What sound is yonder? A church bell. I might go myself, but how listen
to the sermon? I am thinking of those thieves who have made a ladder of
my wall, and a prey of my pear-tree. They may be walking to church
at this moment, neatly shaved, in clean linen, with every outward
appearance of virtue. If I went, I know I should be watching the
congregation, and thinking, "Is that one of the fellows who came over my
wall?" If, after the reading of the eighth Commandment, a man sang out
with particular energy, "Incline our hearts to keep this law," I
should think, "Aha, Master Basso, did you have pears for breakfast
this morning?" Crime is walking round me, that is clear. Who is the
perpetrator? . . . What a changed aspect the world has, since these last
few lines were written! I have been walking round about my premises, and
in consultation with a gentleman in a single-breasted blue coat, with
pewter buttons, and a tape ornament on the collar. He has looked at the
holes in the wall, and the amputated tree. We have formed our plan of
defence--PERHAPS OF ATTACK. Perhaps some day you may read in the papers,
"DARING ATTEMPT AT BURGLARY--HEROIC VICTORY OVER THE VILLAINS," &c. &c.
Rascals as yet unknown! perhaps you, too, may read these words, and
may be induced to pause in your fatal intention.
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