So thoroughly well acquainted with these men are the Detective officers we speak of, that they frequently tell what they have been about by the expression of their eyes and their general manner. This process is aptly termed “reckoning them up.” Some days ago, two skilful officers, whose personal acquaintance with the swell mob is complete, were walking along the Strand on other business, when they saw two of the best dressed and best mannered of the gang enter a jeweller’s shop. They waited till they came out, and, on scrutinising them, were convinced, by a certain conscious look which they betrayed, that they had stolen something. They followed them, and in a few minutes something was passed from one to the other. The officers were convinced, challenged them with the theft, and succeeded in eventually convicting them of stealing two gold eye-glasses, and several jewelled rings. “The eye,” said our informant, “is the great detector. We can tell in a crowd what a swell-mobsman is about by the expression of his eye.” It is supposed that the number of persons who make a trade of thieving in London is not more than six thousand; of these, nearly two hundred are first-class thieves or swell mobsmen; six hundred “macemen,” and trade swindlers, bill-swindlers, dog-stealers, &c.; About forty burglars, “dancers,” “garretteers,” and other adepts with the skeleton-keys. The rest are pickpockets, “gonophs—” mostly young thieves who sneak into areas, and rob tills—and other pilferers. To detect and circumvent this fraternity, is the science of thief-taking. Here, it is, however, impossible to give even an imperfect notion of the high amount of skill, intelligence, and knowledge, concentrated in the character of a clever Detective Policeman. We shall therefore furnish the sketch in another paper. THE BALLAD OF RICHARD BURNELL. From his bed rose Richard Burnell At the early dawn of day, Ere the bells of London City Welcomed in the morn of May. Early on that bright May morning Rose the young man from his bed, He, the happiest man in London,— And blithely to himself he said: “‘When the men and maids are dancing, And the folk are mad with glee, In the Temple’s shady gardens Let me walk and talk with thee!’ “Thus my Alice spake last even, Thus with trembling lips she spake, And those blissful words have kept me Through the live-long night awake. “’Tis a joy beyond expression, When we first, in truth, perceive That the love we long have cherished Will not our fond hearts deceive!