One instance will show the difference
between a regular and a detective policeman.
Your wife discovers on retiring for the night,
that her toilette has been plundered; her
drawers are void; except the ornaments she
now wears, her beauty is as unadorned as
that of a quakeress: not a thing is left; all
the fond tokens you gave her when her
prenuptial lover, are gone; your own miniature,
with its setting of gold and brilliants;
her late mother's diamonds; the bracelets
"dear papa " presented on her last birth-day;
the top of every bottle in the dressing-case
brought from Paris by Uncle John, at the
risk of his life, in February 1848, are off—but
the glasses remain. Every valuable is swept
away with the most discriminating villainy;
for no other thing in the chamber has been
touched; not a chair has been moved; the
costly pendule on the chimney-piece still
ticks; the entire apartment is as neat and
trim as when it had received the last finishing
sweep of the housemaid's duster. The entire
establishment runs frantically up stairs and
down stairs; and finally congregates in my
Lady's Chamber. Nobody knows anything
whatever about it; yet everybody offers a
suggestion, although they have not an idea
"who ever did it." The housemaid bursts
into tears; the cook declares she thinks she
is going into hysterics; and at last you
suggest sending for the Police; which is taken
as a suspicion of, and insult on the whole
assembled household, and they descend into
the lower regions of the house in the sulks.

X 49 arrives. His face betrays sheepishness,
combined with mystery. He turns his
bull's-eye into every corner, and upon every
countenance (including that of the cat), on
the premises. He examines all the locks, bolts,
and bars, bestowing extra diligence on those
which enclosed the stolen treasures. These he
declares have been " Wiolated;" by which he
means that there has been more than one
"Rape of the Lock." He then mentions about
the non-disturbance of other valuables; takes
you solemnly aside, darkens his lantern, and
asks if you suspect any of your servants, in
a mysterious whisper, which implies that
he does. He then examines the upper
bedrooms, and in that of the female servants he
discovers the least valuable of the rings, and
a cast-off silver tooth-pick between the
mattresses. You have every confidence in your
maids; but what can you think? You
suggest their safe custody; but your wife
intercedes, and the policeman would prefer speaking
to his inspector before he locks anybody
up.

Had the whole matter remained in the
hands of X 49, it is possible that your troubles
would have lasted you till now. A train of
legal proceedings—actions for defamation of
character and suits for damages—would have
followed, which would have cost more than