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The History of the Life of the Late Mr. Jonathan Wild the Great

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Title: The History of the Life of the Late Mr. Jonathan Wild the Great

Author: Henry Fielding


        
Release date: March 1, 2004 [eBook #5256]
                Most recently updated: December 28, 2020

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HISTORY OF THE LIFE OF THE LATE MR. JONATHAN WILD THE GREAT ***




Produced by Nicole Apostola, Charles Franks
            and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team



THE WORKS OF HENRY FIELDING

VOLUME TEN


                                THE
                         HISTORY OF THE LIFE
                            OF THE LATE
                         MR. JONATHAN WILD
                             THE GREAT

WITH THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE, AND AN INTRODUCTION BY G. H. MAYNADIER,
Ph. D.

DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH, HARVARD UNIVERSITY




INTRODUCTION

Jonathan Wild, born about 1682 and executed at Tyburn in 1725, was
one of the most notorious criminals of his age. His resemblance to
the hero in Fielding's satire of the same name is general rather
than particular. The real Jonathan (whose legitimate business was
that of a buckle-maker) like Fielding's, won his fame, not as a
robber himself, but as an informer, and a receiver of stolen
goods. His method was to restore these to the owners on receipt of
a commission, which was generally pretty large, pretending that he
had paid the whole of it to the thieves, whom for disinterested
motives he had traced. He was a great organiser, and he controlled
various bands of robbers whose lives he did not hesitate to
sacrifice, when his own was in danger. Naturally he was so hated
by many of his underlings that it is a wonder he was able to
maintain his authority over them as many years as he did. His
rascality had been notorious a long time before his crimes could
actually be proved. He was executed at last according to the
statute which made receivers of stolen goods equally guilty with
the stealers.

Beyond this general resemblance, the adventures of the real
Jonathan, so far as we know them, are not much like those of the
fictitious. True, the real Jonathan's married life was unhappy,
though his quarrel with his wife did not follow so hard upon his
wedding as the quarrel of Fielding's hero and the chaste Laetitia.
Not until a year from his marriage did the real Jonathan separate
from his spouse, after which time he lived, like Fielding's, not
always mindful of his vows of faithfulness. Like Fielding's, too,
he was called upon to suppress rebellions in his gangs, and once
he came very near being killed in a court of justice by one Blake,
alias Blueskin. Apart from these misadventures, the experiences of
Fielding's Wild seem to be purely imaginary. "My narrative is
rather of such actions which he might have performed," the author
himself says, [Footnote: Introduction to Miscellanies, 1st ed., p.
xvii.] "or would, or should have performed, than what he really
did. ... The Life and Actions of the Late Jonathan Wild, got out
with characteristic commercial energy by Defoe, soon after the
criminal's execution, is very different from Fielding's satirical
narrative, and probably a good deal nearer the truth."

Jonathan Wild was published as the third volume of the
Miscellanies "by Henry Fielding, Esq." which came out in the
spring of 1743. From the reference to Lady Booby's steward, Peter
Pounce, in Book II., it seems to have been, as Mr. Austin Dobson
has observed, and as the date of publication would imply, composed
in part at least subsequently to Joseph Andrews, which appeared
early in 1742. But the same critic goes on to say that whenever
completed, Jonathan Wild was probably "planned and begun before
Joseph Andrews was published, as it is in the highest degree
improbable that Fielding, always carefully watching the public
taste, would have followed up that fortunate adventure in a new
direction by a work so entirely different from it as Jonathan
Wild." [Footnote: Henry Fielding, 1900, p. 145.] Mr. Dobson's
surmise is undoubtedly correct. The "strange, surprising
adventures" of Mrs. Heartfree belong to a different school of
fiction from that with which we commonly associate Fielding. They
are such as we should expect one of Defoe's characters to go
through, rather than a woman whose creator had been gratified only
a year before at the favourable reception accorded to Fanny and
Lady Booby and Mrs. Slipslop.

That Jonathan Wild is for the most part a magnificent example of
sustained irony, one of the best in our literature, critics have
generally agreed. The comparison steadfastly insisted upon between
Jonathan Wild's greatness and the greatness which the world looks
up to, but which without being called criminal is yet devoid of
humanity, is admirable. Admirable, too, is the ironical humour, in
which Fielding so excelled, and which in Jonathan Wild he seldom
drops. It would take too long to mention all the particularly good
ironical passages, but among them are the conversation between
Wild and Count La Ruse, and the description of Miss Tishy Snap in
the first book; the adventures of Wild in the boat at the end of
the second book; and, in the last, the dialogue between the
ordinary of Newgate and the hero, the death of Wild, and the
chapter which sets forth his character and his maxims for
attaining greatness. And yet as a satire Jonathan Wild is not
perfect. Fielding himself hits upon its one fault, when, in the
last book, after the long narrative of Mrs. Heartfree's adventures
by sea and by land, he says, "we have already perhaps detained our
reader too long ... from the consideration of our hero." He has
detained us far too long. A story containing so much irony as
Jonathan Wild should be an undeviating satire like A Tale of a
Tub. The introduction of characters like the Heartfrees, who are
meant to enlist a reader's sympathy, spoils the unity. True, the
way they appear at first is all very well. Heartfree is "a silly
fellow," possessed of several great weaknesses of mind, being
"good-natured, friendly, and generous to a great excess," and
devoted to the "silly woman," his wife. But later Fielding becomes
so much interested in the pair that he drops his ironical tone.
Unfortunately, however, in depicting them, he has not met with his
usual success in depicting amiable characters. The exemplary
couple, together with their children and Friendly, are much less
real than the villain and his fellows. And so the importance of
the Heartfrees in Jonathan Wild seems to me a double blemish. A
satire is not truth, and yet in Mr. and Mrs. Heartfree Fielding
has tried--though not with success--to give us virtuous characters
who are truly human. The consequence is that Jonathan Wild just
fails of being a consistently brilliant satire.

As to its place among Fielding's works, critics have differed
considerably. The opinion of Scott found little in Jonathan Wild
to praise, but then it is evident from what he says, that Scott
missed the point of the satire. [Footnote: Henry Fielding in
Biographical and Critical Notices of Eminent Novelists. "It is not
easy to see what Fielding proposed to himself by a picture of
complete vice, unrelieved by anything of human feeling. ..."].
Some other critics have been neither more friendly than Sir
Walter, nor more discriminating, in speaking of Jonathan Wild and
Smollett's Count Fathom in the same breath, as if they were
similar either in purpose or in merit. Fathom is a romantic
picaresque novel, with a possibly edifying, but most unnatural
reformation of the villainous hero at the last; Jonathan Wild is a
pretty consistent picaresque satire, in which the hero ends where
Fathom by all rights should have ended,--on the gallows. Fathom is
the weakest of all its author's novels; Jonathan Wild is not
properly one of Fielding's novels at all, but a work only a little
below them. For below them I cannot help thinking it, in spite of
the opinion of a critic of taste and judgment so excellent as
Professor Saintsbury's. When this gentleman, in his introduction
to Jonathan Wild, in a recent English edition of Fielding's works,
says that: "Fielding has written no greater book," he seems to me
to give excessive praise to a work of such great merit that only
its deserved praise is ample.

A great satire, I should say, is never the equal of a great novel.
In the introductions which I have already written, in trying to
show what a great novel is, I have said that an essential part of
such a book is the reality of its scenes and characters. Now
scenes and characters will not seem real, unless there is in them
the right blend of pleasure and pain, of good and bad; for life is
not all either one thing or the other, nor has it ever been so.
Such reality is not found in a satire, for a satire, as
distinguished from a novel, both conceals and exaggerates: it
gives half-truths instead of whole truths; it shows not all of
life but only a part; and even this it cannot show quite truly,
for its avowed object is to magnify some vice or foible. In doing
so, a satire finds no means so effective as irony, which makes its
appeal wholly to the intellect. A good novel, on the contrary,
touches the head and the heart both; along with passages which
give keen intellectual enjoyment, it offers passages which move
its reader's tears. Still, a good novelist without appreciation of
irony cannot be imagined, for without the sense of humour which
makes irony appreciated, it is impossible to see the objects of
this world in their right proportions. Irony, then, which is the
main part of a satire, is essential to a good novel, though not
necessarily more than a small part of it. Intellectually there is
nothing in English literature of the eighteenth century greater
than A Tale of a Tub or the larger part of Gullivers Travels;
intellectually there is nothing in Fielding's works greater than
most of Jonathan Wild; but taken all in all, is not a novel like
Tom Jones, with its eternal appeal to the emotions as well as the
intellect, greater than a perfect satire? Even if this be not
admitted, Jonathan Wild, we have already seen, is not a perfect
satire. For a work of its kind, it is too sympathetically human,
and so suffers in exactly the opposite way from Vanity Fair, which
many people think is kept from being the greatest English novel of
the nineteenth century because it is too satirical.

No, I cannot agree with Professor Saintsbury that "Fielding has
written no greater book" than Jonathan Wild. It was unquestionably
the most important part of the Miscellanies of 1743. Its
brilliancy may make it outrank even that delightful Journal of the
Voyage to Lisbon. A higher place should not be claimed for it. Mr.
Dobson, in his Henry Fielding, has assigned the right position to
Jonathan Wild when he says that its place "in Fielding's works is
immediately after his three great novels, and this is more by
reason of its subject than its workmanship," which if not perfect,
is yet for the most part excellent.

G. H. MAYNADIER.




THE LIFE OF THE LATE

MR. JONATHAN WILD


BOOK I

CHAPTER ONE

SHEWING THE WHOLESOME USES DRAWN FROM RECORDING THE ACHIEVEMENTS
OF THOSE WONDERFUL PRODUCTIONS OF NATURE CALLED GREAT MEN.


As it is necessary that all great and surprising events, the
designs of which are laid, conducted, and brought to perfection by
the utmost force of human invention and art, should be produced by
great and eminent men, so the lives of such may be justly and
properly styled the quintessence of history. In these, when
delivered to us by sensible writers, we are not only most
agreeably entertained, but most usefully instructed; for, besides
the attaining hence a consummate knowledge of human nature in
general; of its secret springs, various windings, and perplexed
mazes; we have here before our eyes lively examples of whatever is
amiable or detestable, worthy of admiration or abhorrence, and are
consequently taught, in a manner infinitely more effectual than by
precept, what we are eagerly to imitate or carefully to avoid.

But besides the two obvious advantages of surveying, as it were in
a picture, the true beauty of virtue and deformity of vice, we may
moreover learn from Plutarch, Nepos, Suetonius, and other
biographers, this useful lesson, not too hastily, nor in the
gross, to bestow either our praise or censure; since we shall
often find such a mixture of good and evil in the same character
that it may require a very accurate judgment and a very elaborate
inquiry to determine on which side the balance turns, for though
we sometimes meet with an Aristides or a Brutus, a Lysander or a
Nero, yet far the greater number are of the mixt kind, neither
totally good nor bad; their greatest virtues being obscured and
allayed by their vices, and those again softened and coloured over
by their virtues.

Of this kind was the illustrious person whose history we now
undertake; to whom, though nature had given the greatest and most
shining endowments, she had not given them absolutely pure and
without allay. Though he had much of the admirable in his
character, as much perhaps as is usually to be found in a hero, I
will not yet venture to affirm that he was entirely free from all
defects, or that the sharp eyes of censure could not spy out some
little blemishes lurking amongst his many great perfections.

We would not therefore be understood to affect giving the reader a
perfect or consummate pattern of human excellence, but rather, by
faithfully recording some little imperfections which shadowed over
the lustre of those great qualities which we shall here record, to
teach the lesson we have above mentioned, to induce our reader
with us to lament the frailty of human nature, and to convince him
that no mortal, after a thorough scrutiny, can be a proper object
of our adoration.

But before we enter on this great work we must endeavour to remove
some errors of opinion which mankind have, by the disingenuity of
writers, contracted: for these, from their fear of contradicting
the obsolete and absurd doctrines of a set of simple fellows,
called, in derision, sages or philosophers, have endeavoured, as
much as possible, to confound the ideas of greatness and goodness;
whereas no two things can possibly be more distinct from each
other, for greatness consists in bringing all manner of mischief
on mankind, and goodness in removing it from them. It seems
therefore very unlikely that the same person should possess them
both; and yet nothing is more usual with writers, who find many
instances of greatness in their favourite hero, than to make him a
compliment of goodness into the bargain; and this, without
considering that by such means they destroy the great perfection
called uniformity of character. In the histories of Alexander and
Caesar we are frequently, and indeed impertinently, reminded of
their benevolence and generosity, of their clemency and kindness.
When the former had with fire and sword overrun a vast empire, had
destroyed the lives of an immense number of innocent wretches, had
scattered ruin and desolation like a whirlwind, we are told, as an
example of his clemency, that he did not cut the throat of an old
woman, and ravish her daughters, but was content with only undoing
them. And when the mighty Caesar, with wonderful greatness of
mind, had destroyed the liberties of his country, and with all the
means of fraud and force had placed himself at the head of his
equals, had corrupted and enslaved the greatest people whom the
sun ever saw, we are reminded, as an evidence of his generosity,
of his largesses to his followers and tools, by whose means he had
accomplished his purpose, and by whose assistance he was to
establish it.

Now, who doth not see that such sneaking qualities as these are
rather to be bewailed as imperfections than admired as ornaments
in these great men; rather obscuring their glory, and holding them
back in their race to greatness, indeed unworthy the end for which
they seem to have come into the world, viz. of perpetrating vast
and mighty mischief?

We hope our reader will have reason justly to acquit us of any
such confounding ideas in the following pages; in which, as we are
to record the actions of a great man, so we have nowhere mentioned
any spark of goodness which had discovered itself either faintly
in him, or more glaringly in any other person, but as a meanness
and imperfection, disqualifying them for undertakings which lead
to honour and esteem among men.

As our hero had as little as perhaps is to be found of that
meanness, indeed only enough to make him partaker of the
imperfection of humanity, instead of the perfection of diabolism,
we have ventured to call him THE GREAT; nor do we doubt but our
reader, when he hath perused his story, will concur with us in
allowing him that title.




CHAPTER TWO

GIVING AN ACCOUNT OF AS MANY OF OUR HERO'S ANCESTORS AS CAN BE
GATHERED OUT OF THE RUBBISH OF ANTIQUITY, WHICH HATH BEEN
CAREFULLY SIFTED FOR THAT PURPOSE.


It is the custom of all biographers, at their entrance into their
work, to step a little backwards (as far, indeed, generally as
they are able) and to trace up their hero, as the ancients did the
river Nile, till an incapacity of proceeding higher puts an end to
their search.

What first gave rise to this method is somewhat difficult to
determine. Sometimes I have thought that the hero's ancestors have
been introduced as foils to himself. Again, I have imagined it
might be to obviate a suspicion that such extraordinary personages
were not produced in the ordinary course of nature, and may have
proceeded from the author's fear that, if we were not told who
their fathers were, they might be in danger, like prince
Prettyman, of being supposed to have had none. Lastly, and perhaps
more truly, I have conjectured that the design of the biographer
hath been no more than to shew his great learning and knowledge of
antiquity. A design to which the world hath probably owed many
notable discoveries, and indeed most of the labours of our
antiquarians.

But whatever original this custom had, it is now too well
established to be disputed. I shall therefore conform to it in the
strictest manner.

Mr. Jonathan Wild, or Wyld, then (for he himself did not always
agree in one method of spelling his name), was descended from the
great Wolfstan Wild, who came over with Hengist, and distinguished
himself very eminently at that famous festival, where the Britons
were so treacherously murdered by the Saxons; for when the word
was given, i.e. Nemet eour Saxes, take out your swords, this
gentleman, being a little hard of hearing, mistook the sound for
Nemet her sacs, take out their purses; instead therefore of
applying to the throat, he immediately applied to the pocket of
his guest, and contented himself with taking all that he had,
without attempting his life.

The next ancestor of our hero who was remarkably eminent was Wild,
surnamed Langfanger, or Longfinger. He flourished in the reign of
Henry III., and was strictly attached to Hubert de Burgh, whose
friendship he was recommended to by his great excellence in an art
of which Hubert was himself the inventor; he could, without the
knowledge of the proprietor, with great ease and dexterity, draw
forth a man's purse from any part of his garment where it was
deposited, and hence he derived his surname. This gentleman was
the first of his family who had the honour to suffer for the good
of his country: on whom a wit of that time made the following
epitaph:--

O shame o' justice! Wild is hang'd, For thatten he a pocket
fang'd, While safe old Hubert, and his gang, Doth pocket o' the
nation fang.

Langfanger left a son named Edward, whom he had carefully
instructed in the art for which he himself was so famous. This
Edward had a grandson, who served as a volunteer under the famous
Sir John Falstaff, and by his gallant demeanour so recommended
himself to his captain, that he would have certainly been promoted
by him, had Harry the fifth kept his word with his old companion.

After the death of Edward the family remained in some obscurity
down to the reign of Charles the first, when James Wild
distinguished himself on both sides the question in the civil
wars, passing from one to t'other, as Heaven seemed to declare
itself in favour of either party. At the end of the war, James not
being rewarded according to his merits, as is usually the case of
such impartial persons, he associated himself with a brave man of
those times, whose name was Hind, and declared open war with both
parties. He was successful in several actions, and spoiled many of
the enemy: till at length, being overpowered and taken, he was,
contrary to the law of arms, put basely and cowardly to death by a
combination between twelve men of the enemy's party, who, after
some consultation, unanimously agreed on the said murder.

This Edward took to wife Rebecca, the daughter of the above-
mentioned John Hind, esq., by whom he had issue John, Edward,
Thomas, and Jonathan, and three daughters, namely, Grace, Charity,
and Honour. John followed the fortunes of his father, and,
suffering with him, left no issue. Edward was so remarkable for
his compassionate temper that he spent his life in soliciting the
causes of the distressed captives in Newgate, and is reported to
have held a strict friendship with an eminent divine who solicited
the spiritual causes of the said captives. He married Editha,
daughter and co-heiress of Geoffry Snap, gent., who long enjoyed
an office under the high sheriff of London and Middlesex, by
which, with great reputation, he acquired a handsome fortune: by
her he had no issue. Thomas went very young abroad to one of our
American colonies, and hath not been since heard of. As for the
daughters, Grace was married to a merchant of Yorkshire who dealt
in horses. Charity took to husband an eminent gentleman, whose
name I cannot learn, but who was famous for so friendly a
disposition that he was bail for above a hundred persons in one
year. He had likewise the remarkable humour of walking in
Westminster-hall with a straw in his shoe. Honour, the youngest,
died unmarried: she lived many years in this town, was a great
frequenter of plays, and used to be remarkable for distributing
oranges to all who would accept of them.

Jonathan married Elizabeth, daughter of Scragg Hollow, of Hockley-
in-the-Hole, esq.; and by her had Jonathan, who is the illustrious
subject of these memoirs.




CHAPTER THREE

THE BIRTH, PARENTAGE, AND EDUCATION OF MR. JONATHAN WILD THE
GREAT.


It is observable that Nature seldom produces any one who is
afterwards to act a notable part on the stage of life, but she
gives some warning of her intention; and, as the dramatic poet
generally prepares the entry of every considerable character with
a solemn narrative, or at least a great flourish of drums and
trumpets, so doth this our Alma Mater by some shrewd hints pre-
admonish us of her intention, giving us warning, as it were, and
crying--

     --Venienti occurrite morbo.

