BOOK III

CHAPTER ONE

THE LOW AND PITIFUL BEHAVIOUR OF HEARTFREE; AND THE FOOLISH

CONDUCT OF HIS APPRENTICE.

His misfortunes did not entirely prevent Heartfree from closing

his eyes. On the contrary, he slept several hours the first night

of his confinement. However, he perhaps paid too severely dear

both for his repose and for a sweet dream which accompanied it,

and represented his little family in one of those tender scenes

which had frequently passed in the days of his happiness and

prosperity, when the provision they were making for the future

fortunes of their children used to be one of the most agreeable

topics of discourse with which he and his wife entertained

themselves. The pleasantness of this vision, therefore, served

only, on his awaking, to set forth his present misery with

additional horror, and to heighten the dreadful ideas which now

crowded on his mind.

He had spent a considerable time after his first rising from the

bed on which he had, without undressing, thrown himself, and now

began to wonder at Mrs. Heartfree's long absence; but as the mind

is desirous (and perhaps wisely too) to comfort itself with

drawing the most flattering conclusions from all events, so he

hoped the longer her stay was the more certain was his

deliverance. At length his impatience prevailed, and he was just

going to despatch a messenger to his own house when his apprentice

came to pay him a visit, and on his enquiry informed him that his

wife had departed in company with Mr. Wild many hours before, and

had carried all his most valuable effects with her; adding at the

same time that she had herself positively acquainted him she had

her husband's express orders for so doing, and that she was gone

to Holland.

It is the observation of many wise men, who have studied the

anatomy of the human soul with more attention than our young

physicians generally bestow on that of the body, that great and

violent surprize hath a different effect from that which is

wrought in a good housewife by perceiving any disorders in her

kitchen; who, on such occasions, commonly spreads the disorder,

not only over her whole family, but over the whole neighbourhood.

--Now, these great calamities, especially when sudden, tend to

stifle and deaden all the faculties, instead of rousing them; and

accordingly Herodotus tells us a story of Croesus king of Lydia,

who, on beholding his servants and courtiers led captive, wept

bitterly, but, when he saw his wife and children in that

condition, stood stupid and motionless; so stood poor Heartfree on

this relation of his apprentice, nothing moving but his colour,

which entirely forsook his countenance.

The apprentice, who had not in the least doubted the veracity of

his mistress, perceiving the surprize which too visibly appeared

in his master, became speechless likewise, and both remained

silent some minutes, gazing with astonishment and horror at each

other. At last Heartfree cryed out in an agony, "My wife deserted

me in my misfortunes!" "Heaven forbid, sir!" answered the other.

"And what is become of my poor children?" replied Heartfree. "They

are at home, sir," said the apprentice. "Heaven be praised! She

hath forsaken them too!" cries Heartfree: "fetch them hither this

instant. Go, my dear Jack, bring hither my little all which

remains now: fly, child, if thou dost not intend likewise to

forsake me in my afflictions." The youth answered he would die

sooner than entertain such a thought, and, begging his master to

be comforted, instantly obeyed his orders.

Heartfree, the moment the young man was departed, threw himself on

his bed in an agony of despair; but, recollecting himself after he

had vented the first sallies of his passion, he began to question

the infidelity of his wife as a matter impossible. He ran over in

his thoughts the uninterrupted tenderness which she had always

shewn him, and, for a minute, blamed the rashness of his belief

against her; till the many circumstances of her having left him so

long, and neither writ nor sent to him since her departure with

all his effects and with Wild, of whom he was not before without

suspicion, and, lastly and chiefly, her false pretence to his

commands, entirely turned the scale, and convinced him of her

disloyalty.

While he was in these agitations of mind the good apprentice, who

had used the utmost expedition, brought his children to him. He

embraced them with the most passionate fondness, and imprinted

numberless kisses on their little lips. The little girl flew to

him with almost as much eagerness as he himself exprest at her

sight, and cryed out, "O papa, why did you not come home to poor

mamma all this while? I thought you would not have left your

little Nancy so long." After which he asked her for her mother,

and was told she had kissed them both in the morning, and cried

very much for his absence. All which brought a flood of tears into

the eyes of this weak, silly man, who had not greatness sufficient

to conquer these low efforts of tenderness and humanity.

He then proceeded to enquire of the maid-servant, who acquainted

him that she knew no more than that her mistress had taken leave

of her children in the morning with many tears and kisses, and had

recommended them in the most earnest manner to her care; she said

she had promised faithfully to take care of them, and would, while

they were entrusted to her, fulfil her promise. For which

profession Heartfree expressed much gratitude to her, and, after

indulging himself with some little fondnesses which we shall not

relate, he delivered his children into the good woman's hands, and

dismissed her.

CHAPTER TWO

A SOLILOQUY OF HEARTFREE'S, FULL OF LOW AND BASE IDEAS, WITHOUT A

SYLLABLE OF GREATNESS.

Being now alone, he sat some short time silent, and then burst

forth into the following soliloquy:--

"What shall I do? Shall I abandon myself to a dispirited despair,

or fly in the face of the Almighty? Surely both are unworthy of a

wise man; for what can be more vain than weakly to lament my

fortune if irretrievable, or, if hope remains, to offend that

Being who can most strongly support it? but are my passions then

voluntary? Am I so absolutely their master that I can resolve with

myself, so far only will I grieve? Certainly no. Reason, however

we flatter ourselves, hath not such despotic empire in our minds,

that it can, with imperial voice, hush all our sorrow in a moment.

Where then is its use? For either it is an empty sound, and we are

deceived in thinking we have reason, or it is given us to some

end, and hath a part assigned it by the all-wise Creator. Why,

what can its office be other than justly to weigh the worth of all

things, and to direct us to that perfection of human wisdom which

proportions our esteem of every object by its real merit, and

prevents us from over or undervaluing whatever we hope for, we

enjoy, or we lose. It doth not foolishly say to us, Be not glad,

or, Be not sorry, which would be as vain and idle as to bid the

purling river cease to run, or the raging wind to blow. It

prevents us only from exulting, like children, when we receive a

toy, or from lamenting when we are deprived of it. Suppose then I

have lost the enjoyments of this world, and my expectation of

future pleasure and profit is for ever disappointed, what relief

can my reason afford? What, unless it can shew me I had fixed my

affections on a toy; that what I desired was not, by a wise man,

eagerly to be affected, nor its loss violently deplored? for there

are toys adapted to all ages, from the rattle to the throne; and

perhaps the value of all is equal to their several possessors; for

if the rattle pleases the ear of the infant, what can the flattery

of sycophants give more to the prince? The latter is as far from

examining into the reality and source of his pleasure as the

former; for if both did, they must both equally despise it. And

surely, if we consider them seriously, and compare them together,

we shall be forced to conclude all those pomps and pleasures of

which men are so fond, and which, through so much danger and

difficulty, with such violence and villany, they pursue, to be as

worthless trifles as any exposed to sale in a toy-shop. I have

often noted my little girl viewing, with eager eyes, a jointed

baby; I have marked the pains and solicitations she hath used till

I have been prevailed on to indulge her with it. At her first

obtaining it, what joy hath sparkled in her countenance! with what

raptures hath she taken possession! but how little satisfaction

hath she found in it! What pains to work out her amusement from

it! Its dress must be varied; the tinsel ornaments which first

caught her eyes produce no longer pleasure; she endeavours to make

it stand and walk in vain, and is constrained herself to supply it

with conversation. In a day's time it is thrown by and neglected,

and some less costly toy preferred to it. How like the situation

of this child is that of every man! What difficulties in the

pursuit of his desires! what inanity in the possession of most,

and satiety in those which seem more real and substantial! The

delights of most men are as childish and as superficial as that of

my little girl; a feather or a fiddle are their pursuits and their

pleasures through life, even to their ripest years, if such men

may be said to attain any ripeness at all. But let us survey those

whose understandings are of a more elevated and refined temper;

how empty do they soon find the world of enjoyments worth their

desire or attaining! How soon do they retreat to solitude and

contemplation, to gardening and planting, and such rural

amusements, where their trees and they enjoy the air and the sun

in common, and both vegetate with very little difference between

them. But suppose (which neither truth nor wisdom will allow) we

could admit something more valuable and substantial in these

blessings, would not the uncertainty of their possession be alone

sufficient to lower their price? How mean a tenure is that at the

will of fortune, which chance, fraud, and rapine are every day so

likely to deprive us of, and often the more likely by how much the

greater worth our possessions are of! Is it not to place our

affections on a bubble in the water, or on a picture in the

clouds? What madman would build a fine house or frame a beautiful

garden on land in which he held so uncertain an interest? But

again, was all this less undeniable, did Fortune, the lady of our

manor, lease to us for our lives, of how little consideration must

even this term appear! For, admitting that these pleasures were

not liable to be torn from us, how certainly must we be torn from

them! Perhaps to-morrow--nay, or even sooner; for as the excellent

poet says--

Where is to-morrow?--In the other world.

To thousands this is true, and the reverse

Is sure to none.

