The golden days of the smuggler are gone by; his hiding-places are empty; and, like Othello, he finds his "occupation gone." Our neighbours on the other side of the herring-pond now bring us _dry bones_, according to the law, instead of _spirits_, contrary to the law. Cutters, preventive-boats, and border-rangers, have destroyed the _trade_--it is becoming as a tale that was told. From Spittal to Blyth--yea, from the Firth of Forth to the Tyne--brandy is no longer to be purchased for a trifle; the kilderkin of Holland gin is no longer placed at the door in the dead of night; nor is a yard of tobacco to be purchased for a penny. The smuggler's phrase, that the "_cow has calved_,"[D] is becoming obsolete. Now, smuggling is almost confined to crossing "the river," here and there, the "ideal line by fancy drawn;" to Scotland saying unto England, "Will you taste?" and to England replying, "Cheerfully, sister." There was a time, however, when the clincher-built lugger plied her trade as boldly, and almost as regularly, as the regular coaster; and that period is within the memory of those who are yet young. It was an evil and a dangerous trade; and it gave a character to the villagers on the sea-coasts which, even unto this day, is not wholly effaced. But in the character of the smuggler there was much that was interesting--there were many bold and redeeming points. I have known many; but I prefer, at present, giving a few passages from the history of one who lived before my time, and who was noted in his day as an extraordinary character.