Thus Astyages, who was the grandfather of Cyrus, dreamt that his
daughter was brought to bed of a vine, whose branches overspread
all Asia; and Hecuba, while big with Paris, dreamt that she was
delivered of a firebrand that set all Troy in flames; so did the
mother of our great man, while she was with child of him, dream
that she was enjoyed in the night by the gods Mercury and Priapus.
This dream puzzled all the learned astrologers of her time,
seeming to imply in it a contradiction; Mercury being the god of
ingenuity, and Priapus the terror of those who practised it. What
made this dream the more wonderful, and perhaps the true cause of
its being remembered, was a very extraordinary circumstance,
sufficiently denoting something preternatural in it; for though
she had never heard even the name of either of these gods, she
repeated these very words in the morning, with only a small
mistake of the quantity of the latter, which she chose to call
Priapus instead of Priapus; and her husband swore that, though he
might possibly have named Mercury to her (for he had heard of such
an heathen god), he never in his life could anywise have put her
in mind of that other deity, with whom he had no acquaintance.

Another remarkable incident was, that during her whole pregnancy
she constantly longed for everything she saw; nor could be
satisfied with her wish unless she enjoyed it clandestinely; and
as nature, by true and accurate observers, is remarked to give us
no appetites without furnishing us with the means of gratifying
them; so had she at this time a most marvellous glutinous quality
attending her fingers, to which, as to birdlime, everything
closely adhered that she handled.

To omit other stories, some of which may be perhaps the growth of
superstition, we proceed to the birth of our hero, who made his
first appearance on this great theatre the very day when the
plague first broke out in 1665. Some say his mother was delivered
of him in an house of an orbicular or round form in Covent-garden;
but of this we are not certain. He was some years afterwards
baptized by the famous Mr. Titus Oates.

Nothing very remarkable passed in his years of infancy, save that,
as the letters TH are the most difficult of pronunciation, and the
last which a child attains to the utterance of, so they were the
first that came with any readiness from young master Wild. Nor
must we omit the early indications which he gave of the sweetness
of his temper; for though he was by no means to be terrified into
compliance, yet might he, by a sugar-plum, be brought to your
purpose; indeed, to say the truth, he was to be bribed to
anything, which made many say he was certainly born to be a great
man.

He was scarce settled at school before he gave marks of his lofty
and aspiring temper; and was regarded by all his schoolfellows
with that deference which men generally pay to those superior
geniuses who will exact it of them. If an orchard was to be robbed
Wild was consulted, and, though he was himself seldom concerned in
the execution of the design, yet was he always concerter of it,
and treasurer of the booty, some little part of which he would now
and then, with wonderful generosity, bestow on those who took it.
He was generally very secret on these occasions; but if any
offered to plunder of his own head, without acquainting master
Wild, and making a deposit of the booty, he was sure to have an
information against him lodged with the schoolmaster, and to be
severely punished for his pains.

He discovered so little attention to school-learning that his
master, who was a very wise and worthy man, soon gave over all
care and trouble on that account, and, acquainting his parents
that their son proceeded extremely well in his studies, he
permitted his pupil to follow his own inclinations, perceiving
they led him to nobler pursuits than the sciences, which are
generally acknowledged to be a very unprofitable study, and indeed
greatly to hinder the advancement of men in the world: but though
master Wild was not esteemed the readiest at making his exercise,
he was universally allowed to be the most dexterous at stealing it
of all his schoolfellows, being never detected in such furtive
compositions, nor indeed in any other exercitations of his great
talents, which all inclined the same way, but once, when he had
laid violent hands on a book called Gradus ad Parnassum, i. e. A
step towards Parnassus, on which account his master, who was a man
of most wonderful wit and sagacity, is said to have told him he
wished it might not prove in the event Gradus ad Patibulum, i. e.
A step towards the gallows.

But, though he would not give himself the pains requisite to
acquire a competent sufficiency in the learned languages, yet did
he readily listen with attention to others, especially when they
translated the classical authors to him; nor was he in the least
backward, at all such times, to express his approbation. He was
wonderfully pleased with that passage in the eleventh Iliad where
Achilles is said to have bound two sons of Priam upon a mountain,
and afterwards to have released them for a sum of money. This was,
he said, alone sufficient to refute those who affected a contempt
for the wisdom of the ancients, and an undeniable testimony of the
great antiquity of priggism.[Footnote: This word, in the cant
language, signifies thievery.] He was ravished with the account
which Nestor gives in the same book of the rich booty which he
bore off (i.e. stole) from the Eleans. He was desirous of having
this often repeated to him, and at the end of every repetition he
constantly fetched a deep sigh, and said IT WAS A GLORIOUS BOOTY.

When the story of Cacus was read to him out of the eighth Aeneid
he generously pitied the unhappy fate of that great man, to whom
he thought Hercules much too severe: one of his schoolfellows
commending the dexterity of drawing the oxen backward by their
tails into his den, he smiled, and with some disdain said, HE
COULD HAVE TAUGHT HIM A BETTER WAY.

He was a passionate admirer of heroes, particularly of Alexander
the Great, between whom and the late king of Sweden he would
frequently draw parallels. He was much delighted with the accounts
of the Czar's retreat from the latter, who carried off the
inhabitants of great cities to people his own country. THIS, he
said, WAS NOT ONCE THOUGHT OF BY Alexander; BUT added, PERHAPS HE
DID NOT WANT THEM.

Happy had it been for him if he had confined himself to this
sphere; but his chief, if not only blemish, was, that he would
sometimes, from an humility in his nature too pernicious to true
greatness, condescend to an intimacy with inferior things and
persons. Thus the Spanish Rogue was his favourite book, and the
Cheats of Scapin his favourite play.

The young gentleman being now at the age of seventeen, his father,
from a foolish prejudice to our universities, and out of a false
as well as excessive regard to his morals, brought his son to
town, where he resided with him till he was of an age to travel.
Whilst he was here, all imaginable care was taken of his
instruction, his father endeavouring his utmost to inculcate
principles of honour and gentility into his son.




CHAPTER FOUR

MR. WILD'S FIRST ENTRANCE INTO THE WORLD. HIS ACQUAINTANCE WITH
COUNT LA RUSE.

An accident soon happened after his arrival in town which almost
saved the father his whole labour on this head, and provided
master Wild a better tutor than any after-care or expense could
have furnished him with. The old gentleman, it seems, was a
FOLLOWER of the fortunes of Mr. Snap, son of Mr. Geoffry Snap,
whom we have before mentioned to have enjoyed a reputable office
under the Sheriff of London and Middlesex, the daughter of which
Geoffry had intermarried with the Wilds. Mr. Snap the younger,
being thereto well warranted, had laid violent hands on, or, as
the vulgar express it, arrested one count La Ruse, a man of
considerable figure in those days, and had confined him to his own
house till he could find two seconds who would in a formal manner
give their words that the count should, at a certain day and place
appointed, answer all that one Thomas Thimble, a taylor, had to
say to him; which Thomas Thimble, it seems, alleged that the count
had, according to the law of the realm, made over his body to him
as a security for some suits of cloaths to him delivered by the
said Thomas Thimble. Now as the count, though perfectly a man of
honour, could not immediately find these seconds, he was obliged
for some time to reside at Mr. Snap's house: for it seems the law
of the land is, that whoever owes another 10 pounds, or indeed 2
pounds, may be, on the oath of that person, immediately taken up
and carried away from his own house and family, and kept abroad
till he is made to owe, 50 pounds, whether he will or no; for
which he is perhaps afterwards obliged to lie in gaol; and all
these without any trial had, or any other evidence of the debt
than the above said oath, which if untrue, as it often happens,
you have no remedy against the perjurer; he was, forsooth,
mistaken.

But though Mr. Snap would not (as perhaps by the nice rules of
honour he was obliged) discharge the count on his parole, yet did
he not (as by the strict rules of law he was enabled) confine him
to his chamber. The count had his liberty of the whole house, and
Mr. Snap, using only the precaution of keeping his doors well
locked and barred, took his prisoner's word that he would not go
forth.

Mr. Snap had by his second lady two daughters, who were now in the
bloom of their youth and beauty. These young ladies, like damsels
in romance, compassionated the captive count, and endeavoured by
all means to make his confinement less irksome to him; which,
though they were both very beautiful, they could not attain by any
other way so effectually as by engaging with him at cards, in
which contentions, as will appear hereafter, the count was greatly
skilful.

As whisk and swabbers was the game then in the chief vogue, they
were obliged to look for a fourth person in order to make up their
parties. Mr. Snap himself would sometimes relax his mind from the
violent fatigues of his employment by these recreations; and
sometimes a neighbouring young gentleman or lady came in to their
assistance: but the most frequent guest was young master Wild, who
had been educated from his infancy with the Miss Snaps, and was,
by all the neighbours, allotted for the husband of Miss Tishy, or
Laetitia, the younger of the two; for though, being his cousin-
german, she was perhaps, in the eye of a strict conscience,
somewhat too nearly related to him, yet the old people on both
sides, though sufficiently scrupulous in nice matters, agreed to
overlook this objection.

Men of great genius as easily discover one another as freemasons
can. It was therefore no wonder that the count soon conceived an
inclination to an intimacy with our young hero, whose vast
abilities could not be concealed from one of the count's
discernment; for though this latter was so expert at his cards
that he was proverbially said to PLAY THE WHOLE GAME, he was no
match for master Wild, who, inexperienced as he was,
notwithstanding all the art, the dexterity, and often the fortune
of his adversary, never failed to send him away from the table
with less in his pocket than he brought to it, for indeed
Langfanger himself could not have extracted a purse with more
ingenuity than our young hero.

His hands made frequent visits to the count's pocket before the
latter had entertained any suspicion of him, imputing the several
losses he sustained rather to the innocent and sprightly frolick
of Miss Doshy, or Theodosia, with which, as she indulged him with
little innocent freedoms about her person in return, he thought
himself obliged to be contented; but one night, when Wild imagined
the count asleep, he made so unguarded an attack upon him, that
the other caught him in the fact: however, he did not think proper
to acquaint him with the discovery he had made, but, preventing
him from any booty at that time, he only took care for the future
to button his pockets, and to pack the cards with double industry.

So far was this detection from causing any quarrel between these
two prigs,[Footnote: Thieves] that in reality it recommended them
to each other; for a wise man, that is to say a rogue, considers a
trick in life as a gamester doth a trick at play. It sets him on
his guard, but he admires the dexterity of him who plays it.
These, therefore, and many other such instances of ingenuity,
operated so violently on the count, that, notwithstanding the
disparity which age, title, and above all, dress, had set between
them, he resolved to enter into an acquaintance with Wild. This
soon produced a perfect intimacy, and that a friendship, which had
a longer duration than is common to that passion between persons
who only propose to themselves the common advantages of eating,
drinking, whoring, or borrowing money; which ends, as they soon
fail, so doth the friendship founded upon them. Mutual interest,
the greatest of all purposes, was the cement of this alliance,
which nothing, of consequence, but superior interest, was capable
of dissolving.




CHAPTER FIVE

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN YOUNG MASTER WILD AND COUNT LA RUSE, WHICH,
HAVING EXTENDED TO THE REJOINDER, HAD A VERY QUIET, EASY, AND
NATURAL CONCLUSION.


One evening, after the Miss Snaps were retired to rest, the count
thus addressed himself to young Wild: "You cannot, I apprehend,
Mr. Wild, be such a stranger to your own great capacity, as to be
surprised when I tell you I have often viewed, with a mixture of
astonishment and concern, your shining qualities confined to a
sphere where they can never reach the eyes of those who would
introduce them properly into the world, and raise you to an
eminence where you may blaze out to the admiration of all men. I
assure you I am pleased with my captivity, when I reflect I am
likely to owe to it an acquaintance, and I hope friendship, with
the greatest genius of my age; and, what is still more, when I
indulge my vanity with a prospect of drawing from obscurity
(pardon the expression) such talents as were, I believe, never
before like to have been buried in it: for I make no question but,
at my discharge from confinement, which will now soon happen, I
shall be able to introduce you into company, where you may reap
the advantage of your superior parts.

"I will bring you acquainted, sir, with those who, as they are
capable of setting a true value on such qualifications, so they
will have it both in their power and inclination to prefer you for
them. Such an introduction is the only advantage you want, without
which your merit might be your misfortune; for those abilities
which would entitle you to honour and profit in a superior station
may render you only obnoxious to danger and disgrace in a lower."

Mr. Wild answered, "Sir, I am not insensible of my obligations to
you, as well for the over-value you have set on my small
abilities, as for the kindness you express in offering to
introduce me among my superiors. I must own my father hath often
persuaded me to push myself into the company of my betters; but,
to say the truth, I have an aukward pride in my nature, which is
better pleased with being at the head of the lowest class than at
the bottom of the highest. Permit me to say, though the idea may
be somewhat coarse, I had rather stand on the summit of a dunghill
than at the bottom of a hill in Paradise. I have always thought it
signifies little into what rank of life I am thrown, provided I
make a great figure therein, and should be as well satisfied with
exerting my talents well at the head of a small party or gang, as
in the command of a mighty army; for I am far from agreeing with
you, that great parts are often lost in a low situation; on the
contrary, I am convinced it is impossible they should be lost. I
have often persuaded myself that there were not fewer than a
thousand in Alexander's troops capable of performing what
Alexander himself did.

"But, because such spirits were not elected or destined to an
imperial command, are we therefore to imagine they came off
without a booty? or that they contented themselves with the share
in common with their comrades? Surely, no. In civil life,
doubtless, the same genius, the same endowments, have often
composed the statesman and the prig, for so we call what the
vulgar name a thief. The same parts, the same actions, often
promote men to the head of superior societies, which raise them to
the head of lower; and where is the essential difference if the
one ends on Tower-hill and the other at Tyburn? Hath the block any
preference to the gallows, or the ax to the halter, but was given
them by the ill-guided judgment of men? You will pardon me,
therefore, if I am not so hastily inflamed with the common outside
of things, nor join the general opinion in preferring one state to
another. A guinea is as valuable in a leathern as in an
embroidered purse; and a cod's head is a cod's head still, whether
in a pewter or a silver dish."

The count replied as follows: "What you have now said doth not
lessen my idea of your capacity, but confirms my opinion of the
ill effect of bad and low company. Can any man doubt whether it is
better to be a great statesman or a common thief? I have often
heard that the devil used to say, where or to whom I know not,
that it was better to reign in Hell than to be a valet-de-chambre
in Heaven, and perhaps he was in the right; but sure, if he had
had the choice of reigning in either, he would have chosen better.
The truth therefore is, that by low conversation we contract a
greater awe for high things than they deserve. We decline great
pursuits not from contempt but despair. The man who prefers the
high road to a more reputable way of making his fortune doth it
because he imagines the one easier than the other; but you
yourself have asserted, and with undoubted truth, that the same
abilities qualify you for undertaking, and the same means will
bring you to your end in both journeys--as in music it is the same
tune, whether you play it in a higher or a lower key. To instance
in some particulars: is it not the same qualification which
enables this man to hire himself as a servant, and to get into the
confidence and secrets of his master in order to rob him, and that
to undertake trusts of the highest nature with a design to break
and betray them? Is it less difficult by false tokens to deceive a
shopkeeper into the delivery of his goods, which you afterwards
run away with, than to impose upon him by outward splendour and
the appearance of fortune into a credit by which you gain and he
loses twenty times as much? Doth it not require more dexterity in
the fingers to draw out a man's purse from his pocket, or to take
a lady's watch from her side, without being perceived of any (an
excellence in which, without flattery, I am persuaded you have no
superior), than to cog a die or to shuffle a pack of cards? Is not
as much art, as many excellent qualities, required to make a
pimping porter at a common bawdy-house as would enable a man to
prostitute his own or his friend's wife or child? Doth it not ask
as good a memory, as nimble an invention, as steady a countenance,
to forswear yourself in Westminster-hall as would furnish out a
complete tool of state, or perhaps a statesman himself? It is
needless to particularize every instance; in all we shall find
that there is a nearer connexion between high and low life than is
generally imagined, and that a highwayman is entitled to more
favour with the great than he usually meets with. If, therefore,
as I think I have proved, the same parts which qualify a man for
eminence in a low sphere, qualify him likewise for eminence in a
higher, sure it can be no doubt in which he would chuse to exert
them. Ambition, without which no one can be a great man, will
immediately instruct him, in your own phrase, to prefer a hill in
Paradise to a dunghill; nay, even fear, a passion the most
repugnant to greatness, will shew him how much more safely he may
indulge himself in the free and full exertion of his mighty
abilities in the higher than in the lower rank; since experience
teaches him that there is a crowd oftener in one year at Tyburn
than on Tower-hill in a century." Mr. Wild with much solemnity
rejoined, "That the same capacity which qualifies a mill-
ken,[Footnote: A housebreaker.] a bridle-cull,[Footnote: A
highwayman.] or a buttock-and-file, [Footnote: A shoplifter. Terms
used in the Cant Dictionary.] to arrive at any degree of eminence
in his profession, would likewise raise a man in what the world
esteem a more honourable calling, I do not deny; nay, in many of
your instances it is evident that more ingenuity, more art, are
necessary to the lower than the higher proficients. If, therefore,
you had only contended that every prig might be a statesman if he
pleased, I had readily agreed to it; but when you conclude that it
is his interest to be so, that ambition would bid him take that
alternative, in a word, that a statesman is greater or happier
than a prig, I must deny my assent. But, in comparing these two
together, we must carefully avoid being misled by the vulgar
erroneous estimation of things, for mankind err in disquisitions
of this nature as physicians do who in considering the operations
of a disease have not a due regard to the age and complexion of
the patient. The same degree of heat which is common in this
constitution may be a fever in that; in the same manner that which
may be riches or honour to me may be poverty or disgrace to
another: for all these things are to be estimated by relation to
the person who possesses them. A booty of L10 looks as great in
the eye of a bridle-cull, and gives as much real happiness to his
fancy, as that of as many thousands to the statesman; and doth not
the former lay out his acquisitions in whores and fiddles with
much greater joy and mirth than the latter in palaces and
pictures? What are the flattery, the false compliments of his gang
to the statesman, when he himself must condemn his own blunders,
and is obliged against his will to give fortune the whole honour
of success? What is the pride resulting from such sham applause,
compared to the secret satisfaction which a prig enjoys in his
mind in reflecting on a well-contrived and well-executed scheme?
Perhaps, indeed, the greater danger is on the prig's side; but
then you must remember that the greater honour is so too. When I
mention honour, I mean that which is paid them by their gang; for
that weak part of the world which is vulgarly called THE WISE see
both in a disadvantageous and disgraceful light; and as the prig
enjoys (and merits too) the greater degree of honour from his
gang, so doth he suffer the less disgrace from the world, who
think his misdeeds, as they call them, sufficiently at last
punished with a halter, which at once puts an end to his pain and
infamy; whereas the other is not only hated in power, but detested
and contemned at the scaffold; and future ages vent their malice
on his fame, while the other sleeps quiet and forgotten. Besides,
let us a little consider the secret quiet of their consciences:
how easy is the reflection of having taken a few shillings or
pounds from a stranger, without any breach of confidence, or
perhaps any great harm to the person who loses it, compared to
that of having betrayed a public trust, and ruined the fortunes of
thousands, perhaps of a great nation! How much braver is an attack
on the highway than at a gaming-table; and how much more innocent
the character of a b--dy-house than a c--t pimp!" He was eagerly
proceeding, when, casting his eyes on the count, he perceived him
to be fast asleep; wherefore, having first picked his pocket of
three shillings, then gently jogged him in order to take his
leave, and promised to return to him the next morning to
breakfast, they separated: the count retired to rest, and master
Wild to a night-cellar.




CHAPTER SIX

FURTHER CONFERENCES BETWEEN THE COUNT AND MASTER WILD, WITH OTHER
MATTERS OF THE GREAT KIND.


The count missed his money the next morning, and very well knew
who had it; but, as he knew likewise how fruitless would be any
complaint, he chose to pass it by without mentioning it. Indeed it
may appear strange to some readers that these gentlemen, who knew
each other to be thieves, should never once give the least hint of
this knowledge in all their discourse together, but, on the
contrary, should have the words honesty, honour, and friendship as
often in their mouths as any other men. This, I say, may appear
strange to some; but those who have lived long in cities, courts,
gaols, or such places, will perhaps be able to solve the seeming
absurdity.

