JOYOUS VAGABOND.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume XLIII, 1 February 1909, Page 2

JOYOUS VAGABOND.

M'NEIL, HABITUAL CRIMINAL. SOME STORIES OF THE PAST. He is an individual with a -,-rave record and £*.eat cheerfulness, " tuis man who slipt cleverly oul of the capacious 1-inds of the gajljs or. Saturda/ iasl. C'ne of the nn : resourceful .-caj.-l-rls that c-v-.:r gut into grips '• ith L..w and Ord:r, he is at the sai.u I -wo one of the n;os: i.*toresting phsy.:h. logically. ll.j is not of Uu; Kilien-browed, hard-eyed type with a face distasteful enough to scare 7 -cAu; on the contra. y bo Va most io/frjs v.'<fbond,( with twirkling eyes' full of mischief, who insists on treating his profession frivolously and his persecutors fraternally. To hear a victim in the witness-box recount the wiles of M'Neil tickles the weaver of fables tremendously: truly it was an excellent story; all the better for the re-telling. His impudence, his charming daring, have combined to make this man a conspicuous figure in the annals of the Police Department, and he has horse-sense enough to know that the unexpected mostly succeed*-. Ho does the unexpected. Life is a huge joke, and he is consistently smiting people with his balloon. HIS FIRST LAPSE. An officer of wide experience in these matters gave a "Post" representative a few particulars concerning this M'NejJ and several of his kind. He also " narrated M' Neil's first lapse. It was in a quiet district where an old constable, nigh past his usefulness, was in charge. The lad was wanted on a charge of theft, and the aged officer repaired to the M'Neil pero's dwelling. The delinquent was not there, and the father promised to send his son to the police station when he came in. But he turned up at the station, and faced the Law. The Law said: "Ah, Archie, my boy, I want to see you. '" The boy looked at him carefully, and said: "Well, you see me now; what do you want?" Beforo the officer had time to reply M'Neil the younger waved his hand deprecatingly and knowingly, and told the discomfited constable that the ' ' spider is not coming in to-day, thank you!" Then he fled, and led the police a lively dance. It was a good bad begnning, and the youth has grown a man — young •enough yet; and since then M'Neil has set a merry tune, with the law always dancing attendance. Already classed an habitual criminal, he probably is careless about his future; a breach now and again will not matter much where there are so many. A ROMANTIC SWASHBUCKLER. M'Neil may be classed as a scoundrel both humorous and daring. C, who belonged to a period of two decades ago, was of the romantic swashbuckler type, though he did not altogether lack a sense of humour, as the story following will attest. He broke out of Wellington prison, and fled with to_o fleet a foot before his chasers. When tho "hounds of war" retired baffled, this notorious thief and housebreaker took up once again the practice of his profession, and entered a houso surreptitiously. He jvas a ormantic rogue, this one. The presence of a frock coat, plug hat, and kid gloves induced an inspiration. Shedding his nioro unsightly garb, "C. " donned the fine linen of the professional business man, and walked forth into tho city world, picking up a silver-mounted umbrella on his way. Attired in this fashon, his impudence led him to "do the block ' ' — along the Quay of all places. Swaggering thus k a sharp-eped and more familiar detective saw through the disguis*?. and the gay thief retired from active city life. THE GAOLER'S CASH-BOX. A gentloman called "Charlie" has an honoured name on the polico records. He. too, was one of thoso experts who rarely picked tho wrong house and rarely failed to pick locks intervening between him and treasure of gold and silver. Eventually came the slip, and Charlie landed inside the drab walls of the Hokitika Gaol. But stone did not a prison make for this resourceful individual; ho who could break in so easily might also break out. Oue hour, full of possibilite?, Cbarle broke bounds, and fled with the gaoler's cashbox, as a memento of his sojourn, against his dishonest heart. He was a bad lot, this runaway. His liberty was quickly curtailed. He woke up from a deep and dreamless slumber in a digger's tent to find his wrists handcuffed; the work of a subtle soft-handed detective. History reports that Charlie had a most abashed and regretful look. Fate had stacked the cards on him.' and all ho could do was to smile hopelessly and painfully. ESCAPED FBOM RLPA ISLAND. The story of the far-famed Jonathan Roberts, who, Leander-like, swam tho Hellespont between Ripa Island and the Canterbury mainland for love — of liberty — is an old one now. Roberts was convicted of a solitary offence— "lifting" a horse — and while engaged with a gang on the island, oluded the warders and slipped through a galvanised iron shed to the water — and liberty. Tho escapee fled over the hills, and later to the plains, where sympathetic souls laid side tracks foT the police, until Roberts suddenly vanished from local ken. His exploits in escape, much magnified, no doubt, gained him a lot ,of notoriety, and even moved poettasters to sing his deeds in, no doubt, a heroic metre. Fertile imaginations cloaked him in the robe of romance, and the small boy gloated over his alleged exploits of derring-do. Thus, surrounded by mystery, Roberts emigrated, and eight years after there were marvellous stories, full of coincidence, wherein it was told that the lifter of horses had become generalissimo (no less) of tho Chilian (South American) field forces. Which exemplifies to what heights imagination may lead one!