Rogues about.
--It seems to be pretty well settled that, in severing our connections with the
North, some specimens of human rescality got left on this side of the line, or have strayed over since; we are not positive which.
Yankeedom, we all know, is the great whirlpool of iniquity, in politics, religion, and morals; and had the
South remained a member of the same family much longer, she would possibly have become thoroughly infected.
While, however, we are continually uttering devout thanks for our escape from further contamination, it must be confessed that there are some d--(we beg pardon!) decidely wicked individuals going about here like a roaring lion — only they don't make so much noise, and it is not so easy a matter to entrap them.
But for their sly habits, it would be easy enough to shoot them down, and thus rid the community of their presence.
Of all the contemptible rescals in the world, we believe a thief is about the meanest — that is, a thief who goes about in a crowd and slips his hand into a man's pocket.
A bold highwayman may perhaps command a little more respect.
We regret to hear, therefore, that a gentleman in this city, on Wednesday, had his pocket picked of $1,890; where, or by whom, he is of course unable to conjecture.
It would be very gratifying to record the arrest of the sly operator, but we are unable to do so at present.
We will improve the opportunity, however, to put citizens and strangers upon their guard; for, if they keep money lying about their persons when they mix up with promiscuous crowds, it may in like manner disappear, and the real owner be left to indulge in special wonder at the cuteness of the trick.