When our two friends met the next morning the count (who, though
he did not agree with the whole of his friend's doctrine, was,
however, highly pleased with his argument) began to bewail the
misfortune of his captivity, and the backwardness of friends to
assist each other in their necessities; but what vexed him, he
said, most, was the cruelty of the fair: for he intrusted Wild
with the secret of his having had an intrigue with Miss Theodosia,
the elder of the Miss Snaps, ever since his confinement, though he
could not prevail with her to set him at liberty. Wild answered,
with a smile, "It was no wonder a woman should wish to confine her
lover where she might be sure of having him entirely to herself;"
but added, he believed he could tell him a method of certainly
procuring his escape. The count eagerly besought him to acquaint
him with it. Wild told him bribery was the surest means, and
advised him to apply to the maid. The count thanked him, but
returned, "That he had not a farthing left besides one guinea,
which he had then given her to change." To which Wild said, "He
must make it up with promises, which he supposed he was courtier
enough to know how to put off." The count greatly applauded the
advice, and said he hoped he should be able in time to persuade
him to condescend to be a great man, for which he was so perfectly
well qualified.

This method being concluded on, the two friends sat down to cards,
a circumstance which I should not have mentioned but for the sake
of observing the prodigious force of habit; for though the count
knew if he won ever so much of Mr. Wild he should not receive a
shilling, yet could he not refrain from packing the cards; nor
could Wild keep his hands out of his friend's pockets, though he
knew there was nothing in them.

When the maid came home the count began to put it to her; offered
her all he had, and promised mountains in futuro; but all in vain--
the maid's honesty was impregnable. She said, "She would not
break her trust for the whole world; no, not if she could gain a
hundred pound by it." Upon which Wild stepping up and telling her
"She need not fear losing her place, for it would never be found
out; that they could throw a pair of sheets into the street, by
which it might appear he got out at a window; that he himself
would swear he saw him descending; that the money would be so much
gains in her pocket; that, besides his promises, which she might
depend on being performed, she would receive from him twenty
shillings and ninepence in ready money (for she had only laid out
threepence in plain Spanish); and lastly, that, besides his
honour, the count should leave a pair of gold buttons (which
afterwards turned out to be brass) of great value, in her hands,
as a further pawn."

The maid still remained inflexible, till Wild offered to lend his
friend a guinea more, and to deposit it immediately in her hands.
This reinforcement bore down the poor girl's resolution, and she
faithfully promised to open the door to the count that evening.

Thus did our young hero not only lend his rhetoric, which few
people care to do without a fee, but his money too (a sum which
many a good man would have made fifty excuses before he would have
parted with), to his friend, and procured him his liberty.

But it would be highly derogatory from the GREAT character of
Wild, should the reader imagine he lent such a sum to a friend
without the least view of serving himself. As, therefore, the
reader may easily account for it in a manner more advantageous to
our hero's reputation, by concluding that he had some interested
view in the count's enlargement, we hope he will judge with
charity, especially as the sequel makes it not only reasonable but
necessary to suppose he had some such view.

A long intimacy and friendship subsisted between the count and Mr.
Wild, who, being by the advice of the count dressed in good
cloaths, was by him introduced into the best company. They
constantly frequented the assemblies, auctions, gaming-tables, and
play-houses; at which last they saw two acts every night, and then
retired without paying--this being, it seems, an immemorial
privilege which the beaus of the town prescribe for themselves.
This, however, did not suit Wild's temper, who called it a cheat,
and objected against it as requiring no dexterity, but what every
blockhead might put in execution. He said it was a custom very
much savouring of the sneaking-budge, [Footnote: Shoplifting] but
neither so honourable nor so ingenious.

Wild now made a considerable figure, and passed for a gentleman of
great fortune in the funds. Women of quality treated him with
great familiarity, young ladies began to spread their charms for
him, when an accident happened that put a stop to his continuance
in a way of life too insipid and inactive to afford employment for
those great talents which were designed to make a much more
considerable figure in the world than attends the character of a
beau or a pretty gentleman.




CHAPTER SEVEN

MASTER WILD SETS OUT ON HIS TRAVELS, AND RETURNS HOME AGAIN. A
VERY SHORT CHAPTER, CONTAINING INFINITELY MORE TIME AND LESS
MATTER THAN ANY OTHER IN THE WHOLE STORY.


We are sorry we cannot indulge our reader's curiosity with a full
and perfect account of this accident; but as there are such
various accounts, one of which only can be true, and possibly and
indeed probably none; instead of following the general method of
historians, who in such cases set down the various reports, and
leave to your own conjecture which you will chuse, we shall pass
them all over.

Certain it is that, whatever this accident was, it determined our
hero's father to send his son immediately abroad for seven years;
and, which may seem somewhat remarkable, to his majesty's
plantations in America--that part of the world being, as he said,
freer from vices than the courts and cities of Europe, and
consequently less dangerous to corrupt a young man's morals. And
as for the advantages, the old gentleman thought they were equal
there with those attained in the politer climates; for travelling,
he said, was travelling in one part of the world as well as
another; it consisted in being such a time from home, and in
traversing so many leagues; and [he] appealed to experience
whether most of our travellers in France and Italy did not prove
at their return that they might have been sent as profitably to
Norway and Greenland.

According to these resolutions of his father, the young gentleman
went aboard a ship, and with a great deal of good company set out
for the American hemisphere. The exact time of his stay is
somewhat uncertain; most probably longer than was intended. But
howsoever long his abode there was, it must be a blank in this
history, as the whole story contains not one adventure worthy the
reader's notice; being indeed a continued scene of whoring,
drinking, and removing from one place to another.

To confess a truth, we are so ashamed of the shortness of this
chapter, that we would have done a violence to our history, and
have inserted an adventure or two of some other traveller; to
which purpose we borrowed the journals of several young gentlemen
who have lately made the tour of Europe; but to our great sorrow,
could not extract a single incident strong enough to justify the
theft to our conscience.

When we consider the ridiculous figure this chapter must make,
being the history of no less than eight years, our only comfort
is, that the histories of some men's lives, and perhaps of some
men who have made a noise in the world, are in reality as absolute
blanks as the travels of our hero. As, therefore, we shall make
sufficient amends in the sequel for this inanity, we shall hasten
on to matters of true importance and immense greatness. At present
we content ourselves with setting down our hero where we took him
up, after acquainting our reader that he went abroad, staid seven
years, and then came home again.




CHAPTER EIGHT

AN ADVENTURE WHERE WILD, IN THE DIVISION OF THE BOOTY, EXHIBITS AN
ASTONISHING INSTANCE OF GREATNESS.


The count was one night very successful at the hazard-table, where
Wild, who was just returned from his travels, was then present; as
was likewise a young gentleman whose name was Bob Bagshot, an
acquaintance of Mr. Wild's, and of whom he entertained a great
opinion; taking, therefore, Mr. Bagshot aside, he advised him to
provide himself (if he had them not about him) with a case of
pistols, and to attack the count in his way home, promising to
plant himself near with the same arms, as a corps de reserve, and
to come up on occasion. This was accordingly executed, and the
count obliged to surrender to savage force what he had in so
genteel and civil a manner taken at play.

And as it is a wise and philosophical observation, that one
misfortune never comes alone, the count had hardly passed the
examination of Mr. Bagshot when he fell into the hands of Mr.
Snap, who, in company with Mr. Wild the elder and one or two more
gentlemen, being, it seems, thereto well warranted, laid hold of
the unfortunate count, and conveyed him back to the same house
from which, by the assistance of his good friend, he had formerly
escaped.

Mr. Wild and Mr. Bagshot went together to the tavern, where Mr.
Bagshot (generously, as he thought) offered to share the booty,
and, having divided the money into two unequal heaps, and added a
golden snuff-box to the lesser heap, he desired Mr. Wild to take
his choice.

Mr. Wild immediately conveyed the larger share of the ready into
his pocket, according to an excellent maxim of his, "First secure
what share you can before you wrangle for the rest;" and then,
turning to his companion, he asked with a stern countenance
whether he intended to keep all that sum to himself? Mr. Bagshot
answered, with some surprize, that he thought Mr. Wild had no
reason to complain; for it was surely fair, at least on his part,
to content himself with an equal share of the booty, who had taken
the whole. "I grant you took it," replied Wild; "but, pray, who
proposed or counselled the taking it? Can you say that you have
done more than executed my scheme? and might not I, if I had
pleased, have employed another, since you well know there was not
a gentleman in the room but would have taken the money if he had
known how, conveniently and safely, to do it?" "That is very
true," returned Bagshot, "but did not I execute the scheme, did
not I run the whole risque? Should not I have suffered the whole
punishment if I had been taken, and is not the labourer worthy of
his hire?" "Doubtless," says Jonathan, "he is so, and your hire I
shall not refuse you, which is all that the labourer is entitled
to or ever enjoys. I remember when I was at school to have heard
some verses which for the excellence of their doctrine made an
impression on me, purporting that the birds of the air and the
beasts of the field work not for themselves. It is true, the
farmer allows fodder to his oxen and pasture to his sheep; but it
is for his own service, not theirs, In the same manner the
ploughman, the shepherd, the weaver, the builder, and the soldier,
work not for themselves but others; they are contented with a poor
pittance (the labourer's hire), and permit us, the GREAT, to enjoy
the fruits of their labours. Aristotle, as my master told us, hath
plainly proved, in the first book of his politics, that the low,
mean, useful part of mankind, are born slaves to the wills of
their superiors, and are indeed as much their property as the
cattle. It is well said of us, the higher order of mortals, that
we are born only to devour the fruits of the earth; and it may be
as well said of the lower class, that they are born only to
produce them for us. Is not the battle gained by the sweat and
danger of the common soldier? Are not the honour and fruits of the
victory the general's who laid the scheme? Is not the house built
by the labour of the carpenter and the bricklayer? Is it not built
for the profit only of the architect and for the use of the
inhabitant, who could not easily have placed one brick upon
another? Is not the cloth or the silk wrought into its form and
variegated with all the beauty of colours by those who are forced
to content themselves with the coarsest and vilest part of their
work, while the profit and enjoyment of their labours fall to the
share of others? Cast your eye abroad, and see who is it lives in
the most magnificent buildings, feasts his palate with the most
luxurious dainties, his eyes with the most beautiful sculptures
and delicate paintings, and clothes himself in the finest and
richest apparel; and tell me if all these do not fall to his lot
who had not any the least share in producing all these
conveniences, nor the least ability so to do? Why then should the
state of a prig[Footnote: A thief.] differ from all others? Or why
should you, who are the labourer only, the executor of my scheme,
expect a share in the profit? Be advised, therefore; deliver the
whole booty to me, and trust to my bounty for your reward." Mr.
Bagshot was some time silent, and looked like a man thunderstruck,
but at last, recovering himself from his surprize, he thus began:
"If you think, Mr. Wild, by the force of your arguments, to get
the money out of my pocket, you are greatly mistaken. What is all
this stuff to me? D--n me, I am a man of honour, and, though I
can't talk as well as you, by G--you shall not make a fool of me;
and if you take me for one, I must tell you you are a rascal." At
which words he laid his hand to his pistol. Wild, perceiving the
little success the great strength of his arguments had met with,
and the hasty temper of his friend, gave over his design for the
present, and told Bagshot he was only in jest. But this coolness
with which he treated the other's flame had rather the effect of
oil than of water. Bagshot replied in a rage, "D--n me, I don't
like such jests; I see you are a pitiful rascal and a scoundrel."
Wild, with a philosophy worthy of great admiration, returned, "As
for your abuse, I have no regard to it; but, to convince you I am
not afraid of you, let us lay the whole booty on the table, and
let the conqueror take it all." And having so said, he drew out
his shining hanger, whose glittering so dazzled the eyes of
Bagshot, that, in tone entirely altered, he said, "No! he was
contented with what he had already; that it was mighty ridiculous
in them to quarrel among themselves; that they had common enemies
enough abroad, against whom they should unite their common force;
that if he had mistaken Wild he was sorry for it; and as for a
jest, he could take a jest as well as another." Wild, who had a
wonderful knack of discovering and applying to the passions of
men, beginning now to have a little insight into his friend, and
to conceive what arguments would make the quickest impression on
him, cried out in a loud voice, "That he had bullied him into
drawing his hanger, and, since it was out, he would not put it up
without satisfaction." "What satisfaction would you have?"
answered the other. "Your money or your blood," said Wild. "Why,
look ye, Mr. Wild," said Bagshot, "if you want to borrow a little
of my part, since I know you to be a man of honour, I don't care
if I lend you; for, though I am not afraid of any man living, yet
rather than break with a friend, and as it may be necessary for
your occasions--" Wild, who often declared that he looked upon
borrowing to be as good a way of taking as any, and, as he called
it, the genteelest kind of sneaking-budge, putting up his hanger,
and shaking his friend by the hand, told him he had hit the nail
on the head; it was really his present necessity only that
prevailed with him against his will, for that his honour was
concerned to pay a considerable sum the next morning. Upon which,
contenting himself with one half of Bagshot's share, so that he
had three parts in four of the whole, he took leave of his
companion and retired to rest.




CHAPTER NINE

WILD PAYS A VISIT TO MISS LETITIA SNAP. A DESCRIPTION OF THAT
LOVELY YOUNG CREATURE, AND THE SUCCESSLESS ISSUE OF MR. WILD'S
ADDRESSES.


The next morning when our hero waked he began to think of paying a
visit to Miss Tishy Snap, a woman of great merit and of as great
generosity; yet Mr. Wild found a present was ever most welcome to
her, as being a token of respect in her lover. He therefore went
directly to a toy-shop, and there purchased a genteel snuff-box,
with which he waited upon his mistress, whom he found in the most
beautiful undress. Her lovely hair hung wantonly over her
forehead, being neither white with, nor yet free from, powder; a
neat double clout, which seemed to have been worn a few weeks
only, was pinned under her chin; some remains of that art with
which ladies improve nature shone on her cheeks; her body was
loosely attired, without stays or jumps, so that her breasts had
uncontrolled liberty to display their beauteous orbs, which they
did as low as her girdle; a thin covering of a rumpled muslin
handkerchief almost hid them from the eyes, save in a few parts,
where a good-natured hole gave opportunity to the naked breast to
appear. Her gown was a satin of a whitish colour, with about a
dozen little silver spots upon it, so artificially interwoven at
great distance, that they looked as if they had fallen there by
chance. This, flying open, discovered a fine yellow petticoat,
beautifully edged round the bottom with a narrow piece of half
gold lace which was now almost become fringe: beneath this
appeared another petticoat stiffened with whalebone, vulgarly
called a hoop, which hung six inches at least below the other; and
under this again appeared an under-garment of that colour which
Ovid intends when he says,

----Qui color albus erat nunc est contrarius albo.

She likewise displayed two pretty feet covered with silk and
adorned with lace, and tied, the right with a handsome piece of
blue ribbon; the left, as more unworthy, with a piece of yellow
stuff, which seemed to have been a strip of her upper petticoat.
Such was the lovely creature whom Mr. Wild attended. She received
him at first with some of that coldness which women of strict
virtue, by a commendable though sometimes painful restraint,
enjoin themselves to their lovers. The snuff-box, being produced,
was at first civilly, and indeed gently, refused; but on a second
application accepted. The tea-table was soon called for, at which
a discourse passed between these young lovers, which, could we set
it down with any accuracy, would be very edifying as well as
entertaining to our reader; let it suffice then that the wit,
together with, the beauty, of this young creature, so inflamed the
passion of Wild, which, though an honourable sort of a passion,
was at the same time so extremely violent, that it transported him
to freedoms too offensive to the nice chastity of Laetitia, who
was, to confess the truth, more indebted to her own strength for
the preservation of her virtue than to the awful respect or
backwardness of her lover; he was indeed so very urgent in his
addresses, that, had he not with many oaths promised her marriage,
we could scarce have been strictly justified in calling his
passion honourable; but he was so remarkably attached to decency,
that he never offered any violence to a young lady without the
most earnest promises of that kind, these being, he said, a
ceremonial due to female modesty, which cost so little, and were
so easily pronounced, that the omission could arise from nothing
but the mere wantonness of brutality. The lovely Laetitia, either
out of prudence, or perhaps religion, of which she was a liberal
professor, was deaf to all his promises, and luckily invincible by
his force; for, though she had not yet learnt the art of well
clenching her fist, nature had not however left her defenceless,
for at the ends of her fingers she wore arms, which she used with
such admirable dexterity, that the hot blood of Mr. Wild soon
began to appear in several little spots on his face, and his full-
blown cheeks to resemble that part which modesty forbids a boy to
turn up anywhere but in a public school, after some pedagogue,
strong of arm, hath exercised his talents thereon. Wild now
retreated from the conflict, and the victorious Laetitia, with
becoming triumph and noble spirit, cried out, "D--n your eyes, if
this be your way of shewing your love, I'll warrant I gives you
enough on't." She then proceeded to talk of her virtue, which Wild
bid her carry to the devil with her, and thus our lovers parted.




CHAPTER TEN

A DISCOVERY OF SOME MATTERS CONCERNING THE CHASTE LAETITIA WHICH
MUST WONDERFULLY SURPRISE, AND PERHAPS AFFECT, OUR READER.


Mr. Wild was no sooner departed than the fair conqueress, opening
the door of a closet, called forth a young gentleman whom she had
there enclosed at the approach of the other. The name of this
gallant was Tom Smirk. He was clerk to an attorney, and was indeed
the greatest beau and the greatest favourite of the ladies at the
end of the town where he lived. As we take dress to be the
characteristic or efficient quality of a beau, we shall, instead
of giving any character of this young gentleman, content ourselves
with describing his dress only to our readers. He wore, then, a
pair of white stockings on his legs, and pumps on his feet: his
buckles were a large piece of pinchbeck plate, which almost
covered his whole foot. His breeches were of red plush, which
hardly reached his knees; his waistcoat was a white dimity, richly
embroidered with yellow silk, over which he wore a blue plush coat
with metal buttons, a smart sleeve, and a cape reaching half way
down his back. His wig was of a brown colour, covering almost half
his pate, on which was hung on one side a little laced hat, but
cocked with great smartness. Such was the accomplished Smirk, who,
at his issuing forth from the closet, was received with open arms
by the amiable Laetitia. She addressed him by the tender name of
dear Tommy, and told him she had dismissed the odious creature
whom her father intended for her husband, and had now nothing to
interrupt her happiness with him.

Here, reader, thou must pardon us if we stop a while to lament the
capriciousness of Nature in forming this charming part of the
creation designed to complete the happiness of man; with their
soft innocence to allay his ferocity, with their sprightliness to
soothe his cares, and with their constant friendship to relieve
all the troubles and disappointments which can happen to him.
Seeing then that these are the blessings chiefly sought after and
generally found in every wife, how must we lament that disposition
in these lovely creatures which leads them to prefer in their
favour those individuals of the other sex who do not seem intended
by nature as so great a masterpiece! For surely, however useful
they may be in the creation, as we are taught that nothing, not
even a louse, is made in vain, yet these beaus, even that most
splendid and honoured part which in this our island nature loves
to distinguish in red, are not, as some think, the noblest work of
the Creator. For my own part, let any man chuse to himself two
beaus, let them be captains or colonels, as well-dressed men as
ever lived, I would venture to oppose a single Sir Isaac Newton, a
Shakespear, a Milton, or perhaps some few others, to both these
beaus; nay, and I very much doubt whether it had not been better
for the world in general that neither of these beaus had ever been
born than that it should have wanted the benefit arising to it
from the labour of any one of those persons.

