Forgetting
that it was by burglary that he was undone, he explains for his public
glorification that he was wont to enter the houses of Leith by forcing
the small window above the outer door. This artifice, his vanity
grumbles, is now common; but he would have all the world understand
that it was his own invention, and he murmurs with the pedantry of the
convicted criminal that it is now set forth for the better protection
of honest citizens. No less admirable in his own eyes was that other
artifice which induced him to conceal such notes as he managed to filch
in the collar of his coat. Thus he eluded the vigilance of the police,
which searched its prey in those days with a sorry lack of cunning.
In truth, Haggart's wits were as nimble as his fingers, and he seldom
failed to render a profitable account of his talents. He beguiled one
of his sojourns in gaol by manufacturing tinder wherewith to light
the prisoners' pipes, and it is not astonishing that he won a general
popularity. In Ireland, when the constables would take him for a Scot,
he answered in high Tipperary, and saved his skin for a while by a
brogue which would not have shamed a modern patriot. But quick as were
his wits, his vanity always outstripped them, and no hero ever bragged
of his achievements with a louder effrontery.
Now all you ramblers in mourning go,
For the prince of ramblers is lying low,
And all you maidens that love the game,
Put on your mourning veils again.
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