wounded his feelings; or else his look was a
consummate piece of acting, when, in answer
to the question I put to him, "Why do you
not consult your ingenuity, and capture these
three men?" he replied: "Ah, madam, in
my leisure hours I pursue literature not
bushrangers. I am, at this present time,
writing a play—a comedy in five acts—and
founded on an incident in my own life."

I could not help saying, " I beg your
pardon, Mr. Barrington," and then expressed
a hope that I should have an opportunity of
seeing his piece performed.

"It is for the London boards," he replied;
"but I shall be proud to submit it to your
judgment, previously to transmitting it to
committee at Drury Lane."

"Did he keep his promise?" I inquired.

"Yes," said the old lady, "and a clever
play it was. In some scenes it was very
pathetic, in others comical in the extreme.
There was not, however, a single coarse word
in it, nor an allusion that could offend the
most fastidious prude in Christendom. The
title of the piece was, All The World's A
Swindle."

"And the plot?"

"Of that I have only an indistinct
recollection, but the story is something of this
kind. On the Doncaster race-course, the
great pickpocket, as Mr. Shenstone meets a
nobleman in the betting-ring, and loses to
him a hundred guineas, which he pays in
gold. Mr. Shenstone's manners and his dress
are those of a gentleman, and his equipage
that of a man of fashion and of fortune. The
nobleman is charmed with Mr. Shenstone,
and the next day, when he meets him on the
course, he greets him with a polite bow, which
is returned by one equally polite. They
speak; they make another bet, for another
hundred guineas; Mr. Shenstone loses, and
with very great good humour pays his
money to the nobleman, partly in gold and
partly in bank notes. That evening he calls
at the hotel where the nobleman is staying,
with his wife and daughter, a very handsome
girl of eighteen years of age, and represents
that a man from whom he had won a bet—
a farmer-looking person, but evidently a
sharper—had paid him in forged bank-notes,
and, as he had parted with some of these
notes before he was aware of the fraud that
had been committed, he was anxious to
discover into whose possession they had come,
in order that he might receive them back,
and give good notes or gold in return. The
nobleman and Mr. Shenstone carefully
examine the notes which the former received;
but amongst them no forgeries are found;
they are all genuine. This examination lasts
for some time, and, during its continuance,
the lady and her daughter enter the sitting-
room. Mr. Shenstone rises from his chair,
and is thereupon introduced to the ladies,
who become as much fascinated by the
polished manners and discourse of the
stranger as my lord is himself. Mr.
Shenstone is invited to stay tea, which is about to
be served. He accepts. And thus (what
the great pickpocket desires) an acquaintance
is established—an acquaintance which is
renewed in London, some weeks afterwards,
at the theatre, much to the great pickpocket's
advantage, for he contrives to despoil his
friend's friends of jewels worth five times the
amount he lost on the race-course. When
informed of this he observes, with great
truth, 'That thief Barrington! Who else?'

My lord gambles very deeply, falls into
serious difficulties, secretly purloins his wife's
diamond bracelets, has a paste set made to
resemble them, and sells the real brilliants
to a jeweller, who disposes of them to an old
duchess, from whose person the great
pickpocket steals them, and at once proceeds to
the box of the lady, who is sitting decked
out in her paste. He informs her that
Barrington is in the house, and advises her to
place her jewels in her pocket. She does so.
He then abstracts the paste gems, places the
real diamonds in their stead, revisits the
old duchess, who, intent on the play, has not
yet discovered her loss, and around her aged
wrists clasps the mockeries! Partly love for
the young girl, and partly respect for her
mother, forms the motive for this action."

"Was the piece ever played?"

"The captain of the vessel, to whom
Barrington had entrusted it, lost it on the voyage
to England. But let me continue with my
story of Fox, Pitt, and Burke. I was, on
another occasion, doomed to see their faces.
The Major and myself were returning from
the farm at George's River. We had been
on a visit to old Baron Wald, and had driven
out in the gig. It was a beautiful moonlight
night, and when we neared a place called the
Iron-Bark Forest, some thirteen miles from
Sydney, we were commanded to Stop! by
three men, two of whom presented their
fowling-pieces at us, whilst the third said:

"'Now, then, what have you got?'

"'Is that you, sir?' said my husband, who
recognised the man's voice, for it was Fox
who spoke.

"'God bless me, Major!' was the response.
'I beg you many pardons.'

"'Rob him!' cried out one of the others.
'If he had been my master, and had flogged
me, I'd shoot him!'

"'No! no!' said Fox. 'It was agreed that
old masters were to go free, and when we
wanted to rob old Howe, the other day,
being very badly off for money, you reminded
me of our agreement, and I now wish you
to be reminded of it.'"

The Major parleyed with them for at
least a quarter of an hour, and reproved
them for shooting a constable a few weeks
back. They replied that the constable had
insisted on capturing them, and that they
had acted only in self-defence. Their capture,
eventually, was curiously effected.