If this be true, how melancholy must be the consideration that any
single beau, especially if he have but half a yard of ribbon in
his hat, shall weigh heavier in the scale of female affection than
twenty Sir Isaac Newtons! How must our reader, who perhaps had
wisely accounted for the resistance which the chaste Laetitia had
made to the violent addresses of the ravished (or rather
ravishing) Wild from that lady's impregnable virtue--how must he
blush, I say, to perceive her quit the strictness of her carriage,
and abandon herself to those loose freedoms which she indulged to
Smirk! But alas! when we discover all, as to preserve the fidelity
of our history we must, when we relate that every familiarity had
past between them, and that the FAIR Laetitia (for we must, in
this single instance, imitate Virgil when he drops the pius and
the pater, and drop our favourite epithet of chaste), the FAIR
Laetitia had, I say, made Smirk as happy as Wild desired to be,
what must then be our reader's confusion! We will, therefore, draw
a curtain over this scene, from that philogyny which is in us, and
proceed to matters which, instead of dishonouring the human
species, will greatly raise and ennoble it.




CHAPTER ELEVEN

CONTAINING AS NOTABLE INSTANCES OF HUMAN GREATNESS AS ARE TO BE
MET WITH IN ANCIENT OR MODERN HISTORY. CONCLUDING WITH SOME
WHOLESOME HINTS TO THE GAY PART OF MANKIND.


Wild no sooner parted from the chaste Laetitia than, recollecting
that his friend the count was returned to his lodgings in the same
house, he resolved to visit him; for he was none of those half-
bred fellows who are ashamed to see their friends when they have
plundered and betrayed them; from which base and pitiful temper
many monstrous cruelties have been transacted by men, who have
sometimes carried their modesty so far as to the murder or utter
ruin of those against whom their consciences have suggested to
them that they have committed some small trespass, either by the
debauching a friend's wife or daughter, belying or betraying the
friend himself, or some other such trifling instance. In our hero
there was nothing not truly great: he could, without the least
abashment, drink a bottle with the man who knew he had the moment
before picked his pocket; and, when he had stripped him of
everything he had, never desired to do him any further mischief;
for he carried good-nature to that wonderful and uncommon height
that he never did a single injury to man or woman by which he
himself did not expect to reap some advantage. He would often
indeed say that by the contrary party men often made a bad bargain
with the devil, and did his work for nothing.

Our hero found the captive count, not basely lamenting his fate
nor abandoning himself to despair, but, with due resignation,
employing himself in preparing several packs of cards for future
exploits. The count, little suspecting that Wild had been the sole
contriver of the misfortune which had befallen him, rose up and
eagerly embraced him, and Wild returned his embrace with equal
warmth. They were no sooner seated than Wild took an occasion,
from seeing the cards lying on the table, to inveigh against
gaming, and, with an usual and highly commendable freedom, after
first exaggerating the distressed circumstances in which the count
was then involved, imputed all his misfortunes to that cursed itch
of play which, he said, he concluded had brought his present
confinement upon him, and must unavoidably end in his destruction.
The other, with great alacrity, defended his favourite amusement
(or rather employment), and, having told his friend the great
success he had after his unluckily quitting the room, acquainted
him with the accident which followed, and which the reader, as
well as Mr. Wild, hath had some intimation of before; adding,
however, one circumstance not hitherto mentioned, viz. that he had
defended his money with the utmost bravery, and had dangerously
wounded at least two of the three men that had attacked him. This
behaviour Wild, who not only knew the extreme readiness with which
the booty had been delivered, but also the constant frigidity of
the count's courage, highly applauded, and wished he had been
present to assist him. The count then proceeded to animadvert on
the carelessness of the watch, and the scandal it was to the laws
that honest people could not walk the streets in safety; and,
after expatiating some time on that subject, he asked Mr. Wild if
he ever saw so prodigious a run of luck (for so he chose to call
his winning, though he knew Wild was well acquainted with his
having loaded dice in his pocket). The other answered it was
indeed prodigious, and almost sufficient to justify any person who
did not know him better in suspecting his fair play. "No man, I
believe, dares call that in question," replied he. "No, surely,"
says Wild; "you are well known to be a man of more honour; but
pray, sir," continued he, "did the rascals rob you of all?" "Every
shilling," cries the other, with an oath: "they did not leave me a
single stake."

While they were thus discoursing, Mr. Snap, with a gentleman who
followed him, introduced Mr. Bagshot into the company. It seems
Mr. Bagshot, immediately after his separation from Mr. Wild,
returned to the gaming-table, where having trusted to fortune that
treasure which he had procured by his industry, the faithless
goddess committed a breach of trust, and sent Mr. Bagshot away
with as empty pockets as are to be found in any laced coat in the
kingdom. Now, as that gentleman was walking to a certain reputable
house or shed in Convent-garden market he fortuned to meet with
Mr. Snap, who had just returned from conveying the count to his
lodgings, and was then walking to and fro before the gaming-house
door; for you are to know, my good reader, if you have never been
a man of wit and pleasure about town, that, as the voracious pike
lieth snug under some weed before the mouth of any of those little
streams which discharge themselves into a large river, waiting for
the small fry which issue thereout, so hourly, before the door or
mouth of these gaming-houses, doth Mr. Snap, or some other
gentleman of his occupation, attend the issuing forth of the small
fry of young gentlemen, to whom they deliver little slips of
parchment, containing invitations of the said gentlemen to their
houses, together with one Mr. John Doe,[Footnote: This is a
fictitious name which is put into every writ; for what purpose the
lawyers best know.] a person whose company is in great request.
Mr. Snap, among many others of these billets, happened to have one
directed to Mr. Bagshot, being at the suit or solicitation of one
Mrs. Anne Sample, spinster, at whose house the said Bagshot had
lodged several months, and whence he had inadvertently departed
without taking a formal leave, on which account Mrs. Anne had
taken this method of SPEAKING WITH him.

Mr. Snap's house being now very full of good company, he was
obliged to introduce Mr. Bagshot into the count's apartment, it
being, as he said, the only chamber he had to LOCK UP in. Mr. Wild
no sooner saw his friend than he ran eagerly to embrace him, and
immediately presented him to the count, who received him with
great civility.




CHAPTER TWELVE

OTHER PARTICULARS RELATING TO MISS TISHY, WHICH  PERHAPS MAY NOT
GREATLY SURPRISE AFTER THE FORMER. THE DESCRIPTION OF A VERY FINE
GENTLEMAN. AND A DIALOGUE BETWEEN WILD AND THE COUNT, IN WHICH
PUBLIC VIRTUE IS JUST HINTED AT, WITH, ETC.


Mr. Snap had turned the key a very few minutes before a servant of
the family called Mr. Bagshot out of the room, telling him there
was a person below who desired to speak with him; and this was no
other than Miss Laetitia Snap, whose admirer Mr. Bagshot had long
been, and in whose tender breast his passion had raised a more
ardent flame than that which any of his rivals had been able to
raise. Indeed, she was so extremely fond of this youth, that she
often confessed to her female confidents, if she could ever have
listened to the thought of living with any one man, Mr. Bagshot
was he. Nor was she singular in this inclination, many other young
ladies being her rivals in this matter, who had all the great and
noble qualifications necessary to form a true gallant, and which
nature is seldom so extremely bountiful as to indulge to any one
person. We will endeavour, however, to describe them all with as
much exactness as possible. He was then six feet high, had large
calves, broad shoulders, a ruddy complexion, with brown curled
hair, a modest assurance, and clean linen. He had indeed, it must
be confessed, some small deficiencies to counterbalance these
heroic qualities; for he was the silliest fellow in the world,
could neither write nor read, nor had he a single grain or spark
of honour, honesty, or good-nature, in his whole composition.

As soon as Mr. Bagshot had quitted the room the count, taking Wild
by the hand, told him he had something to communicate to him of
very great importance. "I am very well convinced," said he, "that
Bagshot is the person who robbed me." Wild started with great
amazement at this discovery, and answered, with a most serious
countenance, "I advise you to take care how you cast any such
reflections on a man of Mr. Bagshot's nice honour, for I am
certain he will not bear it." "D--n his honour!" quoth the enraged
count; "nor can I bear being robbed; I will apply to a justice of
peace." Wild replied, with great indignation, "Since you dare
entertain such a suspicion against my friend, I will henceforth
disclaim all acquaintance with you. Mr. Bagshot is a man of
honour, and my friend, and consequently it is impossible he should
be guilty of a bad action." He added much more to the same
purpose, which had not the expected weight with the count; for the
latter seemed still certain as to the person, and resolute in
applying for justice, which, he said, he thought he owed to the
public as well as to himself. Wild then changed his countenance
into a kind of derision, and spoke as follows: "Suppose it should
be possible that Mr. Bagshot had, in a frolic (for I will call it
no other), taken this method of borrowing your money, what will
you get by prosecuting him? Not your money again, for you hear he
was stripped at the gaming-table (of which Bagshot had during
their short confabulation informed them); you will get then an
opportunity of being still more out of pocket by the prosecution.
Another advantage you may promise yourself is the being blown up
at every gaming-house in town, for that I will assure you of; and
then much good may it do you to sit down with the satisfaction of
having discharged what it seems you owe the public. I am ashamed
of my own discernment when I mistook you for a great man. Would it
not be better for you to receive part (perhaps all) of your money
again by a wise concealment: for, however seedy [Footnote: Poor.]
Mr. Bagshot may be now, if he hath really played this frolic with
you, you may believe he will play it with others, and when he is
in cash you may depend on a restoration; the law will be always in
your power, and that is the last remedy which a brave or a wise
man would resort to. Leave the affair therefore to me; I will
examine Bagshot, and, if I find he hath played you this trick, I
will engage my own honour you shall in the end be no loser." The
count answered, "If I was sure to be no loser, Mr. Wild, I
apprehend you have a better opinion of my understanding than to
imagine I would prosecute a gentleman for the sake of the public.
These are foolish words of course, which we learn a ridiculous
habit of speaking, and will often break from us without any design
or meaning. I assure you, all I desire is a reimbursement; and if
I can by your means obtain that, the public may--;" concluding
with a phrase too coarse to be inserted in a history of this kind.

They were now informed that dinner was ready, and the company
assembled below stairs, whither the reader may, if he please,
attend these gentlemen.

There sat down at the table Mr. Snap, and the two Miss Snaps his
daughters, Mr. Wild the elder, Mr. Wild the younger, the count,
Mr. Bagshot, and a grave gentleman who had formerly had the honour
of carrying arms in a regiment of foot, and who was now engaged in
the office (perhaps a more profitable one) of assisting or
following Mr. Snap in the execution of the laws of his country.

Nothing very remarkable passed at dinner. The conversation (as is
usual in polite company) rolled chiefly on what they were then
eating and what they had lately eaten. In this the military
gentleman, who had served in Ireland, gave them a very particular
account of a new manner of roasting potatoes, and others gave an
account of other dishes. In short, an indifferent by-stander would
have concluded from their discourse that they had all come into
this world for no other purpose than to fill their bellies; and
indeed, if this was not the chief, it is probable it was the most
innocent design Nature had in their formation.

As soon as THE DISH was removed, and the ladies retired, the count
proposed a game at hazard, which was immediately assented to by
the whole company, and, the dice being immediately brought in, the
count took up the box and demanded who would set him: to which no
one made any answer, imagining perhaps the count's pockets to be
more empty than they were; for, in reality, that gentleman
(notwithstanding what he had heartily swore to Mr. Wild) had,
since his arrival at Mr. Snap's, conveyed a piece of plate to
pawn, by which means he had furnished himself with ten guineas.
The count, therefore, perceiving this backwardness in his friends,
and probably somewhat guessing at the cause of it, took the said
guineas out of his pocket, and threw them on the table; when lo,
(such is the force of example) all the rest began to produce their
funds, and immediately, a considerable sum glittering in their
eyes, the game began.




CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A CHAPTER OF WHICH WE ARE EXTREMELY VAIN, AND WHICH INDEED WE LOOK
ON AS OUR CHEF-D'OEUVRE; CONTAINING A WONDERFUL STORY CONCERNING
THE DEVIL, AND AS NICE A SCENE OF HONOUR AS EVER HAPPENED.


My reader, I believe, even if he be a gamester, would not thank me
for an exact relation of every man's success; let it suffice then
that they played till the whole money vanished from the table.
Whether the devil himself carried it away, as some suspected, I
will not determine; but very surprising it was that every person
protested he had lost, nor could any one guess who, unless THE
DEVIL, had won.

But though very probable it is that this arch fiend had some share
in the booty, it is likely he had not all; Mr. Bagshot being
imagined to be a considerable winner, notwithstanding his
assertions to the contrary; for he was seen by several to convey
money often into his pocket; and what is still a little stronger
presumption is, that the grave gentleman whom we have mentioned to
have served his country in two honourable capacities, not being
willing to trust alone to the evidence of his eyes, had frequently
dived into the said Bagshot's pocket, whence (as he tells us in
the apology for his life afterwards published [Footnote: Not in a
book by itself, in imitation of some other such persons, but in
the ordinary's account, &c., where all the apologies for the lives
of rogues and whores which have been published within these twenty
years should have been inserted.]), though he might extract a few
pieces, he was very sensible he had left many behind. The
gentleman had long indulged his curiosity in this way before Mr.
Bagshot, in the heat of gaming, had perceived him; but, as Bagshot
was now leaving off play, he discovered this ingenious feat of
dexterity; upon which, leaping up from his chair in violent
passion, he cried out, "I thought I had been among gentlemen and
men of honour, but, d--n me, I find we have a pickpocket in
company." The scandalous sound of this word extremely alarmed the
whole board, nor did they all shew less surprise than the CONV--N
(whose not sitting of late is much lamented) would express at
hearing there was an atheist in the room; but it more particularly
affected the gentleman at whom it was levelled, though it was not
addressed to him. He likewise started from his chair, and, with a
fierce countenance and accent, said, "Do you mean me? D--n your
eyes, you are a rascal and a scoundrel!" Those words would have
been immediately succeeded by blows had not the company
interposed, and with strong arm withheld the two antagonists from
each other. It was, however, a long time before they could be
prevailed on to sit down; which being at last happily brought
about, Mr. Wild the elder, who was a well-disposed old man,
advised them to shake hands and be friends; but the gentleman who
had received the first affront absolutely refused it, and swore HE
WOULD HAVE THE VILLAIN'S BLOOD. Mr. Snap highly applauded the
resolution, and affirmed that the affront was by no means to be
put up by any who bore the name of a gentleman, and that unless
his friend resented it properly he would never execute another
warrant in his company; that he had always looked upon him as a
man of honour, and doubted not but he would prove himself so; and
that, if it was his own case, nothing should persuade him to put
up such an affront without proper satisfaction. The count likewise
spoke on the same side, and the parties themselves muttered
several short sentences purporting their intentions. At last Mr.
Wild, our hero, rising slowly from his seat, and having fixed the
attention of all present, began as follows: "I have heard with
infinite pleasure everything which the two gentlemen who spoke
last have said with relation to honour, nor can any man possibly
entertain a higher and nobler sense of that word, nor a greater
esteem of its inestimable value, than myself. If we have no name
to express it by in our Cant Dictionary, it were well to be wished
we had. It is indeed the essential quality of a gentleman, and
which no man who ever was great in the field or on the road (as
others express it) can possibly be without. But alas! gentlemen,
what pity is it that a word of such sovereign use and virtue
should have so uncertain and various an application that scarce
two people mean the same thing by it? Do not some by honour mean
good-nature and humanity, which weak minds call virtues? How then!
Must we deny it to the great, the brave, the noble; to the sackers
of towns, the plunderers of provinces, and the conquerors of
kingdoms! Were not these men of honour? and yet they scorn those
pitiful qualities I have mentioned. Again, some few (or I am
mistaken) include the idea of honesty in their honour. And shall
we then say that no man who withholds from another what law, or
justice perhaps, calls his own, or who greatly and boldly deprives
him of such property, is a man of honour? Heaven forbid I should
say so in this, or, indeed, in any other good company! Is honour
truth? No; it is not in the lie's going from us, but in its coming
to us, our honour is injured. Doth it then consist in what the
vulgar call cardinal virtues? It would be an affront to your
understandings to suppose it, since we see every day so many men
of honour without any. In what then doth the word honour consist?
Why, in itself alone. A man of honour is he that is called a man
of honour; and while he is so called he so remains, and no longer.
Think not anything a man commits can forfeit his honour. Look
abroad into the world; the PRIG, while he flourishes, is a man of
honour; when in gaol, at the bar, or the tree, he is so no longer.
And why is this distinction? Not from his actions; for those are
often as well known in his flourishing estate as they are
afterwards; but because men, I mean those of his own party or
gang, call him a man of honour in the former, and cease to call
him so in the latter condition. Let us see then; how hath Mr.
Bagshot injured the gentleman's honour? Why, he hath called him a
pick-pocket; and that, probably, by a severe construction and a
long roundabout way of reasoning, may seem a little to derogate
from his honour, if considered in a very nice sense. Admitting it,
therefore, for argument's sake, to be some small imputation on his
honour, let Mr. Bagshot give him satisfaction; let him doubly and
triply repair this oblique injury by directly asserting that he
believes he is a man of honour." The gentleman answered he was
content to refer it to Mr. Wild, and whatever satisfaction he
thought sufficient he would accept. "Let him give me my money
again first," said Bagshot, "and then I will call him a man of
honour with all my heart." The gentleman then protested he had not
any, which Snap seconded, declaring he had his eyes on him all the
while; but Bagshot remained still unsatisfied, till Wild, rapping
out a hearty oath, swore he had not taken a single farthing,
adding that whoever asserted the contrary gave him the lie, and he
would resent it. And now, such was the ascendancy of this great
man, that Bagshot immediately acquiesced, and performed the
ceremonies required: and thus, by the exquisite address of our
hero, this quarrel, which had so fatal an aspect, and which
between two persons so extremely jealous of their honour would
most certainly have produced very dreadful consequences, was
happily concluded.

Mr. Wild was indeed a little interested in this affair, as he
himself had set the gentleman to work, and had received the
greatest part of the booty: and as to Mr. Snap's deposition in his
favour, it was the usual height to which the ardour of that worthy
person's friendship too frequently hurried him. It was his
constant maxim that he was a pitiful fellow who would stick at a
little rapping [Footnote: Rapping is a cant word for perjury.] for
his friend.




CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IN WHICH THE HISTORY OF GREATNESS IS CONTINUED.


