with his trustworthy reputation—was invariably selected for expeditions to the various stores. His special talent here stood him in good stead, and he never returned without having stolen three or four eggs, a handful of flour, or a lump of soap. Indeed, so inherent was the spirit for thieving, that if all else failed, he would annex physic, and I have often seen him with bottles of quinine and iron mixture. This latter forms a considerable article of commerce, and is much sought after and bartered (never mind how or where) for advantages of a more palatable type. A short time before his discharge I advised him to drop the cash-box game, and he assured me he had quite determined to “turn it up.” Within a week he had been re-convicted, and is at present undergoing seven years’ penal servitude. In my next valet I was considerably disappointed. Although an unmitigated thief, I fancied I detected some redeeming features. I talked to him frequently, and treated him with as much kindness as a man with my circumscribed means had probably ever been able to. In return he assisted to rob me of contraband things, of which he always had a liberal share. He had been a lieutenant (in burglary) of the late Mr. Peace, and often discussed that eminent man with evident regret. He had been with him in various minor affairs, and through his entire career had never been “nabbed.” His present incarceration was the result of treachery, where a less fortunate associate had rounded on him, and he was arrested a week after. He often hoped to meet him outside, though an incident that occurred will necessitate a postponement of the pleasure. A batch of convicts, _en route_ to penal servitude, were one day being medically examined by the surgeon (a new regulation lately come into force), amongst whom my valet recognised his _quasi_ friend, the informer. The interview took place near the kitchen, where my man was cooking a chop, the surgery being next door, at which the convicts were ranged. “And what did you say?” I enquired. “Say!” he replied, “I slapped my stomach to show ’im I was all right, and then I says, ‘You looks ’orrid ill, you —; you’ll never do it; thank God, ’twill kill yer.’” A pleasant prelude to ten years’ penal servitude.