“Oh! you are wrong there,” was the reply; “decidedly wrong; Black’s is an administrative genius, mental—not physical. The pickpocket’s cleverness is merely highly-cultivated manual dexterity, the same kind of thing that makes some women clever at fancy work, at crochet, and netting, and those fearful groups of flowers executed in Berlin wool, which my Arabella’s soul delights in. A burglar, again, is merely an advanced mechanic, but Black’s genius is of a very different order. He has ability to conceive and impudence to execute; he has an immense faculty of organization; he would have made a good Chancellor of the Exchequer, I fancy; his resources are inexhaustible; his power of construction enormous. No undertaking is too large for him to fear carrying through. He puts me often in mind of those fellows at the Circus, who can ride four horses at once. He could manage fifty companies. I often think, when I am talking to Black, about what judges sometimes say to criminals, namely, that it is a pity to see such talents applied to such purposes; in another walk of life, Black’s genius ought to have carried him to eminence.” “Don’t waste your regrets upon such an arrant humbug,” Mr. Stewart replied. “Nature has fitted him into the only hole he could by possibility have filled. Black’s genius is a lying genius. Had it been clothed by circumstances decently, externally apparelled with honesty, and virtue, and truth, it would soon have got rid of those incumbrances, and come forth in its primitive nakedness. I tell you Black has no talent, save for dishonesty; if that devil were cast out of him, he would be strong no longer. As Samson’s strength lay in his hair, so Black’s lies in his falsehood, his cunning, his impudence, and his plausibility. Take these things from him and he would be but as other ordinary men; honest, perhaps, but weak; able to earn a living, but certainly not to make a fortune. It is quite a mistake to imagine because a man is clever in one walk, he could be clever if he pleased in another. The walk is dictated by his particular cleverness, and Black’s talent, as I said before, is lying. “Yet he professes to be weary of planning, and scheming, and uncertainty——” “And very possibly that profession is true. A man may be weary of the devil which possesses him, even though he be unable to get rid of it. At one time, I confess, I thought Black was going to turn over a new leaf, and content himself with the fine things the Protector had in store for him, but now I fear the old Adam is too strong in Black ever to give him a chance of turning from the evil of his former ways, and I am satisfied if he can ruin our Company he will do it somehow. This business of Kemms’ is bad too. How many shares have you, Douglas, besides your qualification?” “Five hundred,” was the reply; “and I shall give my broker instructions to sell them.” “You do not mean that?”