Matters being thus reconciled, and the gaming over, from reasons
before hinted, the company proceeded to drink about with the
utmost chearfulness and friendship; drinking healths, shaking
hands, and professing the most perfect affection for each other.
All which were not in the least interrupted by some designs which
they then agitated in their minds, and which they intended to
execute as soon as the liquor had prevailed over some of their
understandings. Bagshot and the gentleman intending to rob each
other; Mr. Snap and Mr. Wild the elder meditating what other
creditors they could find out to charge the gentleman then in
custody with; the count hoping to renew the play, and Wild, our
hero, laying a design to put Bagshot out of the way, or, as the
vulgar express it, to hang him with the first opportunity. But
none of these great designs could at present be put in execution,
for, Mr. Snap being soon after summoned abroad on business of
great moment, which required likewise the assistance of Mr. Wild
the elder and his other friend, and as he did not care to trust to
the nimbleness of the count's heels, of which he had already had
some experience, he declared he must LOCK UP for that evening.
Here, reader, if them pleasest, as we are in no great haste, we
will stop and make a simile. As when their lap is finished, the
cautious huntsman to their kennel gathers the nimble-footed
hounds, they with lank ears and tails slouch sullenly on, whilst
he, with his whippers-in, follows close at their heels, regardless
of their dogged humour, till, having seen them safe within the
door, he turns the key, and then retires to whatever business or
pleasure calls him thence; so with lowring countenance and
reluctant steps mounted the count and Bagshot to their chamber, or
rather kennel, whither they were attended by Snap and those who
followed him, and where Snap, having seen them deposited, very
contentedly locked the door and departed. And now, reader, we
will, in imitation of the truly laudable custom of the world,
leave these our good friends to deliver themselves as they can,
and pursue the thriving fortunes of Wild, our hero, who, with that
great aversion to satisfaction and content which is inseparably
incident to great minds, began to enlarge his views with his
prosperity: for this restless, amiable disposition, this noble
avidity which increases with feeding, is the first principle or
constituent quality of these our great men; to whom, in their
passage on to greatness, it happens as to a traveller over the
Alps, or, if this be a too far-fetched simile, to one who travels
westward over the hills near Bath, where the simile was indeed
made. He sees not the end of his journey at once; but, passing on
from scheme to scheme, and from hill to hill, with noble
constancy, resolving still to attain the summit on which he hath
fixed his eve, however dirty the roads may be through which he
struggles, he at length arrives----at some vile inn, where he
finds no kind of entertainment nor conveniency for repose. I
fancy, reader, if thou hast ever travelled in these roads, one
part of my simile is sufficiently apparent (and, indeed, in all
these illustrations, one side is generally much more apparent than
the other); but, believe me, if the other doth not so evidently
appear to thy satisfaction, it is from no other reason than
because thou art unacquainted with these great men, and hast not
had sufficient instruction, leisure, or opportunity, to consider
what happens to those who pursue what is generally understood by
GREATNESS: for surely, if thou hadst animadverted, not only on the
many perils to which great men are daily liable while they are in
their progress, but hadst discerned, as it were through a
microscope (for it is invisible to the naked eye), that diminutive
speck of happiness which they attain even in the consummation of
their wishes, thou wouldst lament with me the unhappy fate of
these great men, on whom nature hath set so superior a mark, that
the rest of mankind are born for their use and emolument only, and
be apt to cry out, "It is pity that THOSE for whose pleasure and
profit mankind are to labour and sweat, to be hacked and hewed, to
be pillaged, plundered, and every war destroyed, should reap so
LITTLE advantage from all the miseries they occasion to others."
For my part, I own myself of that humble kind of mortals who
consider themselves born for the behoof of some great man or
other, and could I behold his happiness carved out of the labour
and ruin of a thousand such reptiles as myself I might with
satisfaction exclaim, Sic, sic juvat: but when I behold one GREAT
MAN starving with hunger and freezing with cold, in the midst of
fifty thousand who are suffering the same evils for his diversion;
when I see another, whose own mind is a more abject slave to his
own greatness, and is more tortured and racked by it, than those
of all his vassals; lastly, when I consider whole nations rooted
out only to bring tears into the eyes of a GREAT MAN, not indeed
because he hath extirpated so many, but because he had no more
nations to extirpate, then truly I am almost inclined to wish that
Nature had spared us this her MASTERPIECE, and that no GREAT MAN
had ever been born into the world.

But to proceed with our history, which will, we hope, produce much
better lessons, and more instructive, than any we can preach: Wild
was no sooner retired to a night-cellar than he began to reflect
on the sweets he had that day enjoyed from the labours of others,
viz., first, from Mr. Bagshot, who had for his use robbed the
count; and, secondly, from the gentleman, who, for the same good
purpose, had picked the pocket of Bagshot. He then proceeded to
reason thus with himself: "The art of policy is the art of
multiplication, the degrees of greatness being constituted by
those two little words MORE or LESS. Mankind are first properly to
be considered under two grand divisions, those that use their own
hands, and those who employ the hands of others. The former are
the base and rabble; the latter, the genteel part of the creation.
The mercantile part of the world, therefore, wisely use of the
term EMPLOYING HANDS, and justly prefer each other as they employ
more or fewer; for thus one merchant says he is greater than
another because he employs more hands. And now indeed the merchant
should seem to challenge some character of greatness, did we not
necessarily come to a second division, viz., of those who employ
hands for the use of the community in which they live, and of
those who employ hands merely for their own use, without any
regard to the benefit of society. Of the former sort are the
yeoman, the manufacturer, the merchant, and perhaps the gentleman.
The first of these being to manure and cultivate his native soil,
and to employ hands to produce the fruits of the earth. The second
being to improve them by employing hands likewise, and to produce
from them those useful commodities which serve as well for the
conveniences as necessaries of life. The third is to employ hands
for the exportation of the redundance of our own commodities, and
to exchange them with the redundances of foreign nations, that
thus every soil and every climate may enjoy the fruits of the
whole earth. The gentleman is, by employing hands, likewise to
embellish his country with the improvement of art and sciences,
with the making and executing good and wholesome laws for the
preservation of property and the distribution of justice, and in
several other manners to be useful to society. Now we come to the
second part of this division, viz., of those who employ hands for
their own use only; and this is that noble and great part who are
generally distinguished into conquerors, absolute princes,
statesmen, and prigs [Footnote: Thieves.]. Now all these differ
from each other in greatness only--they employ MORE or FEWER
hands. And Alexander the Great was only GREATER than a captain of
one of the Tartarian or Arabian hordes, as he was at the head of a
larger number. In what then is a single prig inferior to any other
great man, but because he employs his own hands only; for he is
not on that account to be levelled with the base and vulgar,
because he employs his hands for his own use only. Now, suppose a
prig had as many tools as any prime minister ever had, would he
not be as great as any prime minister whatsoever? Undoubtedly he
would. What then have I to do in the pursuit of greatness but to
procure a gang, and to make the use of this gang centre in myself?
This gang shall rob for me only, receiving very moderate rewards
for their actions; out of this gang I will prefer to my favour the
boldest and most iniquitous (as the vulgar express it); the rest I
will, from time to time, as I see occasion, transport and hang at
my pleasure; and thus (which I take to be the highest excellence
of a prig) convert those laws which are made for the benefit and
protection of society to my single use."

Having thus preconceived his scheme, he saw nothing wanting to put
it in immediate execution but that which is indeed the beginning
as well as the end of all human devices: I mean money. Of which
commodity he was possessed of no more than sixty-five guineas,
being all that remained from the double benefits he had made of
Bagshot, and which did not seem sufficient to furnish his house,
and every other convenience necessary for so grand an undertaking.
He resolved, therefore, to go immediately to the gaming-house,
which was then sitting, not so much with an intention of trusting
to fortune as to play the surer card of attacking the winner in
his way home. On his arrival, however, he thought he might as well
try his success at the dice, and reserve the other resource as his
last expedient. He accordingly sat down to play; and as Fortune,
no more than others of her sex, is observed to distribute her
favours with strict regard to great mental endowments, so our hero
lost every farthing in his pocket. This loss however he bore with
great constancy of mind, and with as great composure of aspect. To
say truth, he considered the money as only lent for a short time,
or rather indeed as deposited with a banker. He then resolved to
have immediate recourse to his surer stratagem; and, casting his
eyes round the room, he soon perceived a gentleman sitting in a
disconsolate posture, who seemed a proper instrument or tool for
his purpose. In short (to be as concise as possible in these least
shining parts of our history), Wild accosted this man, sounded
him, found him fit to execute, proposed the matter, received a
ready assent, and, having fixed on the person who seemed that
evening the greatest favourite of Fortune, they posted themselves
in the most proper place to surprise the enemy as he was retiring
to his quarters, where he was soon attacked, subdued, and
plundered; but indeed of no considerable booty; for it seems this
gentleman played on a common stock, and had deposited his winnings
at the scene of action, nor had he any more than two shillings in
his pocket when he was attacked.

This was so cruel a disappointment to Wild, and so sensibly
affects us, as no doubt it will the reader, that, as it must
disqualify us both from proceeding any farther at present, we will
now take a little breath, and therefore we shall here close this
book.




BOOK II

CHAPTER ONE

CHARACTERS OF SILLY PEOPLE, WITH THE PROPER USES FOR WHICH SUCH
ARE DESIGNED.


One reason why we chose to end our first book, as we did, with the
last chapter, was, that we are now obliged to produce two
characters of a stamp entirely different from what we have
hitherto dealt in. These persons are of that pitiful order of
mortals who are in contempt called good-natured; being indeed sent
into the world by nature with the same design with which men put
little fish into a pike-pond, in order to be devoured by that
voracious water-hero.

But to proceed with our history: Wild, having shared the booty in
much the same manner as before, i.e. taken three-fourths of it,
amounting to eighteen-pence, was now retiring to rest, in no very
happy mood, when by accident he met with a young fellow who had
formerly been his companion, and indeed intimate friend, at
school. It hath been thought that friendship is usually nursed by
similitude of manners, but the contrary had been the case between
these lads; for whereas Wild was rapacious and intrepid, the other
had always more regard far his skin than his money; Wild therefore
had very generously compassionated this defect in his school-
fellow, and had brought him off from many scrapes, into most of
which he had first drawn him, by taking the fault and whipping to
himself. He had always indeed been well paid on such occasions;
there are a sort of people who, together with the best of the
bargain, will be sure to have the obligation too on their side; so
it had happened here: for this poor lad had considered himself in
the highest degree obliged to Mr. Wild, and had contracted a very
great esteem and friendship for him; the traces of which an
absence of many years had not in the least effaced in his mind. He
no sooner knew Wild, therefore, than he accosted him in the most
friendly manner, and invited him home with him to breakfast (it
being now near nine in the morning), which invitation our hero
with no great difficulty consented to. This young man, who was
about Wild's age, had some time before set up in the trade of a
jeweller, in the materials or stock for which he had laid out the
greatest part of a little fortune, and had married a very
agreeable woman for love, by whom he then had two children. As our
reader is to be more acquainted with this person, it may not be
improper to open somewhat of his character, especially as it will
serve as a kind of foil to the noble and great disposition of our
hero, and as the one seems sent into this world as a proper object
on which the talents of the other were to be displayed with a
proper and just success.

Mr. Thomas Heartfree then (for that was his name) was of an honest
and open disposition. He was of that sort of men whom experience
only, and not their own natures, must inform that there are such
things as deceit and hypocrisy in the world, and who,
consequently, are not at five-and-twenty so difficult to be
imposed upon as the oldest and most subtle. He was possessed of
several great weaknesses of mind, being good-natured, friendly,
and generous to a great excess. He had, indeed, too little regard
to common justice, for he had forgiven some debts to his
acquaintance only because they could not pay him, and had
entrusted a bankrupt, on his setting up a second time, from having
been convinced that he had dealt in his bankruptcy with a fair and
honest heart, and that he had broke through misfortune only, and
not from neglect or imposture. He was withal so silly a fellow
that he never took the least advantage of the ignorance of his
customers, and contented himself with very moderate gains on his
goods; which he was the better enabled to do, notwithstanding his
generosity, because his life was extremely temperate, his expenses
being solely confined to the chearful entertainment of his friends
at home, and now and then a moderate glass of wine, in which he
indulged himself in the company of his wife, who, with an
agreeable person, was a mean-spirited, poor, domestic, low-bred
animal, who confined herself mostly to the care of her family,
placed her happiness in her husband and her children, followed no
expensive fashions or diversions, and indeed rarely went abroad,
unless to return the visits of a few plain neighbours, and twice
a-year afforded herself, in company with her husband, the
diversion of a play, where she never sat in a higher place than
the pit.

To this silly woman did this silly fellow introduce the GREAT
WILD, informing her at the same time of their school acquaintance
and the many obligations he had received from him. This simple
woman no sooner heard her husband had been obliged to her guest
than her eyes sparkled on him with a benevolance which is an
emanation from the heart, and of which great and noble minds,
whose hearts never dwell but with an injury, can have no very
adequate idea; it is therefore no wonder that our hero should
misconstrue, as he did, the poor, innocent, and ample affection of
Mrs. Heartfree towards her husband's friend, for that great and
generous passion, which fires the eyes of a modern heroine, when
the colonel is so kind as to indulge his city creditor with
partaking of his table to-day, and of his bed tomorrow. Wild,
therefore, instantly returned the compliment as he understood it,
with his eyes, and presently after bestowed many encomiums on her
beauty, with which, perhaps, she, who was a woman, though a good
one, and misapprehended the design, was not displeased any more
than the husband.

When breakfast was ended, and the wife retired to her household
affairs, Wild, who had a quick discernment into the weaknesses of
men, and who, besides the knowledge of his good (or foolish)
disposition when a boy, had now discovered several sparks of
goodness, friendship, and generosity in his friend, began to
discourse over the accidents which had happened in their
childhood, and took frequent occasions of reminding him of those
favours which we have before mentioned his having conferred on
him; he then proceeded to the most vehement professions of
friendship, and to the most ardent expressions of joy in this
renewal of their acquaintance. He at last told him, with great
seeming pleasure, that he believed he had an opportunity of
serving him by the recommendation of a gentleman to his custom,
who was then on the brink of marriage. "And, if he be not already
engaged, I will," says he, "endeavour to prevail on him to furnish
his lady with jewels at your shop."

Heartfree was not backward in thanks to our hero, and, after many
earnest solicitations to dinner, which were refused, they parted
for the first time.

But here, as it occurs to our memory that our readers may be
surprised (an accident which sometimes happens in histories of
this kind) how Mr. Wild, the elder, in his present capacity,
should have been able to maintain his son at a reputable school,
as this appears to have been, it may be necessary to inform him
that Mr. Wild himself was then a tradesman in good business, but,
by misfortunes in the world, to wit, extravagance and gaming, he
had reduced himself to that honourable occupation which we have
formerly mentioned.

Having cleared up this doubt, we will now pursue our hero, who
forthwith repaired to the count, and, having first settled
preliminary articles concerning distributions, he acquainted him
with the scheme which he had formed against Heartfree; and after
consulting proper methods to put it in execution, they began to
concert measures for the enlargement of the count; on which the
first, and indeed only point to be considered, was to raise money,
not to pay his debts, for that would have required an immense sum,
and was contrary to his inclination or intention, but to procure
him bail; for as to his escape, Mr. Snap had taken such
precautions that it appeared absolutely impossible.




CHAPTER TWO

GREAT EXAMPLES OF GREATNESS IN WILD, SHEWN AS WELL BY HIS
BEHAVIOUR TO BAGSHOT AS IN A SCHEME LAID, FIRST, TO IMPOSE ON
HEARTFREE BY MEANS OF THE COUNT, AND THEN TO CHEAT THE COUNT OF
THE BOOTY.


Wild undertook therefore to extract some money from Bagshot, who,
notwithstanding the depredations made on him, had carried off a
pretty considerable booty from their engagement at dice the
preceding day. He found Mr. Bagshot in expectation of his bail,
and, with a countenance full of concern, which he could at any
time, with wonderful art, put on, told him that all was
discovered; that the count knew him, and intended to prosecute him
for the robbery, "had not I exerted (said he) my utmost interest,
and with great difficulty prevailed on him in case you refund the
money--" "Refund the money!" cryed Bagshot, "that is in your
power: for you know what an inconsiderable part of it fell to my
share." "How!" replied Wild, "is this your gratitude to me for
saving your life? For your own conscience must convince you of
your guilt, and with how much certainty the gentleman can give
evidence against you." "Marry come up!" quoth Bagshot; "I believe
my life alone will not be in danger. I know those who are as
guilty as myself. Do you tell me of conscience?" "Yes, sirrah!"
answered our hero, taking him by the collar; "and since you dare
threaten me I will shew you the difference between committing a
robbery and conniving at it, which is all I can charge myself
with. I own indeed I suspected, when you shewed me a sum of money,
that you had not come honestly by it." "How!" says Bagshot,
frightened out of one half of his wits, and amazed out of the
other, "can you deny?" "Yes, you rascal," answered Wild, "I do
deny everything; and do you find a witness to prove it: and, to
shew you how little apprehension I have of your power to hurt me,
I will have you apprehended this moment."--At which words he
offered to break from him; but Bagshot laid hold of his skirts,
and, with an altered tone and manner, begged him not to be so
impatient. "Refund then, sirrah," cries Wild, "and perhaps I may
take pity on you." "What must I refund?" answered Bagshot. "Every
farthing in your pocket," replied Wild; "then I may have some
compassion on you, and not only save your life, but, out of an
excess of generosity, may return you something." At which words
Bagshot seeming to hesitate, Wild pretended to make to the door,
and rapt out an oath of vengeance with so violent an emphasis,
that his friend no longer presumed to balance, but suffered Wild
to search his pockets and draw forth all he found, to the amount
of twenty-one guineas and a half, which last piece our generous
hero returned him again, telling him he might now sleep secure.
but advised him for the future never to threaten his friends.

Thus did our hero execute the greatest exploits with the utmost
ease imaginable, by means of those transcendent qualities which
nature had indulged him with, viz., a bold heart, a thundering
voice, and a steady countenance.

Wild now returned to the count, and informed him that he had got
ten guineas of Bagshot; for, with great and commendable prudence,
he sunk the other eleven into his own pocket, and told him with
that money he would procure him bail, which he after prevailed on
his father, and another gentleman of the same occupation, to
become, for two guineas each, so that he made lawful prize of six
more, making Bagshot debtor for the whole ten; for such were his
great abilities, and so vast the compass of his understanding,
that he never made any bargain without overreaching (or, in the
vulgar phrase, cheating) the person with whom he dealt.

The count being, by these means, enlarged, the first thing they
did, in order to procure credit from tradesmen, was the taking a
handsome house ready furnished in one of the new streets; in which
as soon as the count was settled, they proceeded to furnish him
with servants and equipage, and all the insignia of a large estate
proper to impose on poor Heartfree. These being all obtained, Wild
made a second visit to his friend, and with much joy in his
countenance acquainted him that he had succeeded in his
endeavours, and that the gentleman had promised to deal with him
for the jewels which he intended to present his bride, and which
were designed to be very splendid and costly; he therefore
appointed him to go to the count the next morning, and carry with
him a set of the richest and most beautiful jewels he had, giving
him at the same time some hints of the count's ignorance of that
commodity, and that he might extort what price of him he pleased;
but Heartfree told him, not without some disdain, that he scorned
to take any such advantage; and, after expressing much gratitude
to his friend for his recommendation, he promised to carry the
jewels at the hour and to the place appointed.

I am sensible that the reader, if he hath but the least notion of
greatness, must have such a contempt for the extreme folly of this
fellow, that he will be very little concerned at any misfortunes
which may befal him in the sequel; for to have no suspicion that
an old schoolfellow, with whom he had, in his tenderest years,
contracted a friendship, and who, on the accidental renewing of
their acquaintance, had professed the most passionate regard for
him, should be very ready to impose on him; in short, to conceive
that a friend should, of his own accord, without any view to his
own interest, endeavour to do him a service, must argue such
weakness of mind, such ignorance of the world, and such an
artless, simple, undesigning heart, as must render the person
possessed of it the lowest creature and the properest object of
contempt imaginable, in the eyes of every man of understanding and
discernment.

Wild remembered that his friend Heartfree's faults were rather in
his heart than in his head; that, though he was so mean a fellow
that he was never capable of laying a design to injure any human
creature, yet was he by no means a fool, nor liable to any gross
imposition, unless where his heart betrayed him. He therefore
instructed the count to take only one of his jewels at the first
interview, and reject the rest as not fine enough, and order him
to provide some richer. He said this management would prevent
Heartfree from expecting ready money for the jewel he brought with
him, which the count was presently to dispose of, and by means of
that money, and his great abilities at cards and dice, to get
together as large a sum as possible, which he was to pay down to
Heartfree at the delivery of the set of jewels, who would be thus
void of all manner of suspicion and would not fail to give him
credit for the residue.

By this contrivance, it will appear in the sequel that Wild did
not only propose to make the imposition on Heartfree, who was
(hitherto) void of all suspicion, more certain; but to rob the
count himself of this sum. This double method of cheating the very
tools who are our instruments to cheat others is the superlative
degree of greatness, and is probably, as far as any spirit crusted
over with clay can carry it, falling very little short of
diabolism itself.

