From the spoils of Inglis & Horner’s shop Smith tells us that Brown selected “a piece of plain white sattin, a piece of variegated ditto, and a lead-coloured silk, in quantity about ten yards, which he gave to a girl, an acquaintance of his of the name of Johnston.” One is pleased to notice in passing this indication of a gentler element in Mr. Brown’s rugged nature. The remainder of the goods were concealed in a cellar which Ainslie had hired for the purpose in Stevenlaw’s Close, and were subsequently despatched in two trunks--one by the Berwick carrier and the other by the Newcastle waggoner--to our old friend at the “Bird in Hand,” Chesterfield. We shall hear more of them later. The reader must have been struck, in following the account of the robberies committed by Deacon Brodie, with the singular incapacity displayed by the official guardians of the public safety. These were the Old Town Guard, a body of armed police which existed in Edinburgh from an early date until 1817, when it was finally disbanded. The corps was composed of some hundred and twenty veterans, chiefly drawn from the Highland regiments, who were in continual conflict with the youth of the capital. Fergusson, in his poems, has many a hit at the peculiarities of this “canker’d pack”-- And thou, great god of _aqua vitæ_! Wha sways the empire of this city-- When fou we’re sometimes capernoity-- Be thou prepar’d To hedge us frae that black banditti, The City Guard. Indeed, so frequently does he refer to them that Scott, in “The Heart of Midlothian,” calls him their poet laureate. Evidently these antiquated warriors were no match for the Deacon and his merry men. * * * * * Notwithstanding the many calls upon his time, owing to the varied character of his engagements and pursuits, Deacon Brodie managed to drop in at the club in the Fleshmarket Close of an evening as frequently as ever, and, in spite of the magnitude of his recent operations, was not above winning a few guineas from any one foolish enough to lose them. On the night of the 17th of January, therefore, Brodie, Smith, and Ainslie were at Clark’s, according to their own account, “innocently amusing themselves with a game of dice over a glass of punch,” when their privacy was intruded upon by John Hamilton, a master chimney-sweep in Portsburgh, who insisted on joining them at play. This person was, within a surprisingly short time, relieved by the trio of “five guinea notes, two half guineas in gold, and six shillings in silver,” and being apparently a bad loser, he promptly seized the dice, which, on examination, were found to be “loaded, or false dice, filled at one end or corner with lead.” Here was a pretty scandal for the respectable Deacon to be mixed up in! Outraged innocence was of no avail--the dice spoke for themselves.