But if I have no further hope in this world, can I have none

beyond it? Surely those laborious writers, who have taken such

infinite pains to destroy or weaken all the proofs of futurity,

have not so far succeeded as to exclude us from hope. That active

principle in man which with such boldness pushes us on through

every labour and difficulty, to attain the most distant and most

improbable event in this world, will not surely deny us a little

flattering prospect of those beautiful mansions which, if they

could be thought chimerical, must be allowed the loveliest which

can entertain the eye of man; and to which the road, if we

understand it rightly, appears to have so few thorns and briars in

it, and to require so little labour and fatigue from those who

shall pass through it, that its ways are truly said to be ways of

pleasantness, and all its paths to be those of peace. If the

proofs of Christianity be as strong as I imagine them, surely

enough may be deduced from that ground only, to comfort and

support the most miserable man in his afflictions. And this I

think my reason tells me, that, if the professors and propagators

of infidelity are in the right, the losses which death brings to

the virtuous are not worth their lamenting; but if these are, as

certainly they seem, in the wrong, the blessings it procures them

are not sufficiently to be coveted and rejoiced at.

"On my own account, then, I have no cause for sorrow, but on my

children's!--Why, the same Being to whose goodness and power I

intrust my own happiness is likewise as able and as willing to

procure theirs. Nor matters it what state of life is allotted for

them, whether it be their fate to procure bread with their labour,

or to eat it at the sweat of others. Perhaps, if we consider the

case with proper attention, or resolve it with due sincerity, the

former is much the sweeter. The hind may be more happy than the

lord, for his desires are fewer, and those such as are attended

with more hope and less fear. I will do my utmost to lay the

foundations of my children's happiness, I will carefully avoid

educating them in a station superior to their fortune, and for the

event trust to that being in whom whoever rightly confides, must

be superior to all worldly sorrows."

In this low manner did this poor wretch proceed to argue, till he

had worked himself up into an enthusiasm which by degrees soon

became invulnerable to every human attack; so that when Mr. Snap

acquainted him with the return of the writ, and that he must carry

him to Newgate, he received the message as Socrates did the news

of the ship's arrival, and that he was to prepare for death.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEREIN OUR HERO PROCEEDS IN THE ROAD TO GREATNESS.

But we must not detain our reader too long with these low

characters. He is doubtless as impatient as the audience at the

theatre till the principal figure returns on the stage; we will

therefore indulge his inclination, and pursue the actions of the

Great Wild.

There happened to be in the stage-coach in which Mr. Wild

travelled from Dover a certain young gentleman who had sold an

estate in Kent, and was going to London to receive the money.

There was likewise a handsome young woman who had left her parents

at Canterbury, and was proceeding to the same city, in order (as

she informed her fellow-travellers) to make her fortune. With this

girl the young spark was so much enamoured that he publickly

acquainted her with the purpose of his journey, and offered her a

considerable sum in hand and a settlement if she would consent to

return with him into the country, where she would be at a safe

distance from her relations. Whether she accepted this proposal or

no we are not able with any tolerable certainty to deliver: but

Wild, the moment he heard of his money, began to cast about in his

mind by what means he might become master of it. He entered into a

long harangue about the methods of carrying money safely on the

road, and said, "He had at that time two bank-bills of a hundred

pounds each sewed in his coat; which," added he, "is so safe a

way, that it is almost impossible I should be in any danger of

being robbed by the most cunning highwayman."

The young gentleman, who was no descendant of Solomon, or, if he

was, did not, any more than some other descendants of wise men,

inherit the wisdom of his ancestor, greatly approved Wild's

ingenuity, and, thanking him for his information, declared he

would follow his example when he returned into the country; by

which means he proposed to save the premium commonly taken for the

remittance. Wild had then no more to do but to inform himself

rightly of the time of the gentleman's journey, which he did with

great certainty before they separated.

At his arrival in town he fixed on two whom he regarded as the

most resolute of his gang for this enterprise; and, accordingly,

having summoned the principal, or most desperate, as he imagined

him, of these two (for he never chose to communicate in the

presence of more than one), he proposed to him the robbing and

murdering this gentleman.

Mr. Marybone (for that was the gentleman's name, to whom he

applied) readily agreed to the robbery, but he hesitated at the

murder. He said, as to robbery, he had, on much weighing and

considering the matter, very well reconciled his conscience to it;

for, though that noble kind of robbery which was executed on the

highway was, from the cowardice of mankind, less frequent, yet the

baser and meaner species, sometimes called cheating, but more

commonly known by the name of robbery within the law, was in a

manner universal. He did not therefore pretend to the reputation

of being so much honester than other people; but could by no means

satisfy himself in the commission of murder, which was a sin of

the most heinous nature, and so immediately prosecuted by God's

judgment that it never passed undiscovered or unpunished.

Wild, with the utmost disdain in his countenance, answered as

follows: "Art thou he whom I have selected out of my whole gang

for this glorious undertaking, and dost thou cant of God's revenge

against murder? You have, it seems, reconciled your conscience (a

pretty word) to robbery, from its being so common. Is it then the

novelty of murder which deters you? Do you imagine that guns, and

pistols, and swords, and knives, are the only instruments of

death? Look into the world and see the numbers whom broken

fortunes and broken hearts bring untimely to the grave. To omit

those glorious heroes who, to their immortal honour, have

massacred nations, what think you of private persecution,

treachery, and slander, by which the very souls of men are in a

manner torn from their bodies? Is it not more generous, nay, more

good-natured, to send a man to his rest, than, after having

plundered him of all he hath, or from malice or malevolence

deprived him of his character, to punish him with a languishing

death, or, what is worse, a languishing life? Murder, therefore,

is not so uncommon as you weakly conceive it, though, as you said

of robbery, that more noble kind which lies within the paw of the

law may be so. But this is the most innocent in him who doth it,

and the most eligible to him who is to suffer it. Believe me, lad,

the tongue of a viper is less hurtful than that of a slanderer,

and the gilded scales of a rattle-snake less dreadful than the

purse of the oppressor. Let me therefore hear no more of your

scruples; but consent to my proposal without further hesitation,

unless, like a woman, you are afraid of blooding your cloaths, or,

like a fool, are terrified with the apprehensions of being hanged

in chains. Take my word for it, you had better be an honest man

than half a rogue. Do not think of continuing in my gang without

abandoning yourself absolutely to my pleasure; for no man shall

ever receive a favour at my hands who sticks at anything, or is

guided by any other law than that of my will."

Wild then ended his speech, which had not the desired effect on

Marybone: he agreed to the robbery, but would not undertake the

murder, as Wild (who feared that, by Marybone's demanding to

search the gentleman's coat, he might hazard suspicion himself)

insisted. Marybone was immediately entered by Wild in his black-

book, and was presently after impeached and executed as a fellow

on whom his leader could not place sufficient dependance; thus

falling, as many rogues do, a sacrifice, not to his roguery, but

to his conscience.

CHAPTER FOUR

IN WHICH A YOUNG HERO, OF WONDERFUL GOOD PROMISE, MAKES HIS FIRST

APPEARANCE, WITH MANY OTHER GREAT MATTERS.

Our hero next applied himself to another of his gang, who

instantly received his orders, and, instead of hesitating at a

single murder, asked if he should blow out the brains of all the

passengers, coachman and all. But Wild, whose moderation we have

before noted, would not permit him; and therefore, having given

him an exact description of the devoted person, with his other

necessary instructions, he dismissed him, with the strictest

orders to avoid, if possible, doing hurt to any other person.

The name of this youth, who will hereafter make some figure in

this history, being the Achates of our AEneas, or rather the

Hephaestion of our Alexander, was Fireblood. He had every

qualification to make second-rate GREAT MAN; or, in other words,

he was completely equipped for the tool of a real or first-rate

GREAT MAN. We shall therefore (which is the properest way of

dealing with this kind of GREATNESS) describe him negatively, and

content ourselves with telling our reader what qualities he had

not; in which number were humanity, modesty, and fear, not one

grain of any of which was mingled in his whole composition.

We will now leave this youth, who was esteemed the most promising

of the whole gang, and whom Wild often declared to be one of the

prettiest lads he had ever seen, of which opinion, indeed, were

most other people of his acquaintance; we will however leave him

at his entrance on this enterprize, and keep our attention fixed

on our hero, whom we shall observe taking large strides towards

the summit of human glory.

Wild, immediately at his return to town, went to pay a visit to

Miss Laetitia Snap; for he had that weakness of suffering himself

to be enslaved by women, so naturally incident to men of heroic

disposition; to say the truth, it might more properly be called a

slavery to his own appetite; for, could he have satisfied that, he

had not cared three farthings what had become of the little tyrant

for whom he professed so violent a regard. Here he was informed

that Mr. Heartfree had been conveyed to Newgate the day before,

the writ being then returnable. He was somewhat concerned at this

news; not from any compassion for the misfortunes of Heartfree,

whom he hated with such inveteracy that one would have imagined he

had suffered the same injuries from him which he had done towards

him. His concern therefore had another motive; in fact, he was

uneasy at the place of Mr. Heartfree's confinement, as it was to

be the scene of his future glory, and where consequently he should

be frequently obliged to see a face which hatred, and not shame,

made him detest the sight of.

To prevent this, therefore, several methods suggested themselves

to him. At first he thought of removing him out of the way by the

ordinary method of murder, which he doubted not but Fireblood

would be very ready to execute; for that youth had, at their last

interview, sworn, D--n his eyes, he thought there was no better

pastime than blowing a man's brains out. But, besides the danger

of this method, it did not look horrible nor barbarous enough for

the last mischief which he should do to Heartfree. Considering,

therefore, a little farther with himself, he at length came to a

resolution to hang him, if possible, the very next session.