This method was immediately put in execution, and the count the
first day took only a single brilliant, worth about three hundred
pounds, and ordered a necklace, earrings, and solitaire, of the of
three thousand more, to be prepared by that day sevennight.

The interval was employed by Wild in prosecuting his scheme of
raising a gang, in which he met with such success, that within a
few days he had levied several bold and resolute fellows, fit for
any enterprize, how dangerous or great soever.

We have before remarked that the truest mark of greatness is
insatiability. Wild had covenanted with the count to receive
three-fourths of the booty, and had, at the same time, covenanted
with himself to secure the other fourth part likewise, for which
he had formed a very great and noble design; but he now saw with
concern that sum which was to be received in hand by Heartfree in
danger of being absolutely lost. In order therefore to possess
himself of that likewise, he contrived that the jewels should be
brought in the afternoon, and that Heartfree should be detained
before the count could see him; so that the night should overtake
him in his return, when two of his gang were ordered to attack and
plunder him.




CHAPTER THREE

CONTAINING SCENES OF SOFTNESS, LOVE, AND HONOUR ALL IN THE GREAT
STILE.


The count had disposed of his jewel for its full value, and this
he had by dexterity raised to a thousand pounds; this sum
therefore he paid down to Heartfree, promising him the rest within
a month. His house, his equipage, his appearance, but, above all,
a certain plausibility in his voice and behaviour would have
deceived any, but one whose great and wise heart had dictated to
him something within, which would have secured him from any danger
of imposition from without. Heartfree therefore did not in the
least scruple giving him credit; but, as he had in reality
procured those jewels of another, his own little stock not being
able to furnish anything so valuable, he begged the count would be
so kind to give his note for the money, payable at the time he
mentioned; which that gentleman did not in the least scruple; so
he paid him the thousand pound in specie, and gave his note for
two thousand eight hundred pounds more to Heartfree, who burnt
with gratitude to Wild for the noble customer he had recommended
to him.

As soon as Heartfree was departed, Wild, who waited in another
room, came in and received the casket from the count, it having
been agreed between them that this should be deposited in his
hands, as he was the original contriver of the scheme, and was to
have the largest share. Wild, having received the casket, offered
to meet the count late that evening to come to a division, but
such was the latter's confidence in the honour of our hero, that
he said, if it was any inconvenience to him, the next morning
would do altogether as well. This was more agreeable to Wild, and
accordingly, an appointment being made for that purpose, he set
out in haste to pursue Heartfree to the place where the two
gentlemen were ordered to meet and attack him. Those gentlemen
with noble resolution executed their purpose; they attacked and
spoiled the enemy of the whole sum he had received from the count.

As soon as the engagement was over, and Heartfree left sprawling
on the ground, our hero, who wisely declined trusting the booty in
his friends' hands, though he had good experience of their honour,
made off after the conquerors: at length, they being all at a
place of safety, Wild, according to a previous agreement, received
nine-tenths of the booty: the subordinate heroes did indeed
profess some little unwillingness (perhaps more than was strictly
consistent with honour) to perform their contract; but Wild,
partly by argument, but more by oaths and threatenings, prevailed
with them to fulfil their promise.

Our hero having thus, with wonderful address, brought this great
and glorious action to a happy conclusion, resolved to relax his
mind after his fatigue, in the conversation of the fair. He
therefore set forwards to his lovely Laetitia; but in his way
accidentally met with a young lady of his acquaintance, Miss Molly
Straddle, who was taking the air in Bridges-street. Miss Molly,
seeing Mr. Wild, stopped him, and with a familiarity peculiar to a
genteel town education, tapped, or rather slapped him on the back,
and asked him to treat her with a pint of wine at a neighbouring
tavern. The hero, though he loved the chaste Laetitia with
excessive tenderness, was not of that low sniveling breed of
mortals who, as it is generally expressed, TYE THEMSELVES TO A
WOMANS APRON-STRINGS; in a word, who are tainted with that mean,
base, low vice, or virtue as it is called, of constancy; therefore
he immediately consented, and attended her to a tavern famous for
excellent wine, known by the name of the Rummer and Horseshoe,
where they retired to a room by themselves. Wild was very vehement
in his addresses, but to no purpose; the young lady declared she
would grant no favour till he had made her a present; this was
immediately complied with, and the lover made as happy as he could
desire.

The immoderate fondness which Wild entertained for his dear
Laetitia would not suffer him to waste any considerable time with
Miss Straddle. Notwithstanding, therefore, all the endearments and
caresses of that young lady, he soon made an excuse to go down
stairs, and thence immediately set forward to Laetitia without
taking any formal leave of Miss Straddle, or indeed of the drawer,
with whom the lady was afterwards obliged to come to an account
for the reckoning.

Mr. Wild, on his arrival at Mr. Snap's, found only Miss Doshy at
home, that young lady being employed alone, in imitation of
Penelope, with her thread or worsted, only with this difference,
that whereas Penelope unravelled by night what she had knit or
wove or spun by day, so what our young heroine unravelled by day
she knit again by night. In short, she was mending a pair of blue
stockings with red clocks; a circumstance which perhaps we might
have omitted, had it not served to show that there are still some
ladies of this age who imitate the simplicity of the ancients.

Wild immediately asked for his beloved, and was informed that she
was not at home. He then enquired where she was to be found, and
declared he would not depart till he had seen her, nay not till he
had married her; for, indeed, his passion for her was truly
honourable; in other words, he had so ungovernable a desire for
her person, that he would go any length to satisfy it. He then
pulled out the casket, which he swore was full of the finest
jewels, and that he would give them all to her, with other
promises, which so prevailed on Miss Doshy, who had not the common
failure of sisters in envying, and often endeavouring to
disappoint, each other's happiness, that she desired Mr. Wild to
sit down a few minutes, whilst she endeavoured to find her sister
and to bring her to him. The lover thanked her, and promised to
stay till her return; and Miss Doshy, leaving Mr. Wild to his
meditations, fastened him in the kitchen by barring the door (for
most of the doors in this mansion were made to be bolted on the
outside), and then, slapping to the door of the house with great
violence, without going out at it, she stole softly up stairs
where Miss Laetitia was engaged in close conference with Mr.
Bagshot. Miss Letty, being informed by her sister in a whisper of
what Mr. Wild had said, and what he had produced, told Mr. Bagshot
that a young lady was below to visit her whom she would despatch
with all imaginable haste and return to him. She desired him
therefore to stay with patience for her in the mean time, and that
she would leave the door unlocked, though her papa would never
forgive her if he should discover it. Bagshot promised on his
honour not to step without his chamber; and the two young ladies
went softly down stairs, when, pretending first to make their
entry into the house, they repaired to the kitchen, where not even
the presence of the chaste Laetitia could restore that harmony to
the countenance of her lover which Miss Theodosia had left him
possessed of; for, during her absence, he had discovered the
absence of a purse containing bank-notes for 900 pounds, which had
been taken from Mr. Heartfree, and which, indeed, Miss Straddle
had, in the warmth of his amorous caresses, unperceived drawn from
him. However, as he had that perfect mastery of his temper, or
rather of his muscles, which is as necessary to the forming a
great character as to the personating it on the stage, he soon
conveyed a smile into his countenance, and, sealing as well his
misfortune as his chagrin at it, began to pay honourable addresses
to Miss Letty. This young lady, among many other good ingredients
had three very predominant passions; to wit, vanity, wantonness,
and avarice. To satisfy the first of these she employed Mr. Smirk
and company; to the second, Mr. Bagshot and company; and our hero
had the honour and happiness of solely engrossing the third. Now,
these three sorts of lovers she had very different ways of
entertaining. With the first she was all gay and coquette; with
the second all fond and rampant; and with the last all cold and
reserved. She therefore told Mr. Wild, with a most composed
aspect, that she was glad he had repented of his manner of
treating her at their last interview, where his behaviour was so
monstrous that she had resolved never to see him any more; that
she was afraid her own sex would hardly pardon her the weakness
she was guilty of in receding from that resolution, which she was
persuaded she never should have brought herself to, had not her
sister, who was there to confirm what she said (as she did with
many oaths), betrayed her into his company, by pretending it was
another person to visit her: but, however, as he now thought
proper to give her more convincing proofs of his affections (for
he had now the casket in his hand), and since she perceived his
designs were no longer against her virtue, but were such as a
woman of honour might listen to, she must own--and then she
feigned an hesitation, when Theodosia began: "Nay, sister, I am
resolved you shall counterfeit no longer. I assure you, Mr. Wild,
she hath the most violent passion for you in the world; and
indeed, dear Tishy, if you offer to go back, since I plainly see
Mr. Wild's designs are honourable, I will betray all you have ever
said." "How, sister!" answered Laetitia; "I protest you will drive
me out of the room: I did not expect this usage from you." Wild
then fell on his knees, and, taking hold of her hand, repeated a
speech, which, as the reader may easily suggest it to himself, I
shall not here set down. He then offered her the casket, but she
gently rejected it; and on a second offer, with a modest
countenance and voice, desired to know what it contained. Wild
then opened it, and took forth (with sorrow I write it, and with
sorrow will it be read) one of those beautiful necklaces with
which, at the fair of Bartholomew, they deck the well-bewhitened
neck of Thalestris queen of Amazons, Anna Bullen, queen Elizabeth,
or some other high princess in Drollic story. It was indeed
composed of that paste which Derdaeus Magnus, an ingenious toy-
man, doth at a very moderate price dispense of to the second-rate
beaus of the metropolis. For, to open a truth, which we ask our
reader's pardon for having concealed from him so long, the
sagacious count, wisely fearing lest some accident might prevent
Mr. Wild's return at the appointed time, had carefully conveyed
the jewels which Mr. Heartfree had brought with him into his own
pocket, and in their stead had placed in the casket these
artificial stones, which, though of equal value to a philosopher,
and perhaps of a much greater to a true admirer of the
compositions of art, had not however the same charms in the eyes
of Miss Letty, who had indeed some knowledge of jewels; for Mr.
Snap, with great reason, considering how valuable a part of a
lady's education it would be to be well instructed in these
things, in an age when young ladies learn little more than how to
dress themselves, had in her youth placed Miss Letty as the
handmaid (or housemaid as the vulgar call it) of an eminent
pawnbroker. The lightning, therefore, which should have flashed
from the jewels, flashed from her eyes, and thunder immediately
followed from her voice. She be-knaved, be-rascalled, be-rogued
the unhappy hero, who stood silent, confounded with astonishment,
but more with shame and indignation, at being thus outwitted and
overreached. At length he recovered his spirits, and, throwing
down the casket in a rage, he snatched the key from the table,
and, without making any answer to the ladies, who both very
plentifully opened upon him, and without taking any leave of them,
he flew out at the door, and repaired with the utmost expedition
to the count's habitation.




CHAPTER FOUR

IN WHICH WILD, AFTER MANY FRUITLESS ENDEAVOURS TO DISCOVER HIS
FRIEND, MORALISES ON HIS MISFORTUNE IN A SPEECH, WHICH MAY BE OF
USE (IF RIGHTLY UNDERSTOOD) TO SOME OTHER CONSIDERABLE SPEECH-
MAKERS.


Not the highest-fed footman of the highest-bred woman of quality
knocks with more impetuosity than Wild did at the count's door,
which was immediately opened by a well-drest liveryman, who
answered that his master was not at home. Wild, not satisfied with
this, searched the house, but to no purpose; he then ransacked all
the gaming-houses in town, but found no count: indeed, that
gentleman had taken leave of his house the same instant Mr. Wild
had turned his back, and, equipping himself with boots and a post-
horse, without taking with him either servant, clothes, or any
necessaries for the journey of a great man, made such mighty
expedition that he was now upwards of twenty miles on his way to
Dover.

Wild, finding his search ineffectual, resolved to give it over for
that night; he then retired to his seat of contemplation, a night-
cellar, where, without a single farthing in his pocket, he called
for a sneaker of punch, and, placing himself on a bench by
himself, he softly vented the following soliloquy:--

"How vain is human GREATNESS! What avail superior abilities, and a
noble defiance of those narrow rules and bounds which confine the
vulgar, when his best-concerted schemes are liable to be defeated!
How unhappy is the state of PRIGGISM! How impossible for human
prudence to foresee and guard against every circumvention! It is
even as a game of chess, where, while the rook, or knight, or
bishop, is busied forecasting some great enterprize, a worthless
pawn exposes and disconcerts his scheme. Better had it been for me
to have observed the simple laws of friendship and morality than
thus to ruin my friend for the benefit of others. I might have
commanded his purse to any degree of moderation: I have now
disabled him from the power of serving me. Well! but that was not
my design. If I cannot arraign my own conduct, why should I, like
a woman or a child, sit down and lament the disappointment of
chance? But can I acquit myself of all neglect? Did I not
misbehave in putting it into the power of others to outwit me? But
that is impossible to be avoided. In this a prig is more unhappy
than any other: a cautious man may, in a crowd, preserve his own
pockets by keeping his hands in them; but while the prig employs
his hands in another's pocket, how shall he be able to defend his
own? Indeed, in this light, what can be imagined more miserable
than a prig? How dangerous are his acquisitions! how unsafe, how
unquiet his possessions! Why then should any man wish to be a
prig, or where is his greatness? I answer, in his mind: 'tis the
inward glory, the secret consciousness of doing great and
wonderful actions, which can alone support the truly GREAT man,
whether he be a CONQUEROR, a TYRANT, a STATESMAN, or a PRIG. These
must bear him up against the private curse and public imprecation,
and, while he is hated and detested by all mankind, must make him
inwardly satisfied with himself. For what but some such inward
satisfaction as this could inspire men possessed of power, wealth,
of every human blessing which pride, avarice, or luxury could
desire, to forsake their homes, abandon ease and repose, and at
the expense of riches and pleasures, at the price of labour and
hardship, and at the hazard of all that fortune hath liberally
given them, could send them at the head of a multitude of prigs,
called an army, to molest their neighbours; to introduce rape,
rapine, bloodshed, and every kind of misery among their own
species? What but some such glorious appetite of mind could
inflame princes, endowed with the greatest honours, and enriched
with the most plentiful revenues, to desire maliciously to rob
those subjects of their liberties who are content to sweat for the
luxury, and to bow down their knees to the pride, of those very
princes? What but this can inspire them to destroy one half of
their subjects, in order to reduce the rest to an absolute
dependence on their own wills, and on those of their brutal
successors? What other motive could seduce a subject, possessed of
great property in his community, to betray the interest of his
fellow-subjects, of his brethren, and his posterity, to the wanton
disposition of such princes? Lastly, what less inducement could
persuade the prig to forsake the methods of acquiring a safe, an
honest, and a plentiful livelihood, and, at the hazard of even
life itself, and what is mistaken called dishonour, to break
openly and bravely through the laws of his country, for uncertain,
unsteady, and unsafe gain? Let me then hold myself contented with
this reflection, that I have been wise though unsuccessful, and am
a CHEAT though an unhappy man."

His soliloquy and his punch concluded together; for he had at
every pause comforted himself with a sip. And now it came first
into his head that it would be more difficult to pay for it than
it was to swallow it; when, to his great pleasure, he beheld at
another corner of the room one of the gentlemen whom he had
employed in the attack on Heartfree, and who, he doubted not,
would readily lend him a guinea or two; but he had the
mortification, on applying to him, to hear that the gaming-table
had stript him of all the booty which his own generosity had left
in his possession. He was therefore obliged to pursue his usual
method on such occasions: so, cocking his hat fiercely, he marched
out of the room without making any excuse, or any one daring to
make the least demand.




CHAPTER FIVE

CONTAINING MANY SURPRISING ADVENTURES, WHICH OUR HERO, WITH GREAT
GREATNESS, ACHIEVED.


We will now leave our hero to take a short repose, and return to
Mr. Snaps' where, at Wild's departure, the fair Theodosia had
again betaken herself to her stocking, and Miss Letty had retired
up stairs to Mr. Bagshot; but that gentleman had broken his
parole, and, having conveyed himself below stairs behind a door,
he took the opportunity of Wild's sally to make his escape. We
shall only observe that Miss Letty's surprize was the greater, as
she had, notwithstanding her promise to the contrary, taken the
precaution to turn the key; but, in her hurry, she did it
ineffectually. How wretched must have been the situation of this
young creature, who had not only lost a lover on whom her tender
heart perfectly doated, but was exposed to the rage of an injured
father, tenderly jealous of his honour, which was deeply engaged
to the sheriff of London and Middlesex for the safe custody of the
said Bagshot, and for which two very good responsible friends had
given not only their words but their bonds.

But let us remove our eyes from this melancholy object and survey
our hero, who, after a successless search for Miss Straddle, with
wonderful greatness of mind and steadiness of countenance went
early in the morning to visit his friend Heartfree, at a time when
the common herd of friends would have forsaken and avoided him. He
entered the room with a chearful air, which he presently changed
into surprize on seeing his friend in a night-gown, with his
wounded head bound about with linen, and looking extremely pale
from a great effusion of blood. When Wild was informed by
Heartfree what had happened he first expressed great sorrow, and
afterwards suffered as violent agonies of rage against the robbers
to burst from him. Heartfree, in compassion to the deep impression
his misfortunes seemed to make on his friend, endeavoured to
lessen it as much as possible, at the same time exaggerating the
obligation he owed to Wild, in which his wife likewise seconded
him, and they breakfasted with more comfort than was reasonably to
be expected after such an accident; Heartfree expressing great
satisfaction that he had put the count's note in another pocket-
book; adding, that such a loss would have been fatal to him; "for,
to confess the truth to you, my dear friend," said he, "I have had
some losses lately which have greatly perplexed my affairs; and
though I have many debts due to me from people of great fashion, I
assure you I know not where to be certain of getting a shilling."
Wild greatly felicitated him on the lucky accident of preserving
his note, and then proceeded, with much acrimony, to inveigh
against the barbarity of people of fashion, who kept tradesmen out
of their money.

While they amused themselves with discourses of this kind, Wild
meditating within himself whether he should borrow or steal from
his friend, or indeed whether he could not effect both, the
apprentice brought a bank-note of L500 in to Heartfree, which he
said a gentlewoman in the shop, who had been looking at some
jewels, desired him to exchange. Heartfree, looking at the number,
immediately recollected it to be one of those he had been robbed
of. With this discovery he acquainted Wild, who, with the notable
presence of mind and unchanged complexion so essential to a great
character, advised him to proceed cautiously; and offered (as Mr.
Heartfree himself was, he said, too much flustered to examine the
woman with sufficient art) to take her into a room in his house
alone. He would, he said, personate the master of the shop, would
pretend to shew her some jewels, and would undertake to get
sufficient information out of her to secure the rogues, and most
probably all their booty. This proposal was readily and thankfully
accepted by Heartfree. Wild went immediately up stairs into the
room appointed, whither the apprentice, according to appointment,
conducted the lady.

