Mr. David Sheldrake was such a man. With his quills always sharpened and often drawing blood, he walked through life enjoying its good things, believing that when they did not come to him easily he had a right to appropriate them. The lives of some men present singular contradictions. Dishonest persons are often charitable and kindly-hearted. Thoroughpaced rogues are often good husbands and good fathers. Very few men see straight. Nearly every one of us has a moral squint. Not that the career of Mr. Sheldrake presented any such contradiction. If he had been married, he could not have been a good husband; if he had had children, he could not have been a good father: he was too selfish. He was one of those who never have stings of conscience, simply because he believed that he had a right to have and to enjoy whatever he desired. In his own class he was a triton among the minnows. It was not a very desirable class, nor were its manners and customs to be commended; the first grand aim of its members was not to do unto others as you would others should do unto you, but to do all others, and take care others should not do you. No form of cheating and rascality was too bad for them, if an honest penny could be turned by it; and it is a sad thing to be compelled to say that even the honour that can be found among thieves was very seldom to be found among them--thus showing their tribe to be special and distinctive. It was but a poor game, after all, for the majority of them; as can be seen by going to any race-course, and observing the ragged crew who, while the horses are being saddled and taking their preliminary canters, rush this way and that, and hustle each other, and push and elbow their way fiercely, almost madly, through the crowds of their excited brethren. Mr. Sheldrake was above this ragged crew; he floated while others sank. As a proof of his respectability, what better could be desired than the fact that he had been known to shake hands with lords, and had betted ponies and monkeys with them? But, sharp and cunning as he was, armed at all points as he was, he had his vulnerable point. What man has not? Do you know of one? I do not. And you have but to find it out to shake the decorous owner from his propriety. Archimedes would have shaken the world itself, had you given him a convenient place for his lever and standing room for himself.