Now, though the observation--how apt men are to hate those they

injure, or how unforgiving they are of the injuries they do

themselves, be common enough, yet I do not remember to have ever

seen the reason of this strange phaenomenon as at first it

appears. Know therefore, reader, that with much and severe

scrutiny we have discovered this hatred to be founded on the

passion of fear, and to arise from an apprehension that the person

whom we have ourselves greatly injured will use all possible

endeavours to revenge and retaliate the injuries we have done him.

An opinion so firmly established in bad and great minds (and those

who confer injuries on others have seldom very good or mean ones)

that no benevolence, nor even beneficence, on the injured side,

can eradicate it. On the contrary, they refer all these acts of

kindness to imposture and design of lulling their suspicion, till

an opportunity offers of striking a surer and severer blow; and

thus, while the good man who hath received it hath truly forgotten

the injury, the evil mind which did it hath it in lively and fresh

remembrance.

As we scorn to keep any discoveries secret from our readers, whose

instruction, as well as diversion, we have greatly considered in

this history, we have here digressed somewhat to communicate the

following short lesson to those who are simple and well inclined:

though as a Christian thou art obliged, and we advise thee, to

forgive thy enemy, NEVER TRUST THE MAN WHO HATH REASON TO SUSPECT

THAT YOU KNOW HE HATH INJURED YOU.

CHAPTER FIVE

MORE AND MORE GREATNESS, UNPARALLELED IN HISTORY OR ROMANCE.

In order to accomplish this great and noble scheme, which the vast

genius of Wild had contrived, the first necessary step was to

regain the confidence of Heartfree. But, however necessary this

was, it seemed to be attended with such insurmountable

difficulties, that even our hero for some time despaired of

success. He was greatly superior to all mankind in the steadiness

of his countenance, but this undertaking seemed to require more of

that noble quality than had ever been the portion of a mortal.

However, at last he resolved to attempt it, and from his success I

think we may fairly assert that what was said by the Latin poet of

labour, that it conquers all things, is much more true when

applied to impudence.

When he had formed his plan he went to Newgate, and burst

resolutely into the presence of Heartfree, whom he eagerly

embraced and kissed; and then, first arraigning his own rashness,

and afterwards lamenting his unfortunate want of success, he

acquainted him with the particulars of what had happened;

concealing only that single incident of his attack on the other's

wife, and his motive to the undertaking, which, he assured

Heartfree, was a desire to preserve his effects from a statute of

bankruptcy.

The frank openness of this declaration, with the composure of

countenance with which it was delivered; his seeming only ruffled

by the concern for his friend's misfortune; the probability of

truth attending it, joined to the boldness and disinterested

appearance of this visit, together with his many professions of

immediate service at a time when he could not have the least

visible motive from self-love; and above all, his offering him

money, the last and surest token of friendship, rushed with such

united force on the well-disposed heart, as it is vulgarly called,

of this simple man, that they instantly staggered and soon

subverted all the determination he had before made in prejudice of

Wild, who, perceiving the balance to be turning in his favour,

presently threw in a hundred imprecations on his own folly and

ill-advised forwardness to serve his friend, which had thus

unhappily produced his ruin; he added as many curses on the count,

whom he vowed to pursue with revenge all over Europe; lastly, he

cast in some grains of comfort, assuring Heartfree that his wife

was fallen into the gentlest hands, that she would be carried no

farther than Dunkirk, whence she might very easily be redeemed.

Heartfree, to whom the lightest presumption of his wife's fidelity

would have been more delicious than the absolute restoration of

all his jewels, and who, indeed, had with the utmost difficulty

been brought to entertain the slightest suspicion of her

inconstancy, immediately abandoned all distrust of both her and

his friend, whose sincerity (luckily for Wild's purpose) seemed to

him to depend on the same evidence. He then embraced our hero, who

had in his countenance all the symptoms of the deepest concern,

and begged him to be comforted; saying that the intentions, rather

than the actions of men, conferred obligations; that as to the

event of human affairs, it was governed either by chance or some

superior agent; that friendship was concerned only in the

direction of our designs; and suppose these failed of success, or

produced an event never so contrary to their aim, the merit of a

good intention was not in the least lessened, but was rather

entitled to compassion.

Heartfree however was soon curious enough to inquire how Wild had

escaped the captivity which his wife then suffered. Here likewise

he recounted the whole truth, omitting only the motive to the

French captain's cruelty, for which he assigned a very different

reason, namely, his attempt to secure Heartfree's jewels. Wild

indeed always kept as much truth as was possible in everything;

and this he said was turning the cannon of the enemy upon

themselves.

Wild, having thus with admirable and truly laudable conduct

achieved the first step, began to discourse on the badness of the

world, and particularly to blame the severity of creditors, who

seldom or never attended to any unfortunate circumstances, but

without mercy inflicted confinement on the debtor, whose body the

law, with very unjustifiable rigour, delivered into their power.

He added, that for his part, he looked on this restraint to be as

heavy a punishment as any appointed by law for the greatest

offenders. That the loss of liberty was, in his opinion, equal to,

if not worse, than the loss of life; that he had always

determined, if by any accident or misfortune he had been subjected

to the former, he would run the greatest risque of the latter to

rescue himself from it; which he said, if men did not want

resolution, was always enough; for that it was ridiculous to

conceive that two or three men could confine two or three hundred,

unless the prisoners were either fools or cowards, especially when

they were neither chained nor fettered. He went on in this manner

till, perceiving the utmost attention in Heartfree, he ventured to

propose to him an endeavour to make his escape, which he said

might easily be executed; that he would himself raise a party in

the prison, and that, if a murder or two should happen in the

attempt, he (Heartfree) might keep free from any share either in

the guilt or in the danger.

There is one misfortune which attends all great men and their

schemes, viz.--that, in order to carry them into execution, they

are obliged, in proposing their purpose to their tools, to

discover themselves to be of that disposition in which certain

little writers have advised mankind to place no confidence; an

advice which hath been sometimes taken. Indeed, many

inconveniences arise to the said great men from these scribblers

publishing without restraint their hints or alarms to society; and

many great and glorious schemes have been thus frustrated;

wherefore it were to be wished that in all well-regulated

governments such liberties should be by some wholesome laws

restrained, and all writers inhibited from venting any other

instructions to the people than what should be first approved and

licensed by the said great men, or their proper instruments or

tools; by which means nothing would ever be published but what

made for the advancing their most noble projects.

Heartfree, whose suspicions were again raised by this advice,

viewing Wild with inconceivable disdain, spoke as follows: "There

is one thing the loss of which I should deplore infinitely beyond

that of liberty and of life also; I mean that of a good

conscience; a blessing which he who possesses can never be

thoroughly unhappy; for the bitterest potion of life is by this so

sweetened, that it soon becomes palatable; whereas, without it,

the most delicate enjoyments quickly lose all their relish, and

life itself grows insipid, or rather nauseous, to us. Would you

then lessen my misfortunes by robbing me of what hath been my only

comfort under them, and on which I place my dependence of being

relieved from them? I have read that Socrates refused to save his

life by breaking the laws of his country, and departing from his

prison when it was open. Perhaps my virtue would not go so far;

but heaven forbid liberty should have such charms to tempt me to

the perpetration of so horrid a crime as murder! As to the poor

evasion of committing it by other hands, it might be useful indeed

to those who seek only the escape from temporal punishment, but

can be of no service to excuse me to that Being whom I chiefly

fear offending; nay, it would greatly aggravate my guilt by so

impudent an endeavour to impose upon Him, and by so wickedly

involving others in my crime. Give me, therefore, no more advice

of this kind; for this is my great comfort in all my afflictions,

that it is in the power of no enemy to rob me of my conscience,

nor will I ever be so much my own enemy as to injure it."

Though our hero heard all this with proper contempt, he made no

direct answer, but endeavoured to evade his proposal as much as

possible, which he did with admirable dexterity: this method of

getting tolerably well off, when you are repulsed in your attack

on a man's conscience, may be stiled the art of retreating, in

which the politician, as well as the general, hath sometimes a

wonderful opportunity of displaying his great abilities in his

profession.

Wild, having made this admirable retreat, and argued away all

design of involving his friend in the guilt of murder, concluded,

however, that he thought him rather too scrupulous in not

attempting his escape and then, promising to use all such means as

the other would permit in his service, took his leave for the

present. Heartfree, having indulged himself an hour with his

children, repaired to rest, which he enjoyed quiet and

undisturbed; whilst Wild, disdaining repose, sat up all night,

consulting how he might bring about the final destruction of his

friend, without being beholden to any assistance from himself,

which he now despaired of procuring. With the result of these

consultations we shall acquaint our reader in good time, but at

present we have matters of much more consequence to relate to him.

CHAPTER SIX

THE EVENT OF FIREBLOOD'S ADVENTURE; AND A THREAT OF MARRIAGE,

WHICH MIGHT HAVE BEEN CONCLUDED EITHER AT SMITHFIELD OR ST.

JAMES'S.