The apprentice was ordered down stairs the moment the lady entered
the room; and Wild, having shut the door, approached her with
great ferocity in his looks, and began to expatiate on the
complicated baseness of the crime she had been guilty of; but
though he uttered many good lessons of morality, as we doubt
whether from a particular reason they may work any very good
effect on our reader, we shall omit his speech, and only mention
his conclusion, which was by asking her what mercy she could now
expect from him? Miss Straddle, for that was the young lady, who
had had a good education, and had been more than once present at
the Old Bailey, very confidently denied the whole charge, and said
she had received the note from a friend. Wild then, raising his
voice, told her she should be immediately committed, and she might
depend on being convicted; "but," added he, changing his tone, "as
I have a violent affection for thee, my dear Straddle, if you will
follow my advice, I promise you, on my honour, to forgive you, nor
shall you be ever called in question on this account." "Why, what
would you have me to do, Mr. Wild?" replied the young lady, with a
pleasanter aspect. "You must know then," said Wild, "the money you
picked out of my pocket (nay, by G--d you did, and if you offer to
flinch you shall be convicted of it) I won at play of a fellow who
it seems robbed my friend of it; you must, therefore, give an
information on oath against one Thomas Fierce, and say that you
received the note from him, and leave the rest to me. I am
certain, Molly, you must be sensible of your obligations to me,
who return good for evil to you in this manner." The lady readily
consented, and advanced to embrace Mr. Wild, who stepped a little
back and cryed, "Hold, Molly; there are two other notes of L200
each to be accounted for--where are they?" The lady protested with
the most solemn asseverations that she knew of no more; with
which, when Wild was not satisfied, she cried, "I will stand
search." "That you shall," answered Wild, "and stand strip too."
He then proceeded to tumble and search her, but to no purpose,
till at last she burst into tears, and declared she would tell the
truth (as indeed she did); she then confessed that she had
disposed of the one to Jack Swagger, a great favourite of the
ladies, being an Irish gentleman, who had been bred clerk to an
attorney, afterwards whipt out of a regiment of dragoons, and was
then a Newgate solicitor, and a bawdy house bully; and, as for the
other, she had laid it all out that very morning in brocaded silks
and Flanders lace. With this account Wild, who indeed knew it to
be a very probable one, was forced to be contented: and now,
abandoning all further thoughts of what he saw was irretrievably
lost, he gave the lady some further instructions, and then,
desiring her to stay a few minutes behind him, he returned to his
friend, and acquainted him that he had discovered the whole
roguery; that the woman had confessed from whom she had received
the note, and promised to give an information before a justice of
peace; adding, he was concerned he could not attend him thither,
being obliged to go to the other end of the town to receive thirty
pounds, which he was to pay that evening. Heartfree said that
should not prevent him of his company, for he could easily lend
him such a trifle. This was accordingly done and accepted, and
Wild, Heartfree, and the lady went to the justice together.

The warrant being granted, and the constable being acquainted by
the lady, who received her information from Wild, of Mr. Fierce's
haunts, he was easily apprehended, and, being confronted by Miss
Straddle, who swore positively to him, though she had never seen
him before, he was committed to Newgate, where he immediately
conveyed an information to Wild of what had happened, and in the
evening received a visit from him.

Wild affected great concern for his friend's misfortune, and as
great surprize at the means by which it was brought about.
However, he told Fierce that he must certainly be mistaken in that
point of his having had no acquaintance with Miss Straddle: but
added, that he would find her out, and endeavour to take off her
evidence, which, he observed, did not come home enough to endanger
him; besides, be would secure him witnesses of an alibi, and five
or six to his character; so that he need be under no apprehension,
for his confinement till the sessions would be his only
punishment.

Fierce, who was greatly comforted by these assurances of his
friend, returned him many thanks, and, both shaking each other
very earnestly by the hand, with a very hearty embrace they
separated.

The hero considered with himself that the single evidence of Miss
Straddle would not be sufficient to convince Fierce, whom he
resolved to hang, as he was the person who had principally refused
to deliver him the stipulated share of the booty; he therefore
went in quest of Mr. James Sly, the gentleman who had assisted in
the exploit, and found and acquainted him with the apprehending of
Fierce. Wild then, intimating his fear least Fierce should impeach
Sly, advised him to be beforehand, to surrender himself to a
justice of peace and offer himself as an evidence. Sly approved
Mr. Wild's opinion, went directly to a magistrate, and was by him
committed to the Gatehouse, with a promise of being admitted
evidence against his companion.

Fierce was in a few days brought to his trial at the Old Bailey,
where, to his great confusion, his old friend Sly appeared against
him, as did Miss Straddle. His only hopes were now in the
assistances which our hero had promised him. These unhappily
failed him: so that, the evidence being plain against him, and he
making no defence, the jury convicted him, the court condemned
him, and Mr. Ketch executed him.

With such infinite address did this truly great man know how to
play with the passions of men, to set them at variance with each
other, and to work his own purposes out of those jealousies and
apprehensions which he was wonderfully ready at creating by means
of those great arts which the vulgar call treachery, dissembling,
promising, lying, falsehood, &c., but which are by great men
summed up in the collective name of policy, or politics, or rather
pollitrics; an art of which, as it is the highest excellence of
human nature, perhaps our great man was the most eminent master.




CHAPTER SIX

OF HATS.


Wild had now got together a very considerable gang, composed of
undone gamesters, ruined bailiffs, broken tradesmen, idle
apprentices, attorneys' clerks, and loose and disorderly youth,
who, being born to no fortune, nor bred to any trade or
profession, were willing to live luxuriously without labour. As
these persons wore different PRINCIPLES, i.e. HATS, frequent
dissensions grew among them. There were particularly two parties,
viz., those who wore hats FIERCELY cocked, and those who preferred
the NAB or trencher hat, with the brim flapping over their eyes.
The former were called CAVALIERS and TORY RORY RANTER BOYS, &c.;
the latter went by the several names of WAGS, roundheads,
shakebags, old-nolls, and several others. Between these, continual
jars arose, insomuch that they grew in time to think there was
something essential in their differences, and that their interests
were incompatible with each other, whereas, in truth, the
difference lay only in the fashion of their hats. Wild, therefore,
having assembled them all at an alehouse on the night after
Fierce's execution, and, perceiving evident marks of their
misunderstanding, from their behaviour to each other, addressed
them in the following gentle, but forcible manner: [Footnote:
There is something very mysterious in this speech, which probably
that chapter written by Aristotle on this subject, which is
mentioned by a French author, might have given some light into;
but that is unhappily among the lost works of that philosopher. It
is remarkable that galerus, which is Latin for a hat, signifies
likewise a dog-fish, as the Greek word kuneae doth the skin of
that animal; of which I suppose the hats or helmets of the
ancients were composed, as ours at present are of the beaver or
rabbit. Sophocles, in the latter end of his Ajax, alludes to a
method of cheating in hats, and the scholiast on the place tells
us of one Crephontes, who was a master of the art. It is
observable likewise that Achilles, in the first Iliad of Homer,
tells Agamemnon, in anger, that he had dog's eyes. Now, as the
eyes of a dog are handsomer than those of almost any other animal,
this could be no term of reproach. He must therefore mean that he
had a hat on, which, perhaps, from the creature it was made of, or
from some other reason, might have been a mark of infamy. This
superstitious opinion may account for that custom, which hath
descended through all nations, of shewing respect by pulling off
this covering, and that no man is esteemed fit to converse with
his superiors with it on. I shall conclude this learned note with
remarking that the term old hat is at present used by the vulgar
in no very honourable sense.]--"Gentlemen, I am ashamed to see men
embarked in so great and glorious an undertaking, as that of
robbing the public, so foolishly and weakly dissenting among
themselves. Do you think the first inventors of hats, or at least
of the distinctions between them, really conceived that one form
of hats should inspire a man with divinity, another with law,
another with learning, or another with bravery? No, they meant no
more by these outward signs than to impose on the vulgar, and,
instead of putting great men to the trouble of acquiring or
maintaining the substance, to make it sufficient that they
condescend to wear the type or shadow of it. You do wisely,
therefore, when in a crowd, to amuse the mob by quarrels on such
accounts, that while they are listening to your jargon you may
with the greater ease and safety pick their pockets: but surely to
be in earnest, and privately to keep up such a ridiculous
contention among yourselves, must argue the highest folly and
absurdity. When you know you are all PRIGS, what difference can a
broad or a narrow brim create? Is a prig less a prig in one hat
than in another? If the public should be weak enough to interest
themselves in your quarrels, and to prefer one pack to the other,
while both are aiming at their purses, it is your business to
laugh at, not imitate their folly. What can be more ridiculous
than for gentlemen to quarrel about hats, when there is not one
among you whose hat is worth a farthing? What is the use of a hat
farther than to keep the head warm, or to hide a bald crown from
the public? It is the mark of a gentleman to move his hat on every
occasion; and in courts and noble assemblies no man ever wears
one. Let me hear no more therefore of this childish disagreement,
but all toss up your hats together with one accord, and consider
that hat as the best, which will contain the largest booty." He
thus ended his speech, which was followed by a murmuring applause,
and immediately all present tossed their hats together as he had
commanded them.




CHAPTER SEVEN

SHEWING THE CONSEQUENCE WHICH ATTENDED HEARTFREE'S ADVENTURES WITH
WILD; ALL NATURAL AND COMMON ENOUGH TO LITTLE WRETCHES WHO DEAL
WITH GREAT MEN; TOGETHER WITH SOME PRECEDENTS OF LETTERS, BEING
THE DIFFERENT METHODS OF ANSWERING A DUN.


Let us now return to Heartfree, to whom the count's note, which he
had paid away, was returned, with an account that the drawer was
not to be found, and that, on enquiring after him, they had heard
he had run away, and consequently the money was now demanded of
the endorser. The apprehension of such a loss would have affected
any man of business, but much more one whose unavoidable ruin it
must prove. He expressed so much concern and confusion on this
occasion, that the proprietor of the note was frightened, and
resolved to lose no time in securing what he could. So that in the
afternoon of the same day Mr. Snap was commissioned to pay
Heartfree a visit, which he did with his usual formality, and
conveyed him to his own house.

Mrs. Heartfree was no sooner informed of what had happened to her
husband than she raved like one distracted; but after she had
vented the first agonies of her passion in tears and lamentations
she applied herself to all possible means to procure her husband's
liberty. She hastened to beg her neighbours to secure bail for
him. But, as the news had arrived at their houses before her, she
found none of them at home, except an honest Quaker, whose
servants durst not tell a lie. However, she succeeded no better
with him, for unluckily he had made an affirmation the day before
that he would never be bail for any man. After many fruitless
efforts of this kind she repaired to her husband, to comfort him
at least with her presence. She found him sealing the last of
several letters, which he was despatching to his friends and
creditors. The moment he saw her a sudden joy sparkled in his
eyes, which, however, had a very short duration; for despair soon
closed them again; nor could he help bursting into some passionate
expressions of concern for her and his little family, which she,
on her part, did her utmost to lessen, by endeavouring to mitigate
the loss, and to raise in him hopes from the count, who might, she
said, be possibly only gone into the country. She comforted him
likewise with the expectation of favour from his acquaintance,
especially from those whom he had in a particular manner obliged
and served. Lastly, she conjured him, by all the value and esteem
he professed for her, not to endanger his health, on which alone
depended her happiness, by too great an indulgence of grief;
assuring him that no state of life could appear unhappy to her
with him, unless his own sorrow or discontent made it so.

In this manner did this weak poor-spirited woman attempt to
relieve her husband's pains, which it would have rather become her
to aggravate, by not only painting out his misery in the liveliest
colours imaginable, but by upbraiding him with that folly and
confidence which had occasioned it, and by lamenting her own hard
fate in being obliged to share his sufferings.

Heartfree returned this goodness (as it is called) of his wife
with the warmest gratitude, and they passed an hour in a scene of
tenderness too low and contemptible to be recounted to our great
readers. We shall therefore omit all such relations, as they tend
only to make human nature low and ridiculous.

Those messengers who had obtained any answers to his letters now
returned. We shall here copy a few of them, as they may serve for
precedents to others who have an occasion, which happens commonly
enough in genteel life, to answer the impertinence of a dun.

    LETTER I.---

MR. HEARTFREE,--My lord commands me to tell you he is very much
surprized at your assurance in asking for money which you know
hath been so little while due; however, as he intends to deal no
longer at your shop, he hath ordered me to pay you as soon as I
shall have cash in hand, which, considering many disbursements for
bills long due, &c., can't possibly promise any time, &c., at
present. And am your humble servant,

        ROGER MORCRAFT.

    LETTER II.

DEAR SIR,--The money, as you truly say, hath been three years due,
but upon my soul I am at present incapable of paying a farthing;
but as I doubt not, very shortly not only to content that small
bill, but likewise to lay out very considerable further sums at
your house, hope you will meet with no inconvenience by this short
delay in, dear sir, your most sincere humble servant,

          CHA. COURTLY.

    LETTER III.

MR. HEARTFREE,--I beg you would not acquaint my husband of the
trifling debt between us; for, as I know you to be a very good-
natured man, I will trust you with a secret; he gave me the money
long since to discharge it, which I had the ill luck to lose at
play. You may be assured I will satisfy you the first opportunity,
and am, sir, your very humble servant,

        CATH. RUBBERS.

  Please to present my compliments to Mrs. Heartfree.

    LETTER IV.

MR. THOMAS HEARTFREE, SIR,--Yours received: but as to sum
mentioned therein, doth not suit at present. Your humble servant,
PETER POUNCE.

    LETTER V.

SIR,--I am sincerely sorry it is not at present possible for me to
comply with your request, especially after so many obligations
received on my side, of which I shall always entertain the most
greateful memory. I am very greatly concerned at your misfortunes,
and would have waited upon you in person, but am not at present
very well, and besides, am obliged to go this evening to Vauxhall.
I am, sir, your most obliged humble servant,

          CHA. EASY.

P.S.--I hope good Mrs. Heartfree and the dear little ones are
well.

There were more letters to much the same purpose; but we proposed
giving our readers a taste only. Of all these, the last was
infinitely the most grating to poor Heartfree, as it came from one
to whom, when in distress, he had himself lent a considerable sum,
and of whose present flourishing circumstances he was well
assured.




CHAPTER EIGHT

IN WHICH OUR HERO CARRIES GREATNESS TO AN IMMODERATE HEIGHT.


Let us remove, therefore, as fast as we can, this detestable
picture of ingratitude, and present the much more agreeable
portrait of that assurance to which the French very properly annex
the epithet of good. Heartfree had scarce done reading his letters
when our hero appeared before his eyes; not with that aspect with
which a pitiful parson meets his patron after having opposed him
at an election, or which a doctor wears when sneaking away from a
door when he is informed of his patient's death; not with that
downcast countenance which betrays the man who, after a strong
conflict between virtue and vice, hath surrendered his mind to the
latter, and is discovered in his first treachery; but with that
noble, bold, great confidence with which a prime minister assures
his dependent that the place he promised him was disposed of
before. And such concern and uneasiness as he expresses in his
looks on those occasions did Wild testify on the first meeting of
his friend. And as the said prime minister chides you for neglect
of your interest in not having asked in time, so did our hero
attack Heartfree for his giving credit to the count; and, without
suffering him to make any answer, proceeded in a torrent of words
to overwhelm him with abuse, which, however friendly its intention
might be, was scarce to be outdone by an enemy. By these means
Heartfree, who might perhaps otherwise have vented some little
concern for that recommendation which Wild had given him to the
count, was totally prevented from any such endeavour; and, like an
invading prince, when attacked in his own dominions, forced to
recal his whole strength to defend himself at home. This indeed he
did so well, by insisting on the figure and outward appearance of
the count and his equipage, that Wild at length grew a little more
gentle, and with a sigh said, "I confess I have the least reason
of all mankind to censure another for an imprudence of this
nature, as I am myself the most easy to be imposed upon, and
indeed have been so by this count, who, if he be insolvent, hath
cheated me of five hundred pounds. But, for my own part," said he,
"I will not yet despair, nor would I have you. Many men have found
it convenient to retire or abscond for a while, and afterwards
have paid their debts, or at least handsomely compounded them.
This I am certain of, should a composition take place, which is
the worst I think that can be apprehended, I shall be the only
loser; for I shall think myself obliged in honour to repair your
loss, even though you must confess it was principally owing to
your own folly. Z--ds! had I imagined it necessary, I would have
cautioned you, but I thought the part of the town where he lived
sufficient caution not to trust him. And such a sum!---The devil
must have been in you certainly!"

This was a degree of impudence beyond poor Mrs. Heartfree's
imagination. Though she had before vented the most violent
execrations on Wild, she was now thoroughly satisfied of his
innocence, and begged him not to insist any longer on what he
perceived so deeply affected her husband. She said trade could not
be carried on without credit, and surely he was sufficiently
justified in giving it to such a person as the count appeared to
be. Besides, she said, reflections on what was past and
irretrievable would be of little service; that their present
business was to consider how to prevent the evil consequences
which threatened, and first to endeavour to procure her husband
his liberty. "Why doth he not procure bail?" said Wild. "Alas!
sir," said she, "we have applied to many of our acquaintance in
vain; we have met with excuses even where we could least expect
them." "Not bail!" answered Wild, in a passion; "he shall have
bail, if there is any in the world. It is now very late, but trust
me to procure him bail to-morrow morning."

Mrs. Heartfree received these professions with tears, and told
Wild he was a friend indeed. She then proposed to stay that
evening with her husband, but he would not permit her on account
of his little family, whom he would not agree to trust to the care
of servants in this time of confusion.

A hackney-coach was then sent for, but without success; for these,
like hackney-friends, always offer themselves in the sunshine, but
are never to be found when you want them. And as for a chair, Mr.
Snap lived in a part of the town which chairmen very little
frequent. The good woman was therefore obliged to walk home,
whither the gallant Wild offered to attend her as a protector.
This favour was thankfully accepted, and, the husband and wife
having taken a tender leave of each other, the former was locked
in and the latter locked out by the hands of Mr. Snap himself.

As this visit of Mr. Wild's to Heartfree may seem one of those
passages in history which writers, Drawcansir-like, introduce only
BECAUSE THEY DARE; indeed, as it may seem somewhat contradictory
to the greatness of our hero, and may tend to blemish his
character with an imputation of that kind of friendship which
savours too much of weakness and imprudence, it may be necessary
to account for this visit, especially to our more sagacious
readers, whose satisfaction we shall always consult in the most
especial manner. They are to know then that at the first interview
with Mrs. Heartfree Mr. Wild had conceived that passion, or
affection, or friendship, or desire, for that handsome creature,
which the gentlemen of this our age agreed to call LOVE, and which
is indeed no other than that kind of affection which, after the
exercise of the dominical day is over, a lusty divine is apt to
conceive for the well-drest sirloin or handsome buttock which the
well-edified squire in gratitude sets before him, and which, so
violent is his love, he devours in imagination the moment he sees
it. Not less ardent was the hungry passion of our hero, who, from
the moment he had cast his eyes on that charming dish, had cast
about in his mind by what method he might come at it. This, as he
perceived, might most easily be effected after the ruin of
Heartfree, which, for other considerations, he had intended. So he
postponed all endeavours for this purpose till he had first
effected that, by order of time, was regularly to precede this
latter design; with such regularity did this our hero conduct all
his schemes, and so truly superior was he to all the efforts of
passion, which so often disconcert and disappoint the noblest
views of others.




CHAPTER NINE

MORE GREATNESS IN WILD. A LOW SCENE BETWEEN MRS. HEARTFREE AND HER
CHILDREN, AND A SCHEME OF OUR HERO WORTHY THE HIGHEST ADMIRATION,
AND EVEN ASTONISHMENT.


When first Wild conducted his flame (or rather his dish, to
continue our metaphor) from the proprietor, he had projected a
design of conveying her to one of those eating-houses in Covent-
garden, where female flesh is deliciously drest and served up to
the greedy appetites of young gentlemen; but, fearing lest she
should not come readily enough into his wishes, and that, by too
eager and hasty a pursuit, he should frustrate his future
expectations, and luckily at the same time a noble hint suggesting
itself to him, by which he might almost inevitably secure his
pleasure, together with his profit, he contented himself with
waiting on Mrs. Heartfree home, and, after many protestations of
friendship and service to her husband, took his leave, and
promised to visit her early in the morning, and to conduct her
back to Mr. Snap's.

