Interest:  —­ Your diddler is guided by self-interest.  He scorns to diddle for the mere sake of the diddle.  He has an object in view- his pocket —­ and yours.  He regards always the main chance.  He looks to Number One.  You are Number Two, and must look to yourself.

Perseverance:  —­ Your diddler perseveres.  He is not readily discouraged.  Should even the banks break, he cares nothing about it.  He steadily pursues his end, and

Ut canis a corio nunquam absterrebitur uncto. so he never lets go of his game.

Ingenuity:  —­ Your diddler is ingenious.  He has constructiveness large.  He understands plot.  He invents and circumvents.  Were he not Alexander he would be Diogenes.  Were he not a diddler, he would be a maker of patent rat-traps or an angler for trout.

Audacity:  —­ Your diddler is audacious. —­ He is a bold man.  He carries the war into Africa.  He conquers all by assault.  He would not fear the daggers of Frey Herren.  With a little more prudence Dick Turpin would have made a good diddler; with a trifle less blarney, Daniel O’Connell; with a pound or two more brains Charles the Twelfth.

Nonchalance:  —­ Your diddler is nonchalant.  He is not at all nervous.  He never had any nerves.  He is never seduced into a flurry.  He is never put out —­ unless put out of doors.  He is cool —­ cool as a cucumber.  He is calm —­ “calm as a smile from Lady Bury.”  He is easy-easy as an old glove, or the damsels of ancient Baiae.

Originality:  —­ Your diddler is original —­ conscientiously so.  His thoughts are his own.  He would scorn to employ those of another.  A stale trick is his aversion.  He would return a purse, I am sure, upon discovering that he had obtained it by an unoriginal diddle.

Impertinence. —­ Your diddler is impertinent.  He swaggers.  He sets his arms a-kimbo.  He thrusts his hands in his trowsers’ pockets.  He sneers in your face.  He treads on your corns.  He eats your dinner, he drinks your wine, he borrows your money, he pulls your nose, he kicks your poodle, and he kisses your wife.

Grin:  —­ Your true diddler winds up all with a grin.  But 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.”