Fireblood returned from his enterprise unsuccessful. The gentleman

happened to go home another way than he had intended; so that the

whole design miscarried. Fireblood had indeed robbed the coach,

and had wantonly discharged a pistol into it, which lightly

wounded one of the passengers in the arm. The booty he met with

was not very considerable, though much greater than that with

which he acquainted Wild; for of eleven pounds in money, two

silver watches, and a wedding-ring, he produced no more than two

guineas and the ring, which he protested with numberless oaths was

his whole booty. However, when an advertisement of the robbery was

published, with a reward promised for the ring and the watches,

Fireblood was obliged to confess the whole, and to acquaint our

hero where he pawned the watches; which Wild, taking the full

value of them for his pains, restored to the right owner.

He did not fail catchising his young friend on this occasion. He

said he was sorry to see any of his gang guilty of a breach of

honour; that without honour PRIGGERY was at an end; that if a prig

had but honour he would overlook every vice in the world. "But,

nevertheless," said he, "I will forgive you this time, as you are

a hopeful lad, and I hope never afterwards to find you delinquent

in this great point."

Wild had now brought his gang to great regularity: he was obeyed

and feared by them all. He had likewise established an office,

where all men who were robbed, paying the value only (or a little

more) of their goods, might have them again. This was of notable

use to several persons who had lost pieces of plate they had

received from their grand-mothers; to others who had a particular

value for certain rings, watches, heads of canes, snuff-boxes,

&c., for which they would not have taken twenty times as much as

they were worth, either because they had them a little while or a

long time, or that somebody else had had them before, or from some

other such excellent reason, which often stamps a greater value on

a toy than the great Bubble-boy himself would have the impudence

to set upon it.

By these means he seemed in so promising a way of procuring a

fortune, and was regarded in so thriving a light by all the

gentlemen of his acquaintance, as by the keeper and turnkeys of

Newgate, by Mr. Snap, and others of his occupation, that Mr. Snap

one day, taking Mr. Wild the elder aside, very seriously proposed

what they had often lightly talked over, a strict union between

their families, by marrying his daughter Tishy to our hero. This

proposal was very readily accepted by the old gentleman, who

promised to acquaint his son with it.

On the morrow on which this message was delivered, our hero,

little dreaming of the happiness which, of its own accord, was

advancing so near towards him, had called Fireblood to him; and,

after informing that youth of the violence of his passion for the

young lady, and assuring him what confidence he reposed in him and

his honour, he despatched him to Miss Tishy with the following

letter; which we here insert, not only as we take it to be

extremely curious, but to be a much better pattern for that

epistolary kind of writing which is generally called love-letters

than any to be found in the academy of compliments, and which we

challenge all the beaus of our time to excel either in matter or

spelling.

"MOST DIVINE and ADWHORABLE CREETURE,--I doubt not but those IIs,

briter than the son, which have kindled such a flam in my hart,

have likewise the faculty of seeing it. It would be the hiest

preassumption to imagin you eggnorant of my loav. No, madam, I

sollemly purtest, that of all the butys in the unaversal glob,

there is none kapable of hateracting my IIs like you. Corts and

pallaces would be to me deserts without your kumpany, and with it

a wilderness would have more charms than haven itself. For I hop

you will beleve me when I sware every place in the univarse is a

haven with you. I am konvinced you must be sinsibel of my violent

passion for you, which, if I endevored to hid it, would be as

impossible as for you, or the son, to hid your buty's. I assure

you I have not slept a wink since I had the hapness of seeing you

last; therefore hop you will, out of Kumpassion, let me have the

honour of seeing you this afternune; for I am, with the greatest

adwhoration,

"Most deivine creeture, Iour most passionate amirer, Adwhorer, and

slave, JONATHAN WYLD."

If the spelling of this letter be not so strictly orthographical,

the reader will be pleased to remember that such a defect might be

worthy of censure in a low and scholastic character, but can be no

blemish in that sublime greatness of which we endeavour to raise a

complete idea in this history. In which kind of composition

spelling, or indeed any kind of human literature, hath never been

thought a necessary ingredient; for if these sort of great

personages can but complot and contrive their noble schemes, and

hack and hew mankind sufficiently, there will never be wanting fit

and able persons who can spell to record their praises. Again, if

it should be observed that the stile of this letter doth not

exactly correspond with that of our hero's speeches, which we have

here recorded, we answer, it is sufficient if in these the

historian adheres faithfully to the matter, though he embellishes

the diction with some flourishes of his own eloquence, without

which the excellent speeches recorded in antient historians

(particularly in Sallust) would have scarce been found in their

writings. Nay, even amongst the moderns, famous as they are for

elocution, it may be doubted whether those inimitable harangues

published in the monthly magazines came literally from the mouths

of the HURGOS, &c., as they are there inserted, or whether we may

not rather suppose one historian of great eloquence hath borrowed

the matter only, and adorned it with those rhetorical showers for

which many of the said HURGOS are not so extremely eminent.

CHAPTER SEVEN

MATTERS PRELIMINARY TO THE MARRIAGE BETWEEN MR. JONATHAN WILD AND

THE CHASTE LAETITIA.

But to proceed with our history; Fireblood, having received this

letter, and promised on his honour, with many voluntary

asseverations, to discharge his embassy faithfully, went to visit

the fair Laetitia. The lady, having opened the letter and read it,

put on an air of disdain, and told Mr. Fireblood she could not

conceive what Mr. Wild meant by troubling her with his

impertinence; she begged him to carry the letter back again,

saying, had she known from whom it came, she would have been d--d

before she had opened it. "But with you, young gentleman," says

she, "I am not in the least angry. I am rather sorry that so

pretty a young man should be employed in such an errand." She

accompanied these words with so tender an accent and so wanton a

leer, that Fireblood, who was no backward youth, began to take her

by the hand, and proceeded so warmly, that, to imitate his actions

with the rapidity of our narration, he in a few minutes ravished

this fair creature, or at least would have ravished her, if she

had not, by a timely compliance, prevented him.

Fireblood, after he had ravished as much as he could, returned to

Wild, and acquainted him as far as any wise man would, with what

had passed; concluding with many praises of the young lady's

beauty, with whom, he said, if his honour would have permitted

him, he should himself have fallen in love; but, d--n him if he

would not sooner be torn to pieces by wild horses than even think

of injuring his friend. He asserted indeed, and swore so heartily,

that, had not Wild been so thoroughly convinced of the impregnable

chastity of the lady, he might have suspected his success;

however, he was, by these means, entirely satisfied of his

friend's inclination towards his mistress.

Thus constituted were the love affairs of our hero, when his

father brought him Mr. Snap's proposal. The reader must know very

little of love, or indeed of anything else, if he requires any

information concerning the reception which this proposal met with.

Not guilty never sounded sweeter in the ears of a prisoner at the

bar, nor the sound of a reprieve to one at the gallows, than did

every word of the old gentleman in the ears of our hero. He gave

his father full power to treat in his name, and desired nothing

more than expedition.

The old people now met, and Snap, who had information from his

daughter of the violent passion of her lover, endeavoured to

improve it to the best advantage, and would have not only declined

giving her any fortune himself, but have attempted to cheat her of

what she owed to the liberality of her relations, particularly of

a pint silver caudle-cup, the gift of her grandmother. However, in

this the young lady herself afterwards took care to prevent him.

As to the old Mr. Wild, he did not sufficiently attend to all the

designs of Snap, as his faculties were busily employed in designs

of his own, to overreach (or, as others express it, to cheat) the

said Mr. Snap, by pretending to give his son a whole number for a

chair, when in reality he was intitled to a third only.

While matters were thus settling between the old folks the young

lady agreed to admit Mr. Wild's visits, and, by degrees, began to

entertain him with all the shew of affection which the great

natural reserve of her temper, and the greater artificial reserve

of her education, would permit. At length, everything being agreed

between their parents, settlements made, and the lady's fortune

(to wit, seventeen pounds and nine shillings in money and goods)

paid down, the day for their nuptials was fixed, and they were

celebrated accordingly.

Most private histories, as well as comedies, end at this period;

the historian and the poet both concluding they have done enough

for their hero when they have married him; or intimating rather

that the rest of his life must be a dull calm of happiness, very

delightful indeed to pass through, but somewhat insipid to relate;

and matrimony in general must, I believe, without any dispute, be

allowed to be this state of tranquil felicity, including so little

variety, that, like Salisbury Plain, it affords only one prospect,

a very pleasant one it must be confessed, but the same.

Now there was all the probability imaginable that this contract

would have proved of such happy note, both from the great

accomplishments of the young lady, who was thought to be possessed

of every qualification necessary to make the marriage state happy,

and from the truly ardent passion of Mr. Wild; but, whether it was

that nature and fortune had great designs for him to execute, and

would not suffer his vast abilities to be lost and sunk in the

arms of a wife, or whether neither nature nor fortune had any hand

in the matter, is a point I will mot determine. Certain it is that

this match did not produce that serene state we have mentioned

above, but resembled the most turbulent and ruffled, rather than

the most calm sea.

I cannot here omit a conjecture, ingenious enough, of a friend of

mine, who had a long intimacy in the Wild family. He hath often

told me he fancied one reason of the dissatisfactions which

afterwards fell out between Wild and his lady, arose from the

number of gallants to whom she had, before marriage, granted

favours; for, says he, and indeed very probable it is too, the

lady might expect from her husband what she had before received

from several, and, being angry not to find one man as good as ten,

she had, from that indignation, taken those steps which we cannot

perfectly justify.

