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about Italian brigands, sir," said a keen-looking gentleman to me, as we were sitting before the fire of a commercial room in the midland counties; "why, I tell you they are not half as dangerous as some English scoundrels I know."

"Indeed," said I, wondering what adventure he was going to relate.

"No, sir," replied he, with a shake of his head; "I know a set of scoundrels who prey upon the public, and what's more, the law can't touch 'em, sir. They are safe, sir, from all penalties; they have a patent right to rob, sir; and such a state of things is a disgrace to us."

I confess I was puzzled as to the meaning of my friend, and thinking he was uttering a parable in which hotel-keepers formed the subject, I gave a nod of dubious acquiescence.

"Did you overhear tell of the Long Firm?" he asked, in a manner which I felt would soon lead to the solution of my doubts.

"No," said I, "who are they; what is their business—where are they located?"

"Ah, sir," said he, "I see you are not in the commercial line, else you would know something about them. Their business, sir, is to rob and plunder the public; and they do it, too, in fine style, and manage to keep out of the jurisdiction of the police."

"But why are they called the Long Firm?" said I, rather more curious to know the history of their name than of their depredations.

"Why, I think it is," replied the commercial, "because there is such a number of them in partnership; half the rogues in the kingdom belong to it: but it may be because they have long heads, or because they ought to have long purses, though, by the way, my experience shows that they are a set of the poorest devils under the sun."

"Oh, then," rejoined I, "you have some personal experience of the firm?"

"Indeed I have," was the reply. "Though, for the matter of that, my experience did not arise from a personal loss, but from a personal investigation, and if you would really like to hear the history of it, I will tell it you with pleasure."

To this offer, so willingly made, I gladly assented, and after a preliminary puff at his cigar, my commercial friend commenced in the manner of all story-tellers, by a reference to a time long past.

"About six years since," he said, " began my experience of the 'Long Firm,' and to this day I have refreshed my memory and my knowledge by adding to them every little trace of the 'firm's' action that I could lay my hands on. Six years since, however, a friend of mine who lives a little way out of London, and had,—I believe still has,—setter dogs of which he is proud, advertised that he had a couple of prime-bred 'uns for sale. Their pedigree was undoubtedly good; they had been shot over, and proved to be cracks; they were tip-top colour, and spots were first-rate; but he had no use for them at that time, and he advertised them for sale—price 20l., with a guarantee. Next post after the advertisement travelled down into the provinces, came a letter from Cottonchester. The gentleman who wrote the letter didn't spell very correctly, neither was his communication written in a business style, but it looked like a country gentleman's fist,—like, in fact, as if it had been written by a man who was fonder of shooting than of reading, and fonder of good dogs than either. 'Send us your dogs down,' says he, 'to such-and-such a station, and I will have my man waiting for 'em.' He went on to say that he had often been disappointed by buying dogs he never saw, otherwise he would send a cheque at once, but the moment he approved my friend's dogs, he said, he would send off the money, and gladly add all expenses into the bargain."

"But," said I, "did your friend really trust a man he had never seen, when his letter itself was such a bad certificate of character? I would at once have set it down as the production of a ticket-of-leave man."

"You would have done nothing of the sort," said he, rather sharply. "My friend was as knowing a fellow as ever breathed, and he fancied the letter smelt of the country squire all over, and to tell the truth so did I, for I saw it."

"Ay, ay," said I, "one's always wise after the event; I knew what was coming, you see, I was anticipating your vexation; but go on with your story, I won't interrupt you again."

"Well, sir, the long and the short of it is, he sent his beauties by rail, and paid the carriage too. They were directed, I think, to 'John Harrison, Esq., of such-and-such a road, Old Hall,' and no doubt 'my man' himself was waiting for them, for my friend subsequently learned that a greasy fellow came and