There was nothing melodramatic about it either, no stealthy dartings from shadow to shadow with an occasional "hist, I am observed," so dear to the old play-writers. Oh, no. For instance, it once fell to me to "nick" something, and I have the most precise recollection of walking deliberately into a large grocer's shop in Westbourne Grove, its counter laden as usual with samples of goods for sale, and under the nose of the dumfounded salesman, who had watched me enter, lifting a large box of biscuits and retreating before he had even attempted to clear the obstacles between us. And that was only a type of many such adventures. Since, however, this recital tends to become highly immoral, I will only quote one more instance which must even yet linger in the memories of such of its participants as are still alive. There used to be a large sweet-stuff shop at the corner of Newton Road, Westbourne Grove, which did a fine trade, and was very fully stocked. One night, dared thereunto by some of my companions who had contributed an extraordinary full and varied meal, I entered this shop and calmly lifted a large glass off a side shelf, which contained five or six pounds of chocolate in penny bars covered with silver paper. I took no precautions whatever, beyond leaving the door wide open, nor did I hurry. But upon emerging into the Grove I immediately turned up the dark way of Newton Road, and whistled shrilly for my chums, who were supposed to be keeping _nix_, although their idea of doing so was to get as far away as possible in case of accidents. I found them all, however, in Kildare Gardens, which used to be reached by a sort of paved alley way guarded by posts at each end, and was a most select, silent, and quasi-aristocratic retreat. A veritable oasis of quiet comfort just off the main artery of Westbourne Grove, then beginning to be famous through the exertions of Mr W. Whiteley. And we sat down on the kerb of the central garden in the dark to divide the spoil. This being done, and each boy's pocket laden with chocolate sticks, one uneasy wight raised the question, "What should we do with the show-glass?" The obvious thing would have been to leave it there in the dark, but when did boys affect the obvious? Then arose the genius of the party and propounded a scheme which made us all cavort with delight (I have said that we were full fed). He proposed that our quartette should advance upon the first house in that utterly silent square, one member carrying the glass container, another the cover, while the other two ascended the steps under the portico and seized, one the knocker, and the other the bell. Then at a given signal the glass must be hurled at the front of the house, the knocker banged, the bell pulled as hard as might be, and--flight. This was at ten p.m.