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Written for The Flag of Our Union

An Amateur Detective

by James M'Cabe


The little town of B— was the last place in the world where one would have expected to find a thief. Since the settlement of the colony, it had been famous for its piety and good works, and like the village in the old German legend, it seemed to be proof against the wiles and attacks of the devil. The townspeople prided themselves on this; they boasted that their place was the one bright spot in all the Union, and anyone who could have had the audacity to doubt this for a moment would have been pronounced worse than a heathen. It was the standing boast of the place that as far as crime was concerned, courts of justice were useless in B—. A robbery would have created an excitement in the place equal only to one of those panics which were so common in Wall Street during the trying times of the late civil war; and a murder within the limits of this happy community would have been taken by common consent as the forerunner of the end of all creation. Crime and violence had been unknown in B— for so long that the people were not so unreasonable in their feelings and opinions as they might seem to be at the first glance. Deacon L— had lived in the town, as boy and man, for fifty years, and since his majority, had been a magistrate, and he frequently declared that had he been dependent on this office alone for his support, he would surely have starved. This feeling of security which I have mentioned strengthened day by day, and year by year, until the good people of the town, without really meaning to be self-righteous, came to regard themselves as the salt of the earth.

Imagine, then, the feeling of consternation which spread through the town one fine spring morning, when it was announced that after so many years of… Read More