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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 briers 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 entrust 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 own 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 be came 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.

CHAP. III.

Wherein our Hero proceeds in the road to GREAT

NESS.

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 publicly 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 this 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 enterprize; 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, sonetimes 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 that 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 herocs, who, to their immortal honour, have

massacred whole 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 with in 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 rattlesnake less dreadful than the purse of the oppressor. Let me, therefore, hear no more of your scruples; but consent to my proposal without farther hesitation; unless, like a woman, you are afraid of blooding your clothes, 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 any thing, or is guided by any other law than that of my will."

Wild thus 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.

CHAP. IV.

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 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 Æneas, or rather the Hæphestion of our Alexander, was Fireblood. He had every qualification to make a 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 acquaint ance; 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 Lætitia 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 sessions.

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 phenomenon 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.

CHAP. V.

More and more GREATNESS, unparalleled in history and 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 in surmountable difficulties, that even our hero for some time despaired of success. He was greatly superior to all mankind in the steadines 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 determinations 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.

Heart free, 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 constancy, 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 every thing; 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 unfortu nate circumstances, but without mercy inflicted confinement on the debitor, 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 risk 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 from any share, either in the guilt or in the danger.

There is one misfortune which attends all great men in 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 wellregulated 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, er 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;

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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 styled 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.

CHAP. VI.

The event of Fireblood's adventure, and a treaty of marriage, which might have been concluded either at Smithfield or St James's.

FIREBLOOD returned from his enterprize 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 slightly 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 had pawned the watches; which Wild, taking the full value of them for his pains, restored to the right owner.

He did not fail catechising 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."

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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 grandmothers; 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 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 to be 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

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