One must want humanity and be totally void of that tenderness which
denominates both a man and a Christian if we feel not some pity for
those who are brought to a violent and shameful death from a sudden and
rash act, excited either by necessity or through the frailty of human
nature sinking under misfortune or hurried into mischief by a sudden
transport of passion. I am persuaded, therefore, that the greater part,
if not all of my readers will feel the same emotions of tenderness and
compassion for the miserable youth of whom I am now going to speak.
Thomas Bradley was the son of an officer in the Custom-House at
Liverpool. The father took care of his education, and having qualified
him for a seafaring business in reading and writing, placed him therein.
He came up accordingly with the master of a vessel to London, where some
misfortunes befalling the said master, Thomas was turned out of his
employment and left to shift for himself. Want pinched him. He had no
friends, nor anybody to whom be might apply for relief, and in the
anguish with which his sufferings oppressed him, he unfortunately
resolved to steal rather than submit to starving or to begging. One fact
he committed, but could never be prevailed on to mention the time, the
person or the place.
The robbery for which he was condemned was upon a woman carrying home
another woman's riding-hood which she had borrowed; and he assaulting
her on the highway took it from her, which was valued at 25s. Upon this
he was capitally convicted at the next sessions at the Old Bailey, nor
could never be prevailed on by a person to apply for a pardon. On the
contrary, he said it was his greatest grief that notwithstanding all he
could do to stifle it, the news would reach his father, and break his
heart. He was told that such thoughts were better omitted than suffered
to disturb him, when he was on the point of going to another (and if he
repented thoroughly) to a better life; at which he sighed and said their
reasoning was very right, and he would comply with it if he could. From
that time he appeared more composed and cheerful, and resigned to his
fate. This temper he preserved to the time of his execution, and died
with as much courage and penitence as is ever seen in any of those
unhappy persons who suffer at the same place.
At the time of his death he was not quite nineteen years of age. He died
between the last mentioned malefactor and him whose life we are next to
relate.