From this person I received the following dialogue, which he

assured me he had overheard and taken down verbatim. It passed on

the day fortnight after they were married.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A DIALOGUE MATRIMONIAL, WHICH PASSED BETWEEN JONATHAN WILD, ESQ.,

AND LAETITIA HIS WIFE, ON THE MORNING OF THE DAY FORTNIGHT ON

WHICH HIS NUPTIALS WERE CELEBRATED; WHICH CONCLUDED MORE AMICABLY

THAN THOSE DEBATES GENERALLY DO.

Jonathan. My dear, I wish you would lie a little longer in bed

this morning.

Laetitia. Indeed I cannot; I am engaged to breakfast with Jack

Strongbow.

Jonathan. I don't know what Jack Strongbow doth so often at my

house. I assure you I am uneasy at it; for, though I have no

suspicion of your virtue, yet it may injure your reputation in the

opinion of my neighbours.

Laetitia. I don't trouble my head about my neighbours; and they

shall no more tell me what company I am to keep than my husband

shall.

Jonathan. A good wife would keep no company which made her husband

uneasy.

Laetitia. You might have found one of those good wives, sir, if

you had pleased; I had no objection to it.

Jonathan. I thought I had found one in you.

Laetitia. You did! I am very much obliged to you for thinking me

so poor-spirited a creature; but I hope to convince you to the

contrary. What, I suppose you took me for a raw senseless girl,

who knew nothing what other married women do!

Jonathan. No matter what I took you for: I have taken you for

better and worse.

Laetitia. And at your own desire too; for I am sure you never had

mine. I should not have broken my heart if Mr. Wild had thought

proper to bestow himself on any other more happy woman. Ha, ha!

Jonathan. I hope, madam, you don't imagine that was not in my

power, or that I married you out of any kind of necessity.

Laetitia. O no, sir; I am convinced there are silly women enough.

And far be it from me to accuse you of any necessity for a wife. I

believe you could have been very well contented with the state of

a bachelor; I have no reason to complain of your necessities; but

that, you know, a woman cannot tell beforehand.

Jonathan. I can't guess what you would insinuate, for I believe no

woman had ever less reason to complain of her husband's want of

fondness.

Laetitia. Then some, I am certain, have great reason to complain

of the price they give for them. But I know better things. (These

words were spoken with a very great air, and toss of the head.)

Jonathan. Well, my sweeting, I will make it impossible for you to

wish me more fond.

Laetitia. Pray, Mr. Wild, none of this nauseous behaviour, nor

those odious words. I wish you were fond! I assure you, I don't

know what you would pretend to insinuate of me. I have no wishes

which misbecome a virtuous woman. No, nor should not, if I had

married for love. And especially now, when nobody, I am sure, can

suspect me of any such thing.

Jonathan. If you did not marry for love why did you marry?

Laetitia. Because it was convenient, and my parents forced me.

Jonathan. I hope, madam, at least, you will not tell me to my face

you have made your convenience of me.

Laetitia. I have made nothing of you; nor do I desire the honour

of making anything of you.

Jonathan. Yes, you have made a husband of me.

Laetitia. No, you made yourself so; for I repeat once more it was

not my desire, but your own.

Jonathan. You should think yourself obliged to me for that desire.

Laetitia. La, sir! you was not so singular in it. I was not in

despair. I have had other offers, and better too.

Jonathan. I wish you had accepted them with all my heart.

Laetitia. I must tell you, Mr. Wild, this is a very brutish manner

in treating a woman to whom you have such obligations; but I know

how to despise it, and to despise you too for shewing it me.

Indeed I am well enough paid for the foolish preference I gave to

you. I flattered myself that I should at least have been used with

good manners. I thought I had married a gentleman; but I find you

every way contemptible and below my concern.

Jonathan. D--n you, madam, have I not more reason to complain when

you tell me you married for your convenience only?

Laetitia. Very fine truly. Is it behaviour worthy a man to swear

at a woman? Yet why should I mention what comes from a wretch whom

I despise.

Jonathan. Don't repeat that word so often. I despise you as

heartily as you can me. And, to tell you a truth, I married you

for my convenience likewise, to satisfy a passion which I have now

satisfied, and you may be d--d for anything I care.

Laetitia. The world shall know how barbarously I am treated by

such a villain.

Jonathan. I need take very little pains to acquaint the world what

a b--ch you are, your actions will demonstrate it.

Laetitia. Monster! I would advise you not to depend too much on my

sex, and provoke me too far; for I can do you a mischief, and

will, if you dare use me so, you villain!

Jonathan. Begin whenever you please, madam; but assure yourself,

the moment you lay aside the woman, I will treat you as such no

longer; and if the first blow is yours, I promise you the last

shall be mine.

Laetitia. Use me as you will; but d--n me if ever you shall use me

as a woman again; for may I be cursed if ever I enter into your

bed more.

Jonathan. May I be cursed if that abstinence be not the greatest

obligation you can lay upon me; for I assure you faithfully your

person was all I had ever any regard for; and that I now loathe

and detest as much as ever I liked it.

Laetitia. It is impossible for two people to agree better; for I

always detested your person; and as for any other regard, you must

be convinced I never could have any for you.

Jonathan. Why, then, since we are come to a right understanding,

as we are to live together, suppose we agreed, instead of

quarrelling and abusing, to be civil to each other.

Laetitia. With all my heart.

Jonathan. Let us shake hands then, and henceforwards never live

like man and wife; that is, never be loving nor ever quarrel.

Laetitia. Agreed. But pray, Mr. Wild, why b--ch? Why did you

suffer such a word to escape you?

Jonathan. It is not worth your remembrance.

Laetitia. You agree I shall converse with whomsoever I please?

Jonathan. Without controul. And I have the same liberty?

Laetitia. When I interfere may every curse you can wish attend me!

Jonathan. Let us now take a farewell kiss, and may I be hanged if

it is not the sweetest you ever gave me.

Laetitia. But why b--ch? Methinks I should be glad to know why b--ch?

At which words he sprang from the bed, d--ing her temper heartily.

She returned it again with equal abuse, which was continued on

both sides while he was dressing. However, they agreed to continue

steadfast in this new resolution; and the joy arising on that

occasion at length dismissed them pretty chearfully from each

other, though Laetitia could not help concluding with the words,

why b--ch?

CHAPTER NINE

OBSERVATIONS ON THE FOREGOING DIALOGUE, TOGETHER WITH A BASE

DESIGN ON OUR HERO, WHICH MUST BE DETESTED BY EVERY LOVER OF

GREATNESS.

Thus did this dialogue (which, though we have termed it

matrimonial, had indeed very little savour of the sweets of

matrimony in it) produce at last a resolution more wise than

strictly pious, and which, if they could have rigidly adhered to

it, might have prevented some unpleasant moments as well to our

hero as to his serene consort; but their hatred was so very great

and unaccountable that they never could bear to see the least

composure in one another's countenance without attempting to

ruffle it. This set them on so many contrivances to plague and vex

one another, that, as their proximity afforded them such frequent

opportunities of executing their malicious purposes, they seldom

passed one easy or quiet day together.

And this, reader, and no other, is the cause of those many

inquietudes which thou must have observed to disturb the repose of

some married couples who mistake implacable hatred for

indifference; for why should Corvinus, who lives in a round of

intrigue, and seldom doth, and never willingly would, dally with

his wife, endeavour to prevent her from the satisfaction of an

intrigue in her turn? Why doth Camilla refuse a more agreeable

invitation abroad, only to expose her husband at his own table at

home? In short, to mention no more instances, whence can all the

quarrels, and jealousies, and jars proceed in people who have no

love for each other, unless from that noble passion above

mentioned, that desire, according to my lady Betty Modish, of

CURING EACH OTHER OF A SMILE.

We thought proper to give our reader a short taste of the domestic

state of our hero, the rather to shew him that great men are

subject to the same frailties and inconveniences in ordinary life

with little men, and that heroes are really of the same species

with other human creatures, notwithstanding all the pains they

themselves or their flatterers take to assert the contrary; and

that they differ chiefly in the immensity of their greatness, or,

as the vulgar erroneously call it, villany. Now, therefore, that

we may not dwell too long on low scenes in a history of the

sublime kind, we shall return to actions of a higher note and more

suitable to our purpose.

When the boy Hymen had, with his lighted torch, driven the boy

Cupid out of doors, that is to say, in common phrase, when the

violence of Mr. Wild's passion (or rather appetite) for the chaste

Laetitia began to abate, he returned to visit his friend

Heartfree, who was now in the liberties of the Fleet, and appeared

to the commission of bankruptcy against him. Here he met with a

more cold reception than he himself had apprehended. Heartfree had

long entertained suspicions of Wild, but these suspicions had from

time to time been confounded with circumstances, and principally

smothered with that amazing confidence which was indeed the most

striking virtue in our hero. Heartfree was unwilling to condemn

his friend without certain evidence, and laid hold on every

probable semblance to acquit him; but the proposal made at his

last visit had so totally blackened his character in this poor

man's opinion, that it entirely fixed the wavering scale, and he

no longer doubted but that our hero was one of the greatest

villains in the world.

