this nobody sees
but himself. He grins when his daily work is done--when his allotted
labors are accomplished--at night in his own closet, and altogether
for his own private entertainment. He goes home. He locks his door. He
divests himself of his clothes. He puts out his candle. He gets into
bed. He places his head upon the pillow. All this done, and your diddler
grins. This is no hypothesis. It is a matter of course. I reason a
priori, and a diddle would be no diddle without a grin.

The origin of the diddle is referrable to the infancy of the Human Race.
Perhaps the first diddler was Adam. At all events, we can trace the
science back to a very remote period of antiquity. The moderns, however,
have brought it to a perfection never dreamed of by our thick-headed
progenitors. Without pausing to speak of the "old saws," therefore,
I shall content myself with a compendious account of some of the more
"modern instances."

A very good diddle is this. A housekeeper in want of a sofa, for
instance, is seen to go in and out of several cabinet warehouses.
At length she arrives at one offering an excellent variety. She is
accosted, and invited to enter, by a polite and voluble individual at
the door. She finds a sofa well adapted to her views, and upon inquiring
the price, is surprised and delighted to hear a sum named at least
twenty per cent. lower than her expectations. She hastens to make the
purchase, gets a bill and receipt, leaves her address, with a request
that the article be sent home as speedily as possible, and retires amid
a profusion of bows from the shopkeeper. The night arrives and no sofa.
A servant is sent to make inquiry about the delay. The whole transaction
is denied. No sofa has been sold--no money received--except by the
diddler, who played shop-keeper for the nonce.

Our cabinet warehouses are left entirely unattended, and thus afford
every facility for a trick of this kind. Visiters enter, look at
furniture, and depart unheeded and unseen. Should any one wish to
purchase, or to inquire the price of an article, a bell is at hand, and
this is considered amply sufficient.

Again, quite a respectable diddle is this. A well-dressed individual
enters a shop, makes a purchase to the value of a dollar; finds, much to
his vexation, that he has left his pocket-book in another coat pocket;
and so says to the shopkeeper--

"My dear sir, never mind; just oblige me, will you, by sending the
bundle home? But sta