known calling to exhibit an outward sign of the prosperity of that craft, how much more is it incumbent on us—the minions of Mercury, with nothing but the vivacity of our wits “to feed and clothe” us—to put a splendid outside upon swindling, and since the world ducks to appearance, to assure ourselves of its very, very lowest stooping! I have never yet known an instance of a successful swindler in a shabby coat. Who, indeed, would trust a man with a hole in his hat? Read the Police Reports—those “short and simple annals”—how, nineteen times out of twenty, do they commence? Why, thus—“Algernon Mountedgecomb, a young man dressed in the highest style of fashion,” etc., etc. Such is always the strain; for can the reader point out any case with any verbal similarity to the following:—“Yesterday, John Snooks, a wretchedly attired fellow, was brought up charged with obtaining under false pretences a diamond ring, a gold repeater, and a suit of pearls from the house of——?” Has ever such a case been chronicled? Certainly not: hence, the tailor is indispensable to the swindler, who is on no account to spare him. The swindler may, in the weakness of his nature, have some qualms towards any one except a tailor; but the swindler who deals mercifully with a tailor had better seek another profession—such chicken-heartedness is not for our art. The benevolence is so much goodness lost—wasted—flung to the winds; for you are to bear with you this recollection: it is an axiom in his trade, that the tailor never loses. “Them as does pay”—such was the confession of an eminent coatmaker after his second bottle of Burgundy drank at Button Park, his country seat—“them as does pay,” said the good man, “pays for them as doesn’t.” Can there be a finer provision for the protection of trade, and the satisfaction of the non-paying? Hence, if possible, flay your tailor. Should he discount—for there are such philanthropists—let him have a few bills by all means. In his vast profits what are two or three thousands more or less in a twelvemonth’s balance? _If_, however, he will not discount the paper of your friends—“accommodate” is a good word—he cannot refuse your own bill. Great is the satisfaction of a bill! What serenity comes upon a man’s soul when he hath writ “accepted”! What a load he feels lifted from his lightened heart! How airily, how joyously he looks around him, elevated with a sense of duty done to his neighbour and to himself! Sweet, most sweet, the satisfaction! Such I am sure was the feeling of my late lamented friend, Captain Judas Gammon; for that excellent fellow never accepted a bill that he did not clasp his hands and, raising his eyes with a devout look of thanksgiving, exclaim, “There now—thank heaven—! that’s paid!”