Circumstances of great improbability often escape men who devour a

story with greedy ears; the reader, therefore, cannot wonder that

Heartfree, whose passions were so variously concerned, first for

the fidelity, and secondly for the safety of his wife; and,

lastly, who was so distracted with doubt concerning the conduct of

his friend, should at this relation pass unobserved the incident

of his being committed to the boat by the captain of the

privateer, which he had at the time of his telling so lamely

accounted for; but now, when Heartfree came to reflect on the

whole, and with a high prepossession against Wild, the absurdity

of this fact glared in his eyes and struck him in the most

sensible manner. At length a thought of great horror suggested

itself to his imagination, and this was, whether the whole was not

a fiction, and Wild, who was, as he had learned from his own

mouth, equal to any undertaking how black soever, had not spirited

away, robbed, and murdered his wife.

Intolerable as this apprehension was, he not only turned it round

and examined it carefully in his own mind, but acquainted young

Friendly with it at their next interview. Friendly, who detested

Wild (from that envy probably with which these GREAT CHARACTERS

naturally inspire low fellows), encouraged these suspicions so

much, that Heartfree resolved to attach our hero and carry him

before a magistrate.

This resolution had been some time taken, and Friendly, with a

warrant and a constable, had with the utmost diligence searched

several days for our hero; but, whether it was that in compliance

with modern custom he had retired to spend the honey-moon with his

bride, the only moon indeed in which it is fashionable or

customary for the married parties to have any correspondence with

each other; or perhaps his habitation might for particular reasons

be usually kept a secret, like those of some few great men whom

unfortunately the law hath left out of that reasonable as well as

honourable provision which it hath made for the security of the

persons of other great men.

But Wild resolved to perform works of supererogation in the way of

honour, and, though no hero is obliged to answer the challenge of

my lord chief justice, or indeed of any other magistrate, but may

with unblemished reputation slide away from it, yet such was the

bravery, such the greatness, the magnanimity of Wild, that he

appeared in person to it.

Indeed envy may say one thing, which may lessen the glory of this

action, namely, that the said Mr. Wild knew nothing of the said

warrant or challenge; and as thou mayest be assured, reader, that

the malicious fury will omit nothing which can anyways sully so

great a character, so she hath endeavoured to account for this

second visit of our hero to his friend Heartfree from a very

different motive than that of asserting his own innocence.

CHAPTER TEN

MR. WILD WITH UNPRECEDENTED GENEROSITY VISITS HIS FRIEND

HEARTFREE, AND THE UNGRATEFUL RECEPTION HE MET WITH.

It hath been said then that Mr. Wild, not being able on the

strictest examination to find in a certain spot of human nature

called his own heart the least grain of that pitiful low quality

called honesty, had resolved, perhaps a little too generally, that

there was no such thing. He therefore imputed the resolution with

which Mr. Heartfree had so positively refused to concern himself

in murder, either to a fear of bloodying his hands or the

apprehension of a ghost, or lest he should make an additional

example in that excellent book called God's Revenge against

Murder; and doubted not but he would (at least in his present

necessity) agree without scruple to a simple robbery, especially

where any considerable booty should be proposed, and the safety of

the attack plausibly made appear; which if he could prevail on him

to undertake, he would immediately afterwards get him impeached,

convicted, and hanged. He no sooner therefore had discharged his

duties to Hymen, and heard that Heartfree had procured himself the

liberties of the Fleet, than he resolved to visit him, and to

propose a robbery with all the allurements of profit, ease, and

safety.

This proposal was no sooner made than it was answered by Heartfree

in the following manner:--

"I might have hoped the answer which I gave to your former advice

would have prevented me from the danger of receiving a second

affront of this kind. An affront I call it, and surely, if it be

so to call a man a villain, it can be no less to shew him you

suppose him one. Indeed, it may be wondered how any man can arrive

at the boldness, I may say impudence, of first making such an

overture to another; surely it is seldom done, unless to those who

have previously betrayed some symptoms of their own baseness. If I

have therefore shewn you any such, these insults are more

pardonable; but I assure you, if such appear, they discharge all

their malignance outwardly, and reflect not even a shadow within;

for to me baseness seems inconsistent with this rule, OF DOING NO

OTHER PERSON AN INJURY FROM ANY MOTIVE OR ON ANY CONSIDERATION

WHATEVER. This, sir, is the rule by which I am determined to walk,

nor can that man justify disbelieving me who will not own he walks

not by it himself. But, whether it be allowed to me or no, or

whether I feel the good effects of its being practised by others,

I am resolved to maintain it; for surely no man can reap a benefit

from my pursuing it equal to the comfort I myself enjoy: for what

a ravishing thought, how replete with extasy, must the

consideration be, that Almighty Goodness is by its own nature

engaged to reward me! How indifferent must such a persuasion make

a man to all the occurrences of this life! What trifles must he

represent to himself both the enjoyments and the afflictions of

this world! How easily must he acquiesce under missing the former,

and how patiently will he submit to the latter, who is convinced

that his failing of a transitory imperfect reward here is a most

certain argument of his obtaining one permanent and complete

hereafter! Dost thou think then, thou little, paltry, mean animal

(with such language did he treat our truly great man), that I will

forego such comfortable expectations for any pitiful reward which

thou canst suggest or promise to me; for that sordid lucre for

which all pains and labour are undertaken by the industrious, and

all barbarities and iniquities committed by the vile; for a

worthless acquisition, which such as thou art can possess, can

give, or can take away?" The former part of this speech occasioned

much yawning in our hero, but the latter roused his anger; and he

was collecting his rage to answer, when Friendly and the

constable, who had been summoned by Heartfree on Wild's first

appearance, entered the room, and seized the great man just as his

wrath was bursting from his lips.

The dialogue which now ensued is not worth relating: Wild was soon

acquainted with the reason of this rough treatment, and presently

conveyed before a magistrate.

Notwithstanding the doubts raised by Mr. Wild's lawyer on his

examination, he insisting that the proceeding was improper, for

that a writ de homine replegiando should issue, and on the return

of that a capias in withernam, the justice inclined to commitment,

so that Wild was driven to other methods for his defence. He

therefore acquainted the justice that there was a young man

likewise with him in the boat, and begged that he might be sent

for, which request was accordingly granted, and the faithful

Achates (Mr. Fireblood) was soon produced to bear testimony for

his friend, which he did with so much becoming zeal, and went

through his examination with such coherence (though he was forced

to collect his evidence from the hints given him by Wild in the

presence of the justice and the accusers), that, as here was

direct evidence against mere presumption, our hero was most

honourably acquitted, and poor Heartfree was charged by the

justice, the audience, and all others who afterwards heard the

story, with the blackest ingratitude, in attempting to take away

the life of a man to whom he had such eminent obligations.

Lest so vast an effort of friendship as this of Fireblood's should

too violently surprize the reader in this degenerate age, it may

be proper to inform him that, beside the ties of engagement in the

same employ, another nearer and stronger alliance subsisted

between our hero and this youth, which latter was just departed

from the arms of the lovely Laetitia when he received her

husband's message; an instance which may also serve to justify

those strict intercourses of love and acquaintance which so

commonly subsist in modern history between the husband and

gallant, displaying the vast force of friendship contracted by

this more honourable than legal alliance, which is thought to be

at present one of the strongest bonds of amity between great men,

and the most reputable as well as easy way to their favour.

Four months had now passed since Heartfree's first confinement,

and his affairs had begun to wear a more benign aspect; but they

were a good deal injured by this attempt on Wild (so dangerous is

any attack on a GREAT MAN), several of his neighbours, and

particularly one or two of his own trade, industriously

endeavouring, from their bitter animosity against such kind of

iniquity, to spread and exaggerate his ingratitude as much as

possible; not in the least scrupling, in the violent ardour of

their indignation, to add some small circumstances of their own

knowledge of the many obligations conferred on Heartfree by Wild.

To all these scandals he quietly submitted, comforting himself in

the consciousness of his own innocence, and confiding in time, the

sure friend of justice, to acquit him.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A SCHEME SO DEEPLY LAID, THAT IT SHAMES ALL THE POLITICS OF THIS

OUR AGE; WITH DIGRESSION AND SUBDIGRESSION.

Wild having now, to the hatred he bore Heartfree on account of

those injuries he had done him, an additional spur from this

injury received (for so it appeared to him, who, no more than the

most ignorant, considered how truly he deserved it), applied his

utmost industry to accomplish the ruin of one whose very name

sounded odious in his ears; when luckily a scheme arose in his

imagination which not only promised to effect it securely, but

(which pleased him most) by means of the mischief he had already

done him; and which would at once load him with the imputation of

having committed what he himself had done to him, and would bring

on him the severest punishment for a fact of which he was not only

innocent, but had already so greatly suffered by. And this was no

other than to charge him with having conveyed away his wife, with

his most valuable effects, in order to defraud his creditors.

He no sooner started this thought than he immediately resolved on

putting it in execution. What remained to consider was only the

quomodo, and the person or tool to be employed; for the stage of

the world differs from that in Drury-lane principally in this--

that whereas, on the latter, the hero or chief figure is almost

continually before your eyes, whilst the under-actors are not seen

above once in an evening; now, on the former, the hero or great

man is always behind the curtain, and seldom or never appears or

doth anything in his own person. He doth indeed, in this GRAND

DRAMA, rather perform the part of the prompter, and doth instruct

the well-drest figures, who are strutting in public on the stage,

what to say and do. To say the truth, a puppet-show will

illustrate our meaning better, where it is the master of the show

(the great man) who dances and moves everything, whether it be the

king of Muscovy or whatever other potentate alias puppet which we

behold on the stage; but he himself keeps wisely out of sight:

for, should he once appear, the whole motion would be at an end.