Wild now retired to a night-cellar, where he found several of his
acquaintance, with whom he spent the remaining part of the night
in revelling; nor did the least compassion for Heartfree's
misfortunes disturb the pleasure of his cups. So truly great was
his soul that it was absolutely composed, save that an
apprehension of Miss Tishy's making some discovery (as she was
then in no good temper towards him) a little ruffled and
disquieted the perfect serenity he would otherwise have enjoyed.
As he had, therefore, no opportunity of seeing her that evening,
he wrote her a letter full of ten thousand protestations of
honourable love, and (which he more depended on) containing as
many promises, in order to bring the young lady into good humour,
without acquainting her in the least with his suspicion, or giving
her any caution; for it was his constant maxim never to put it
into any one's head to do you a mischief by acquainting him that
it is in his power.

We must now return to Mrs. Heartfree, who past a sleepless night
in as great agonies and horror for the absence of her husband as a
fine well-bred woman would feel at the return of hers from a long
voyage or journey. In the morning the children being brought to
her, the eldest asked where dear papa was? At which she could not
refrain from bursting into tears. The child, perceiving it, said,

"Don't cry, mamma; I am sure papa would not stay abroad if he
could help it." At these words she caught the child in her arms,
and, throwing herself into the chair in an agony of passion, cried
out,

"No, my child; nor shall all the malice of hell keep us long
asunder."

These are circumstances which we should not, for the amusement of
six or seven readers only, have inserted, had they not served to
shew that there are weaknesses in vulgar life to which great minds
are so entirely strangers that they have not even an idea of them;
and, secondly, by exposing the folly of this low creature, to set
off and elevate that greatness of which we endeavour to draw a
true portrait in this history.

Wild, entering the room, found the mother with one child in her
arms, and the other at her knee. After paying her his compliments,
he desired her to dismiss the children and servant, for that he
had something of the greatest moment to impart to her.

She immediately complied with his request, and, the door being
shut, asked him with great eagerness if he had succeeded in his
intentions of procuring the bail. He answered he had not
endeavoured at it yet, for a scheme had entered into his head by
which she might certainly preserve her husband, herself, and her
family. In order to which he advised her instantly to remove with
the most valuable jewels she had to Holland, before any statute of
bankruptcy issued to prevent her; that he would himself attend her
thither and place her in safety, and then return to deliver her
husband, who would be thus easily able to satisfy his creditors.
He added that he was that instant come from Snap's, where he had
communicated the scheme to Heartfree, who had greatly approved of
it, and desired her to put it in execution without delay,
concluding that a moment was not to be lost.

The mention of her husband's approbation left no doubt in this
poor woman's breast; she only desired a moment's time to pay him a
visit in order to take her leave. But Wild peremptorily refused;
he said by every moment's delay she risqued the ruin of her
family; that she would be absent only a few days from him, for
that the moment he had lodged her safe in Holland, he would
return, procure her husband his liberty, and bring him to her. I
have been the unfortunate, the innocent cause of all my dear Tom's
calamity, madam, said he, and I will perish with him or see him
out of it. Mrs. Heartfree overflowed with acknowledgments of his
goodness, but still begged for the shortest interview with her
husband. Wild declared that a minute's delay might be fatal; and
added, though with the voice of sorrow rather than of anger, that
if she had not resolution enough to execute the commands he
brought her from her husband, his ruin would lie at her door; and,
for his own part, he must give up any farther meddling in his
affairs.

She then proposed to take her children with her; but Wild would
not permit it, saying they would only retard their flight, and
that it would be properer for her husband to bring them. He at
length absolutely prevailed on this poor woman, who immediately
packed up the most valuable effects she could find, and, after
taking a tender leave of her infants, earnestly recommended them
to the care of a very faithful servant. Then they called a
hackney-coach, which conveyed them to an inn, where they were
furnished with a chariot and six, in which they set forward for
Harwich.

Wild rode with an exulting heart, secure, as he now thought
himself, of the possession of that lovely woman, together with a
rich cargo. In short, be enjoyed in his mind all the happiness
which unbridled lust and rapacious avarice, could promise him. As
to the poor creature who was to satisfy these passions, her whole
soul was employed in reflecting on the condition of her husband
and children. A single word scarce escaped her lips, though many a
tear gushed from her brilliant eyes, which, if I may use a coarse
expression, served only as delicious sauce to heighten the
appetite of Wild.




CHAPTER TEN

SEA-ADVENTURES VERY NEW AND SURPRISING.


When they arrived at Harwich they found a vessel, which had put in
there, just ready to depart for Rotterdam. So they went
immediately on board, and sailed with a fair wind; but they had
hardly proceeded out of sight of land when a sudden and violent
storm arose and drove them to the southwest; insomuch that the
captain apprehended it impossible to avoid the Goodwin Sands, and
he and all his crew gave themselves up for lost. Mrs. Heartfree,
who had no other apprehensions from death but those of leaving her
dear husband and children, fell on her knees to beseech the
Almighty's favour, when Wild, with a contempt of danger truly
great, took a resolution as worthy to be admired perhaps as any
recorded of the bravest hero, ancient or modern; a resolution
which plainly proved him to have these two qualifications so
necessary to a hero, to be superior to all the energies of fear or
pity. He saw the tyrant death ready to rescue from him his
intended prey, which he had yet devoured only in imagination. He
therefore swore he would prevent him, and immediately attacked the
poor wretch, who was in the utmost agonies of despair, first with
solicitation, and afterwards with force.

Mrs. Heartfree, the moment she understood his meaning, which, in
her present temper of mind, and in the opinion she held of him,
she did not immediately, rejected him with all the repulses which
indignation and horror could animate: but when he attempted
violence she filled the cabin with her shrieks, which were so
vehement that they reached the ears of the captain, the storm at
this time luckily abating. This man, who was a brute rather from
his education and the element he inhabited than from nature, ran
hastily down to her assistance, and, finding her struggling on the
ground with our hero, he presently rescued her from her intended
ravisher, who was soon obliged to quit the woman, in order to
engage with her lusty champion, who spared neither pains nor blows
in the assistance of his fair passenger.

When the short battle was over, in which our hero, had he not been
overpowered with numbers, who came down on their captain's side,
would have been victorious, the captain rapped out a hearty oath,
and asked Wild, if he had no more Christianity in him than to
ravish a woman in a storm? To which the other greatly and sullenly
answered, "It was very well; but d--n him if he had not
satisfaction the moment they came on shore." The captain with
great scorn replied, "Kiss,---" &c., and then, forcing Wild out
of the cabbin, he, at Mrs. Heartfree's request, locked her into
it, and returned to the care of his ship.

The storm was now entirely ceased, and nothing remained but the
usual ruffling of the sea after it, when one of the sailors spied
a sail at a distance, which the captain wisely apprehended might
be a privateer (for we were then engaged in a war with France),
and immediately ordered all the sail possible to be crowded; but
his caution was in vain, for the little wind which then blew was
directly adverse, so that the ship bore down upon them, and soon
appeared to be what the captain had feared, a French privateer. He
was in no condition of resistance, and immediately struck on her
firing the first gun. The captain of the Frenchman, with several
of his hands, came on board the English vessel, which they rifled
of everything valuable, and, amongst the rest, of poor Mrs.
Heartfree's whole cargo; and then taking the crew, together with
the two passengers, aboard his own ship, he determined, as the
other would be only a burthen to him, to sink her, she being very
old and leaky, and not worth going back with to Dunkirk. He
preserved, therefore, nothing but the boat, as his own was none of
the best, and then, pouring a broadside into her, he sent her to
the bottom.

The French captain, who was a very young fellow, and a man of
gallantry, was presently enamoured to no small degree with his
beautiful captive; and imagining Wild, from some words he dropt,
to be her husband, notwithstanding the ill affection towards him
which appeared in her looks, he asked her if she understood
French. She answered in the affirmative, for indeed she did
perfectly well. He then asked her how long she and that gentleman
(pointing to Wild) had been married. She answered, with a deep
sigh and many tears, that she was married indeed, but not to that
villain, who was the sole cause of all her misfortunes. That
appellation raised a curiosity in the captain, and he importuned
her in so pressing but gentle a manner to acquaint him with the
injuries she complained of, that she was at last prevailed on to
recount to him the whole history of her afflictions. This so moved
the captain, who had too little notions of greatness, and so
incensed him against our hero, that he resolved to punish him;
and, without regard to the laws of war, he immediately ordered out
his shattered boat, and, making Wild a present of half-a-dozen
biscuits to prolong his misery, he put him therein, and then,
committing him to the mercy of the sea, proceeded on his cruize.




CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE GREAT AND WONDERFUL BEHAVIOUR OF OUR HERO IN THE BOAT.


It is probable that a desire of ingratiating himself with his
charming captive, or rather conqueror, had no little share in
promoting this extraordinary act of illegal justice; for the
Frenchman had conceived the same sort of passion or hunger which
Wild himself had felt, and was almost as much resolved, by some
means or other, to satisfy it. We will leave him however at
present in the pursuit of his wishes, and attend our hero in his
boat, since it is in circumstances of distress that true greatness
appears most wonderful. For that a prince in the midst of his
courtiers, all ready to compliment him with his favourite
character or title, and indeed with everything else, or that a
conqueror, at the head of a hundred thousand men, all prepared to
execute his will, how ambitious, wanton, or cruel soever, should,
in the giddiness of their pride, elevate themselves many degrees
above those their tools, seems not difficult to be imagined, or
indeed accounted for. But that a man in chains, in prison, nay, in
the vilest dungeon, should, with persevering pride and obstinate
dignity, discover that vast superiority in his own nature over the
rest of mankind, who to a vulgar eye seem much happier than
himself; nay, that he should discover heaven and providence (whose
peculiar care, it seems, he is) at that very time at work for him;
this is among the arcana of greatness, to be perfectly understood
only by an adept in that science.

What could be imagined more miserable than the situation of our
hero at this season, floating in a little boat on the open seas,
without oar, without sail, and at the mercy of the first wave to
overwhelm him? nay, this was indeed the fair side of his fortune,
as it was a much more eligible fate than that alternative which
threatened him with almost unavoidable certainty, viz., starving
with hunger, the sure consequence of a continuance of the calm.

Our hero, finding himself in this condition, began to ejaculate a
round of blasphemies, which the reader, without being over-pious,
might be offended at seeing repeated. He then accused the whole
female sex, and the passion of love (as he called it),
particularly that which he bore to Mrs. Heartfree, as the unhappy
occasion of his present sufferings. At length, finding himself
descending too much into the language of meanness and complaint,
he stopped short, and after broke forth as follows: "D--n it, a
man can die but once! what signifies it? Every man must die, and
when it is over it is over. I never was afraid of anything yet,
nor I won't begin now; no, d--n me, won't I. What signifies fear?
I shall die whether I am afraid or no: who's afraid then, d---n
me?" At which words he looked extremely fierce, but, recollecting
that no one was present to see him, he relaxed a little the terror
of his countenance, and, pausing a while, repeated the word, d--n!
"Suppose I should be d--ned at last," cries he, "when I never
thought a syllable of the matter? I have often laughed and made a
jest about it, and yet it may be so, for anything which I know to
the contrary. If there should be another world it will go hard
with me, that is certain. I shall never escape for what I have
done to Heartfree. The devil must have me for that undoubtedly.
The devil! Pshaw! I am not such a fool to be frightened at him
neither. No, no; when a man's dead there's an end of him. I wish I
was certainly satisfied of it though: for there are some men of
learning, as I have heard, of a different opinion. It is but a bad
chance, methinks, I stand. If there be no other world, why I shall
be in no worse condition than a block or a stone: but if there
should----d--n me I will think no longer about it.--Let a pack of
cowardly rascals be afraid of death, I dare look him in the face.
But shall I stay and be starved?--No, I will eat up the biscuits
the French son of a whore bestowed on me, and then leap into the
sea for drink, since the unconscionable dog hath not allowed me a
single dram." Having thus said, he proceeded immediately to put
his purpose in execution, and, as his resolution never failed him,
he had no sooner despatched the small quantity of provision which
his enemy had with no vast liberality presented him, than he cast
himself headlong into the sea.




CHAPTER TWELVE

THE STRANGE AND YET NATURAL ESCAPE OF OUR HERO.


Our hero, having with wonderful resolution thrown himself into the
sea, as we mentioned at the end of the last chapter, was
miraculously within two minutes after replaced in his boat; and
this without the assistance of a dolphin or a seahorse, or any
other fish or animal, who are always as ready at hand when a poet
or historian pleases to call for them to carry a hero through the
sea, as any chairman at a coffee-house door near St. James's to
convey a beau over a street, and preserve his white stockings. The
truth is, we do not chuse to have any recourse to miracles, from
the strict observance we pay to that rule of Horace,

  Nec Deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus.

The meaning of which is, do not bring in a supernatural agent when
you can do without him; and indeed we are much deeper read in
natural than supernatural causes. We will therefore endeavour to
account for this extraordinary event from the former of these; and
in doing this it will be necessary to disclose some profound
secrets to our reader, extremely well worth his knowing, and which
may serve him to account for many occurrences of the phenomenous
kind which have formerly appeared in this our hemisphere.

Be it known then that the great Alma Mater, Nature, is of all
other females the most obstinate, and tenacious of her purpose. So
true is that observation,

  Naturam expellas furca licet, usque recurret.

Which I need not render in English, it being to be found in a book
which most fine gentlemen are forced to read. Whatever Nature,
therefore, purposes to herself, she never suffers any reason,
design, or accident to frustrate. Now, though it may seem to a
shallow observer that some persons were designed by Nature for no
use or purpose whatever, yet certain it is that no man is born
into the world without his particular allotment; viz., some to be
kings, some statesmen, some ambassadors, some bishops, some
generals, and so on. Of these there be two kinds; those to whom
Nature is so generous to give some endowment qualifying them for
the parts she intends them afterwards to act on this stage, and
those whom she uses as instances of her unlimited power, and for
whose preferment to such and such stations Solomon himself could
have invented no other reason than that Nature designed them so.
These latter some great philosophers have, to shew them to be the
favourites of Nature, distinguished by the honourable appellation
of NATURALS. Indeed, the true reason of the general ignorance of
mankind on this head seems to be this; that, as Nature chuses to
execute these her purposes by certain second causes, and as many
of these second causes seem so totally foreign to her design, the
wit of man, which, like his eye, sees best directly forward, and
very little and imperfectly what is oblique, is not able to
discern the end by the means. Thus, how a handsome wife or
daughter should contribute to execute her original designation of
a general, or how flattery or half a dozen houses in a borough-
town should denote a judge, or a bishop, he is not capable of
comprehending. And, indeed, we ourselves, wise as we are, are
forced to reason ab effectu; and if we had been asked what Nature
had intended such men for, before she herself had by the event
demonstrated her purpose, it is possible we might sometimes have
been puzzled to declare; for it must be confessed that at first
sight, and to a mind uninspired, a man of vast natural capacity
and much acquired knowledge may seem by Nature designed for power
and honour, rather than one remarkable only for the want of these,
and indeed all other qualifications; whereas daily experience
convinces us of the contrary, and drives us as it were into the
opinion I have here disclosed.

Now, Nature having originally intended our great man for that
final exaltation which, as it is the most proper and becoming end
of all great men, it were heartily to be wished they might all
arrive at, would by no means be diverted from her purpose. She
therefore no sooner spied him in the water than she softly
whispered in his ear to attempt the recovery of his boat, which
call he immediately obeyed, and, being a good swimmer, and it
being a perfect calm, with great facility accomplished it.

Thus we think this passage in our history, at first so greatly
surprising, is very naturally accounted for, and our relation
rescued from the Prodigious, which, though it often occurs in
biography, is not to be encouraged nor much commended on any
occasion, unless when absolutely necessary to prevent the
history's being at an end. Secondly, we hope our hero is justified
from that imputation of want of resolution which must have been
fatal to the greatness of his character.




CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE CONCLUSION OF THE BOAT ADVENTURE, AND THE END OF THE SECOND
BOOK.


Our hero passed the remainder of the evening, the night, and the
next day, in a condition not much to be envied by any passion of
the human mind, unless by ambition; which, provided it can only
entertain itself with the most distant music of fame's trumpet,
can disdain all the pleasures of the sensualist, and those more
solemn, though quieter comforts, which a good conscience suggests
to a Christian philosopher.

He spent his time in contemplation, that is to say, in
blaspheming, cursing, and sometimes singing and whistling. At
last, when cold and hunger had almost subdued his native
fierceness, it being a good deal past midnight and extremely dark,
he thought he beheld a light at a distance, which the cloudiness
of the sky prevented his mistaking for a star: this light,
however, did not seem to approach him, at least it approached by
such imperceptible degrees that it gave him very little comfort,
and at length totally forsook him. He then renewed his
contemplation as before, in which he continued till the day began
to break, when, to his inexpressible delight, he beheld a sail at
a very little distance, and which luckily seemed to be making
towards him. He was likewise soon espied by those in the vessel,
who wanted no signals to inform them of his distress, and, as it
was almost a calm, and their course lay within five hundred yards
of him, they hoisted out their boat and fetched him aboard.

The captain of this ship was a Frenchman; she was laden with deal
from Norway, and had been extremely shattered in the late storm.
This captain was of that kind of men who are actuated by general
humanity, and whose compassion can be raised by the distress of a
fellow-creature, though of a nation whose king hath quarrelled
with the monarch of their own. He therefore, commiserating the
circumstances of Wild, who had dressed up a story proper to impose
upon such a silly fellow, told him that, as himself well knew, he
must be a prisoner on his arrival in France, but that he would
endeavour to procure his redemption; for which our hero greatly
thanked him. But, as they were making very slow sail (for they had
lost their main-mast in the storm), Wild saw a little vessel at a
distance, they being within a few leagues of the English shore,
which, on enquiry, he was informed was probably an English
fishing-boat. And, it being then perfectly calm, he proposed that,
if they would accommodate him with a pair of scullers, he could
get within reach of the boat, at least near enough to make signals
to her; and he preferred any risque to the certain fate of being a
prisoner. As his courage was somewhat restored by the provisions
(especially brandy) with which the Frenchmen had supplied him, he
was so earnest in his entreaties, that the captain, after many
persuasions, at length complied, and he was furnished with
scullers, and with some bread, pork, and a bottle of brandy. Then,
taking leave of his preservers, he again betook himself to his
boat, and rowed so heartily that he soon came within the sight of
the fisherman, who immediately made towards him and took him
aboard.

No sooner was Wild got safe on board the fisherman than he begged
him to make the utmost speed into Deal, for that the vessel which
was still in sight was a distressed Frenchman, bound for Havre de
Grace, and might easily be made a prize if there was any ship
ready to go in pursuit of her. So nobly and greatly did our hero
neglect all obligations conferred on him by the enemies of his
country, that he would have contributed all he could to the taking
his benefactor, to whom he owed both his life and his liberty.

The fisherman took his advice, and soon arrived at Deal, where the
reader will, I doubt not, be as much concerned as Wild was, that
there was not a single ship prepared to go on the expedition.

Our hero now saw himself once more safe on terra firma, but
unluckily at some distance from that city where men of ingenuity
can most easily supply their wants without the assistance of
money, or rather can most easily procure money for the supply of
their wants. However, as his talents were superior to every
difficulty, he framed so dextrous an account of his being a
merchant, having been taken and plundered by the enemy, and of his
great effects in London, that he was not only heartily regaled by
the fisherman at his house, but made so handsome a booty by way of
borrowing, a method of taking which we have before mentioned to
have his approbation, that he was enabled to provide himself with
a place in the stage-coach; which (as God permitted it to perform
the journey) brought him at the appointed time to an inn in the
metropolis.

And now, reader, as thou canst be in no suspense far the fate of
our great man, since we have returned him safe to the principal
scene of his glory, we will a little look back on the fortunes of
Mr. Heartfree, whom we left in no very pleasant situation; but of
this we shall treat in the next book.




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

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