“I am
      about to leave the country for some years, and I cannot
      conscientiously retain this large amount in my possession. I beg
      your pardon, sir,” [here he addresses a gentleman on shore,] “but
      you have the air of an honest man. _Will_ you confer upon me the
      favor of taking charge of this pocket-book—I _know_ I can trust
      you—and of advertising it? The notes, you see, amount to a very
      considerable sum. The owner will, no doubt, insist upon rewarding
      you for your trouble—”

      “_Me!_—no, _you!_—it was you who found the book.”

      “Well, if you _must_ have it so—_I_ will take a small reward—just
      to satisfy your scruples. Let me see—why these notes are all
      hundreds—bless my soul! a hundred is too much to take—fifty would
      be quite enough, I am sure—”

      “Cast off there!” says the captain. “But then I have no change for a hundred, and upon the whole,
      _you_ had better—”

      “Cast off there!” says the captain. “Never mind!” cries the gentleman on shore, who has been
      examining his own pocket-book for the last minute or so—“never
      mind! _I_ can fix it—here is a fifty on the Bank of North
      America—throw the book.”

      And the over-conscientious finder takes the fifty with marked
      reluctance, and throws the gentleman the book, as desired, while
      the steamboat fumes and fizzes on her way. In about half an hour
      after her departure, the “large amount” is seen to be a
      “counterfeit presentment,” and the whole thing a capital diddle. A bold diddle is this. A camp-meeting, or something similar, is
      to be held at a certain spot which is accessible only by means of
      a free bridge. A diddler stations himself upon this bridge,
      respectfully informs all passers by of the new county law, which
      establishes a toll of one cent for foot passengers, two for
      horses and donkeys, and so forth, and so forth. Some grumble but
      all submit, and the diddler goes home a wealthier man by some
      fifty or sixty dollars well earned. This taking a toll from a
      great crowd of people is an excessively troublesome thing. A neat diddle is this. A friend holds one of the diddler’s
      promises to pay, filled up and signed in due form, upon the
      ordinary blanks printed in red ink. The diddler purchases one or
      two dozen of these blanks, and every day dips one of them in his
      soup, makes his dog jump for it, and finally gives it to him as a
      bonne bouche. The note arriving at maturity, the diddler, with
      the diddler’s dog, calls upon the friend, and the promise to pay
      is made the topic of discussion. The friend produces it from his
      escritoire, and is in the act of reaching it to the diddler, when
      up jumps the diddler’s dog and devours it forthwith. The diddler
      is not only surprised but vexed and incensed at the absurd
      behavior of his dog, and expresses his entire readiness to cancel
      the obligation at any moment when the evidence of the obligation
      shall be forthcoming. A very mean diddle is this. A lady is insulted in the street by a
      diddler’s accomplice. The diddler himself flies to her
      assistance, and, giving his friend a comfortable thrashing,
      insists upon attending the lady to her own door. He bows, with
      his hand upon his heart, and most respectfully bids her adieu. She entreats him, as her deliverer, to walk in and be introduced
      to her big brother and her papa. With a sigh, he declines to do
      so. “Is there no way, then, sir,” she murmurs, “in which I may be
      permitted to testify my gratitude?”

      “Why, yes, madam, there is. Will you be kind enough to lend me a
      couple of shillings?”

      In the first excitement of the moment the lady decides upon
      fainting outright. Upon second thought, however, she opens her
      purse-strings and delivers the specie. Now this, I say, is a
      diddle minute—for one entire moiety of the sum borrowed has to be
      paid to the gentleman who had the trouble of performing the
      insult, and who had then to stand still and be thrashed for
      performing it. Rather a small but still a scientific diddle is this. The diddler
      approaches the bar of a tavern, and demands a couple of twists of
      tobacco. These are handed to him, when, having slightly examined
      them, he says:

      “I don’t much like this tobacco. Here, take it back, and give me
      a glass of brandy and water in its place.” The brandy and water
      is furnished and imbibed, and the diddler makes his way to the
      door. But the voice of the tavern-keeper arrests him. “I believe, sir, you have forgotten to pay for your brandy and
      water.”

      “Pay for my brandy and water!—didn’t I give you the tobacco for
      the brandy and water? What more would you have?”

      “But, sir, if you please, I don’t remember that you paid me for
      the tobacco.”

      “What do you mean by that, you scoundrel?—Didn’t I give you back
      your tobacco? Isn’t that your tobacco lying there? Do you expect
      me to pay for what I did not take?”

      “But, sir,” says the publican, now rather at a loss what to say,
      “but sir—”

      “But me no buts, sir,” interrupts the diddler, apparently in very
      high dudgeon, and slamming the door after him, as he makes his
      escape.—“But me no buts, sir, and none of your tricks upon
      travellers.”

      Here again is a very clever diddle, of which the simplicity is
      not its least recommendation. A purse, or pocket-book, being
      really lost, the loser inserts in one of the daily papers of a
      large city a fully descriptive advertisement. Whereupon our diddler copies the facts of this advertisement,
      with a change of heading, of general phraseology and address. The
      original, for instance, is long, and verbose, is headed “A
      Pocket-Book Lost!” and requires the treasure, when found, to be
      left at No. 1 Tom Street. The copy is brief, and being headed
      with “Lost” only, indicates No. 2 Dick, or No. 3 Harry Street, as
      the locality at which the owner may be seen. Moreover, it is
      inserted in at least five or six of the daily papers of the day,
      while in point of time, it makes its appearance only a few hours
      after the original. Should it be read by the loser of the purse,
      he would hardly suspect it to have any reference to his own
      misfortune. But, of course, the chances are five or six to one,
      that the finder will repair to the address given by the diddler,
      rather than to that pointed out by the rightful proprietor. The
      former pays the reward, pockets the treasure and decamps. Quite an analogous diddle is this. A lady of ton has dropped,
      some where in the street, a diamond ring of very unusual value.