Not that any one is ignorant of his being there, or supposes that

the puppets are not mere sticks of wood, and he himself the sole

mover; but as this (though every one knows it) doth not appear

visibly, i.e., to their eyes, no one is ashamed of consenting to

be imposed upon; of helping on the drama, by calling the several

sticks or puppets by the names which the master hath allotted to

them, and by assigning to each the character which the great man

is pleased they shall move in, or rather in which he himself is

pleased to move them.

It would be to suppose thee, gentle reader, one of very little

knowledge in this world, to imagine them hast never seen some of

these puppet-shows which are so frequently acted on the great

stage; but though thou shouldst have resided all thy days in those

remote parts of this island which great men seldom visit, yet, if

thou hast any penetration, thou must have had some occasions to

admire both the solemnity of countenance in the actor and the

gravity in the spectator, while some of those farces are carried

on which are acted almost daily in every village in the kingdom.

He must have a very despicable opinion of mankind indeed who can

conceive them to be imposed on as often as they appear to be so.

The truth is, they are in the same situation with the readers of

romances; who, though they know the whole to be one entire

fiction, nevertheless agree to be deceived; and, as these find

amusement, so do the others find ease and convenience in this

concurrence. But, this being a subdigression, I return to my

digression.

A GREAT MAN ought to do his business by others; to employ hands,

as we have before said, to his purposes, and keep himself as much

behind the curtain as possible; and though it must be acknowledged

that two very great men, whose names will be both recorded in

history, did in these latter times come forth themselves on the

stage, and did hack and hew and lay each other most cruelly open

to the diversion of the spectators, yet this must be mentioned

rather as an example of avoidance than imitation, and is to be

ascribed to the number of those instances which serve to evince

the truth of these maxims: Nemo mortalium omnibus horis sapit. Ira

furor brevis est, &c.

CHAPTER TWELVE

NEW INSTANCES OF FRIENDLY'S FOLLY, ETC.

To return to my history, which, having rested itself a little, is

now ready to proceed on its journey: Fireblood was the person

chosen by Wild for this service. He had, on a late occasion,

experienced the talents of this youth for a good round perjury. He

immediately, therefore, found him out, and proposed it to him;

when, receiving his instant assent, they consulted together, and

soon framed an evidence, which, being communicated to one of the

most bitter and severe creditors of Heartfree, by him laid before

a magistrate, and attested by the oath of Fireblood, the justice

granted his warrant: and Heartfree was accordingly apprehended and

brought before him.

When the officers came for this poor wretch they found him meanly

diverting himself with his little children, the younger of whom

sat on his knees, and the elder was playing at a little distance

from him with Friendly. One of the officers, who was a very good

sort of a man, but one very laudably severe in his office, after

acquainting Heartfree with his errand, bad him come along and be

d--d, and leave those little bastards, for so, he said, he

supposed they were, for a legacy to the parish. Heartfree was much

surprized at hearing there was a warrant for felony against him;

but he shewed less concern than Friendly did in his countenance.

The elder daughter, when she saw the officer lay hold on her

father, immediately quitted her play, and, running to him and

bursting into tears, cried out, "You shall not hurt poor papa."

One of the other ruffians offered to take the little one rudely

from his knees; but Heartfree started up, and, catching the fellow

by the collar, dashed his head so violently against the wall,

that, had he had any brains, he might possibly have lost them by

the blow.

The officer, like most of those heroic spirits who insult men in

adversity, had some prudence mixt with his zeal for justice.

Seeing, therefore, this rough treatment of his companion, he began

to pursue more gentle methods, and very civilly desired Mr.

Heartfree to go with him, seeing he was an officer, and obliged to

execute his warrant; that he was sorry for his misfortune, and

hoped he would be acquitted. The other answered, "He should

patiently submit to the laws of his country, and would attend him

whither he was ordered to conduct him;" then, taking leave of his

children with a tender kiss, he recommended them to the care of

Friendly, who promised to see them safe home, and then to attend

him at the justice's, whose name and abode he had learned of the

constable.

Friendly arrived at the magistrate's house just as that gentleman

had signed the mittimus against his friend; for the evidence of

Fireblood was so clear and strong, and the justice was so incensed

against Heartfree, and so convinced of his guilt, that he would

hardly hear him speak in his own defence, which the reader

perhaps, when he hears the evidence against him, will be less

inclined to censure: for this witness deposed, "That he had been,

by Heartfree himself, employed to carry the orders of embezzling

to Wild, in order to be delivered to his wife: that he had been

afterwards present with Wild and her at the inn when they took

coach for Harwich, where she shewed him the casket of jewels, and

desired him to tell her husband that she had fully executed his

command;" and this he swore to have been done after Heartfree had

notice of the commission, and, in order to bring it within that

time, Fireblood, as well as Wild, swore that Mrs. Heartfree lay

several days concealed at Wild's house before her departure for

Holland.

When Friendly found the justice obdurate, and that all he could

say had no effect, nor was it any way possible for Heartfree to

escape being committed to Newgate, he resolved to accompany him

thither; where, when they arrived, the turnkey would have confined

Heartfree (he having no money) amongst the common felons; but

Friendly would not permit it, and advanced every shilling he had

in his pocket, to procure a room in the press-yard for his friend,

which indeed, through the humanity of the keeper, he did at a

cheap rate.

They spent that day together, and in the evening the prisoner

dismissed his friend, desiring him, after many thanks for his

fidelity, to be comforted on his account. "I know not," says he,

"how far the malice of my enemy may prevail; but whatever my

sufferings are, I am convinced my innocence will somewhere be

rewarded. If, therefore, any fatal accident should happen to me

(for he who is in the hands of perjury may apprehend the worst),

my dear Friendly, be a father to my poor children;" at which words

the tears gushed from his eyes. The other begged him not to admit

any such apprehensions, for that he would employ his utmost

diligence in his service, and doubted not but to subvert any

villanous design laid for his destruction, and to make his

innocence appear to the world as white as it was in his own

opinion.

We cannot help mentioning a circumstance here, though we doubt it

will appear very unnatural and incredible to our reader; which is,

that, notwithstanding the former character and behaviour of

Heartfree, this story of his embezzling was so far from surprizing

his neighbours, that many of them declared they expected no better

from him. Some were assured he could pay forty shillings in the

pound if he would. Others had overheard hints formerly pass

between him and Mrs. Heartfree which had given them suspicions.

And what is most astonishing of all is, that many of those who had

before censured him for an extravagant heedless fool, now no less

confidently abused him for a cunning, tricking, avaricious knave.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SOMETHING CONCERNING FIREBLOOD WHICH WILL SURPRIZE; AND SOMEWHAT

TOUCHING ONE OF THE MISS SNAPS, WHICH WILL GREATLY CONCERN THE

READER.

However, notwithstanding all these censures abroad, and in

despight of all his misfortunes at home, Heartfree in Newgate

enjoyed a quiet, undisturbed repose; while our hero, nobly

disdaining rest, lay sleepless all night, partly from the

apprehensions of Mrs. Heartfree's return before he had executed

his scheme, and partly from a suspicion lest Fireblood should

betray him; of whose infidelity he had, nevertheless, no other

cause to maintain any fear, but from his knowing him to be an

accomplished rascal, as the vulgar term it, a complete GREAT MAN

in our language. And indeed, to confess the truth, these doubts

were not without some foundation; for the very same thought

unluckily entered the head of that noble youth, who considered

whether he might not possibly sell himself for some advantage to

the other side, as he had yet no promise from Wild; but this was,

by the sagacity of the latter, prevented in the morning with a

profusion of promises, which shewed him to be of the most generous

temper in the world, with which Fireblood was extremely well

satisfied, and made use of so many protestations of his

faithfulness that he convinced Wild of the justice of his

suspicions.

At this time an accident happened, which, though it did not

immediately affect our hero, we cannot avoid relating, as it

occasioned great confusion in his family, as well as in the family

of Snap. It is indeed a calamity highly to be lamented, when it

stains untainted blood, and happens to an honourable house--an

injury never to be repaired--a blot never to be wiped out--a sore

never to be healed. To detain my reader no longer, Miss Theodosia

Snap was now safely delivered of a male infant, the product of an

amour which that beautiful (O that I could say virtuous!) creature

had with the count.

Mr. Wild and his lady were at breakfast when Mr. Snap, with all

the agonies of despair both in his voice and countenance, brought

them this melancholy news. Our hero, who had (as we have said)

wonderful good-nature when his greatness or interest was not

concerned, instead of reviling his sister-in-law, asked with a

smile, "Who was the father?" But the chaste Laetitia, we repeat

the chaste, for well did she now deserve that epithet, received it

in another manner. She fell into the utmost fury at the relation,

reviled her sister in the bitterest terms, and vowed she would

never see nor speak to her more; then burst into tears and

lamented over her father that such dishonour should ever happen to

him and herself. At length she fell severely on her husband for

the light treatment which he gave this fatal accident. She told

him he was unworthy of the honour he enjoyed of marrying into a

chaste family. That she looked on it as an affront to her virtue.

