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De Quincey once wrote a neat little esthetic essay on "Murder Considered as one of the Fine Arts." Murders, he maintained, have their little differences and shades of merit, as well as statues, pictures, cameos and the like. The performance of Cain was the first infancy of the art, and a good many modern murders are quite as deficient in taste, finish and scenical grouping. This connoisseur of homicide admits that murder is a dangerous, as well as difficult branch, and that "if a man once indulges in murder, very soon he comes to think little of robbing; and from robbing he comes next to drinking and Sabbath-breaking, and from that to incivility and procrastination. Many a man has dated his ruin from some murder that perhaps he thought little of at the time." He tells of a brother connoisseur who had become gloomy and misanthropically over the cleaver and paving stone character of modern murders, and looked upon the French Revolution as the great cause of degeneration in the