That if he had married one of the naughty hussies of the town he

could have behaved to her in no other manner. She concluded with

desiring her father to make an example of the slut, and to turn

her out of doors; for that she would not otherwise enter his

house, being resolved never to set her foot within the same

threshold with the trollop, whom she detested so much the more

because (which was perhaps true) she was her own sister.

So violent, and indeed so outrageous, was this chaste lady's love

of virtue, that she could not forgive a single slip (indeed the

only one Theodosia had ever made) in her own sister, in a sister

who loved her, and to whom she owed a thousand obligations.

Perhaps the severity of Mr. Snap, who greatly felt the injury done

to the honour of his family, would have relented, had not the

parish-officers been extremely pressing on this occasion, and for

want of security, conveyed the unhappy young lady to a place, the

name of which, for the honour of the Snaps, to whom our hero was

so nearly allied, we bury in eternal oblivion; where she suffered

so much correction for her crime, that the good-natured reader of

the male kind may be inclined to compassionate her, at least to

imagine she was sufficiently punished for a fault which, with

submission to the chaste Laetitia and all other strictly virtuous

ladies, it should be either less criminal in a woman to commit, or

more so in a man to solicit her to it.

But to return to our hero, who was a living and strong instance

that human greatness and happiness are not always inseparable. He

was under a continual alarm of frights, and fears, and jealousies.

He thought every man he beheld wore a knife for his throat, and a

pair of scissars for his purse. As for his own gang particularly,

he was thoroughly convinced there was not a single man amongst

them who would not, for the value of five shillings, bring him to

the gallows. These apprehensions so constantly broke his rest, and

kept him so assiduously on his guard to frustrate and circumvent

any designs which might be formed against him, that his condition,

to any other than the glorious eye of ambition, might seem rather

deplorable than the object of envy or desire.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IN WHICH OUR HERO MAKES A SPEECH WELL WORTHY TO BE CELEBRATED; AND

THE BEHAVIOUR OF ONE OF THE GANG, PERHAPS MORE UNNATURAL THAN ANY

OTHER PART OF THIS HISTORY.

There was in the gang a man named Blueskin, one of those merchants

who trade in dead oxen, sheep, &c., in short, what the vulgar call

a butcher. This gentleman had two qualities of a great man, viz.,

undaunted courage, and an absolute contempt of those ridiculous

distinctions of meum and tuum, which would cause endless disputes

did not the law happily decide them by converting both into suum.

The common form of exchanging property by trade seemed to him too

tedious; he therefore resolved to quit the mercantile profession,

and, falling acquainted with some of Mr. Wild's people, he

provided himself with arms, and enlisted of the gang; in which he

behaved for some time with great decency and order, and submitted

to accept such share of the booty with the rest as our hero

allotted him.

But this subserviency agreed ill with his temper; for we should

have before remembered a third heroic quality, namely, ambition,

which was no inconsiderable part of his composition. One day,

therefore, having robbed a gentleman at Windsor of a gold watch,

which, on its being advertised in the newspapers, with a

considerable reward, was demanded of him by Wild, he peremptorily

refused to deliver it.

"How, Mr. Blueskin!" says Wild; "you will not deliver the watch?"

"No, Mr. Wild," answered he; "I have taken it, and will keep it;

or, if I dispose of it, I will dispose of it myself, and keep the

money for which I sell it." "Sure," replied Wild, "you have not

the assurance to pretend you have any property or right in this

watch?" "I am certain," returned Blueskin, "whether I have any

right in it or no, you can prove none." "I will undertake," cries

the other, "to shew I have an absolute right to it, and that by

the laws of our gang, of which I am providentially at the head."

"I know not who put you at the head of it," cries Blueskin; "but

those who did certainly did it for their own good, that you might

conduct them the better in their robberies, inform them of the

richest booties, prevent surprizes, pack juries, bribe evidence,

and so contribute to their benefit and safety; and not to convert

all their labour and hazard to your own benefit and advantage."

"You are greatly mistaken, sir," answered Wild; "you are talking

of a legal society, where the chief magistrate is always chosen

for the public good, which, as we see in all the legal societies

of the world, he constantly consults, daily contributing, by his

superior skill, to their prosperity, and not sacrificing their

good to his own wealth, or pleasure, or humour: but in an illegal

society or gang, as this of ours, it is otherwise; for who would

be at the head of a gang, unless for his own interest? And without

a head, you know, you cannot subsist. Nothing but a head, and

obedience to that head, can preserve a gang a moment from

destruction. It is absolutely better for you to content yourselves

with a moderate reward, and enjoy that in safety at the disposal

of your chief, than to engross the whole with the hazard to which

you will be liable without his protection. And surely there is

none in the whole gang who hath less reason to complain than you;

you have tasted of my favours: witness that piece of ribbon you

wear in your hat, with which I dubbed you captain. Therefore pray,

captain, deliver the watch." "D--n your cajoling," says Blueskin:

"do you think I value myself on this bit of ribbon, which I could

have bought myself for sixpence, and have worn without your leave?

Do you imagine I think myself a captain because you, whom I know

not empowered to make one, call me so? The name of captain is but

a shadow: the men and the salary are the substance; and I am not

to be bubbled with a shadow. I will be called captain no longer,

and he who flatters me by that name I shall think affronts me, and

I will knock him down, I assure you." "Did ever man talk so

unreasonably?" cries Wild. "Are you not respected as a captain by

the whole gang since my dubbing you so? But it is the shadow only,

it seems; and you will knock a man down for affronting you who

calls you captain! Might not a man as reasonably tell a minister

of state, Sir, you have given me the shadow only? The ribbon or

the bauble that you gave me implies that I have either signalised

myself, by some great action, for the benefit and glory of my

country, or at least that I am descended from those who have done

so. I know myself to be a scoundrel, and so have been those few

ancestors I can remember, or have ever heard of. Therefore, I am

resolved to knock the first man down who calls me sir or right

honourable. But all great and wise men think themselves

sufficiently repaid by what procures them honour and precedence in

the gang, without enquiring into substance; nay, if a title or a

feather be equal to this purpose, they are substance, and not mere

shadows. But I have not time to argue with you at present, so give

me the watch without any more deliberation." "I am no more a

friend to deliberation than yourself," answered Blueskin, "and so

I tell you, once for all, by G--I never will give you the watch,

no, nor will I ever hereafter surrender any part of my booty. I

won it, and I will wear it. Take your pistols yourself, and go out

on the highway, and don't lazily think to fatten yourself with the

dangers and pains of other people." At which words he departed in

a fierce mood, and repaired to the tavern used by the gang, where

he had appointed to meet some of his acquaintance, whom he

informed of what had passed between him and Wild, and advised them

all to follow his example; which they all readily agreed to, and

Mr. Wild's d--tion was the universal toast; in drinking bumpers to

which they had finished a large bowl of punch, when a constable,

with a numerous attendance, and Wild at their head, entered the

room and seized on Blueskin, whom his companions, when they saw

our hero, did not dare attempt to rescue. The watch was found upon

him, which, together with Wild's information, was more than

sufficient to commit him to Newgate.

In the evening Wild and the rest of those who had been drinking

with Blueskin met at the tavern, where nothing was to be seen but

the profoundest submission to their leader. They vilified and

abused Blueskin, as much as they had before abused our hero, and

now repeated the same toast, only changing the name of Wild into

that of Blueskin; all agreeing with Wild that the watch found in

his pocket, and which must be a fatal evidence against him, was a

just judgment on his disobedience and revolt.

Thus did this great man by a resolute and timely example (for he

went directly to the justice when Blueskin left him) quell one of

the most dangerous conspiracies which could possibly arise in a

gang, and which, had it been permitted one day's growth, would

inevitably have ended in his destruction; so much doth it behove

all great men to be eternally on their guard, and expeditious in

the execution of their purposes; while none but the weak and

honest can indulge themselves in remissness or repose.

The Achates, Fireblood, had been present at both these meetings;

but, though he had a little too hastily concurred in cursing his

friend, and in vowing his perdition, yet now he saw all that

scheme dissolved he returned to his integrity, of which he gave an

incontestable proof, by informing Wild of the measures which had

been concerted against him, in which he said he had pretended to

acquiesce, in order the better to betray them; but this, as he

afterwards confessed on his deathbed at Tyburn, was only a copy of

his countenance; for that he was, at that time, as sincere and

hearty in his opposition to Wild as any of his companions.

Our hero received Fireblood's information with a very placid

countenance. He said, as the gang had seen their errors, and

repented, nothing was more noble than forgiveness. But, though he

was pleased modestly to ascribe this to his lenity, it really

arose from much more noble and political principles. He considered

that it would be dangerous to attempt the punishment of so many;

besides, he flattered himself that fear would keep them in order:

and indeed Fireblood had told him nothing more than he knew

before, viz., that they were all complete prigs, whom he was to

govern by their fears, and in whom he was to place no more

confidence than was necessary, and to watch them with the utmost

caution and circumspection: for a rogue, he wisely said, like

gunpowder, must be used with caution; since both are altogether as

liable to blow up the party himself who uses them as to execute

his mischievous purpose against some other person or animal.

We will now repair to Newgate, it being the place where most of

the great men of this history are hastening as fast as possible;

and, to confess the truth, it is a castle very far from being an

improper or misbecoming habitation for any great man whatever. And

as this scene will continue during the residue of our history, we

shall open it with a new book, and shall therefore take this

opportunity of closing our third.