not respected as a captain by the whole gang since my dubbing you so? But it is the shadow only, it seems; and you will knock a man down for affronting you, who calls you captain! Might not a man as reasonably tell a minister of state: Sir, you have given me that shadow only. The ribbon or the bawble that you gave me, implies that I have either signalized myself, by some great action for the benefit and glory of my country; or at least that I am descended from those who have done so. I know myself to be a scoundrel, and so have been those few ancestors I can remember, or have ever heard of. Therefore I am resolved to knock the first man down who calls me Sir, or Right Honourable. But all great and wise men think themselves sufficiently repaid by what procures them honour and precedence in the gang, without inquiring into substance; nay, if a title, or a feather, be equal to this purpose, they are substance and not mere shadows. But I have not time to argue with you at present, so give me the watch without any more deliberation.' I am no more a friend to deliberation than yourself,' answered Blueskin, and so I tell you once for all, by G- I never will give you the watch, no, nor will I ever hereafter surrender any part of my booty. I won it, and I will wear it. Take your pistols yourself, and go out on the highway, and don't lazily think to fatten yourself with the dangers and pains of other people.' At which words he departed in a fierce mood, and repaired to the tavern used by the gang, where he had appointed to meet some of his acquaintance, whom he informed of what had passed between him and Wild, and advised them all to follow his example; which they all readily agreed to, and Mr. Wild's D-tion was the universal toast; in drinking bumpers to which, they had finished a large bowl of punch, when a constable, with a numerous attendance, and Wild at their head, entered the room, and seized on Blueskin, whom his companions, when they saw our hero, did not dare attempt to rescue. The watch was found upon him, which, together with Wild's information, was more than sufficient to commit him to Newgate. In the evening Wild and the rest of those who had been drinking with Blueskin, met at the tavern, where nothing was to be seen but the profoundest submission to their leader. They vilified and abused Blueskin as much as they had before abused our hero, and now repeated the same toast, only changing the name of Wild into that of Blueskin. All agreeing with Wild, that the watch found in his pocket, and which must be a fatal evidence against him, was a just judgment on his disobedience and revolt. Thus did this Great Man, by a resolute and timely example (for he went directly to the justice when Blueskin left him) quell one of the most dangerous conspiracies which could possibly arise in a gang; and which, had it been permitted one day's growth, would inevitably have ended in his destruction; so much doth it behoove all great men to be eternally on their guard, and expeditious in the execution of their purposes; while none but the weak and honest can indulge themselves in remissness or repose. The Achates, Fireblood, had been present at both these meetings; but though he had a little too hastily concurred in cursing his friend, and in vowing his perdition ; yet now he saw all that scheme dissolved, he returned to his integrity; of which he gave an incontestible proof, by informing Wild of the measures which had been concerted against him. In which, he said, he had pretended to acquiesce, in order the better to betray them; but this, as he afterwards confessed on his deathbed, at Tyburn, was only a copy of his countenance: for that he was, at that time, as sincere and hearty in his opposition to Wild, as any of his companions. Our hero received Fireblood's information with a very placid countenance. He said, as the gang had seen their errors, and repented, nothing was more noble than forgiveness. But though he was pleased modestly to ascribe this to his lenity, it really arose from much more. noble and political principles. He considered that it would be dangerous to attempt the punishment of so many; besides, he flattered himself that fear would keep them in order; and indeed Fireblood had told him nothing more than he knew before, viz. that they were all complete Prigs, whom he was to govern by their fears, and in whom he was to place no more confidence than was necessary, and to watch them with the utmost caution and circumspection: for a rogue, he wisely said, like gunpowder, must be used with caution; since both are altogether as liable to blow up the party himself who uses them, as to execute his mischievous purpose against some other person or animal. We will now repair to Newgate, it being the place where most of the great men of this history are hastening as fast as possible; and to confess the truth, it is a castle very far from being an improper, or misbecoming habitation for any great man whatever. And as this scene will continue during the residue of our history, we shall open it with a new book; and shall, therefore, take this opportunity of closing our third. BOOK IV. A sentiment of the ordinary's, worthy to be written in letters of gold; a very extraordinary instance of folly in Friendly; and a dreadful accident which befel our hero. HEARTFREE had not been long in Newgate before his frequent conversation with his children, and other instances of a good heart which betrayed themselves in his actions and conversation, created an opinion in all about him that he was one of the silliest fellows in the universe. The ordinary himself, a very sagacious as well as very worthy person, declared that he was a cursed rogue, but no conjurer. What indeed might induce the former, i. e. the roguish part of this opinion in the ordinary, was a wicked sentiment which Heartfree one day disclosed in conversation, and which we, who are truly orthodox, will not pretend to justify, That he believed a sincere Turk would be saved. To this the good man, with becoming zeal and indignation, answered, I know not what may become of a sincere Turk, but if this be your persuasion, I pronounce it impossible you should be saved. No, sir, so far from a sincere Turk's being within the pale of salvation, neither will any sincere Presbyterian, Anabaptist, nor Quaker whatever, be saved. But neither did the one or the other part of this character prevail on Friendly to abandon his old master. He spent his whole time with him, except only those hours when he was absent for his sake, in procuring evidence for him against his trial, which was now shortly to come Indeed this young man was the only comfort, besides a clear conscience, and the hopes beyond the grave, which this poor wretch had; for the sight of his children was like one of those alluring pleasures which men in some diseases indulge themselves often fatally in, which at once flatter and heighten their malady. on. Friendly being one day present while Heartfree was, with tears in his eyes, embracing his eldest daughter, and lamenting the hard fate to which he feared he should be obliged to leave her, spoke to him thus: I have long observed with admiration the magnanimity with which you go through your own misfortunes, and the steady countenance with which you look on death. I have observed that all your agonies arise from the thoughts of parting with your children, and of leaving them in a distressed condition; now, though I hope all your fears will prove ill-grounded, yet that I may relieve you as much as possible from them, be assured, that as nothing can give me more real misery, than to observe so tender and loving a concern in a master, to whose goodness I owe so many obligations, and whom I so sincerely love, so nothing can afford me equal pleasure with my contributing to lessen or remove it. Be convinced, therefore, if you can place any confidence in my promise, that I will employ my little fortune, which you know to be not entirely inconsi ་ my derable, in the support of this your little family. Should any misfortune, which I pray heaven avert, happen to you before you have better provided for these little ones, I will be myself their father, nor shall either of them ever know distress, if it be any way in my power to prevent it. Your younger daughter I will provide for, and as for little prattler, your elder, as I never yet thought of any woman for a wife, I will receive her as such at your hands; nor will I ever relinquish her for another.' Heartfree flew to his friend, and embraced him with raptures of acknowledgment. He vowed to him, that he had eased every anxious thought of his mind but one, and that he must carry with him out of the world. "O Friendly!' cried he, it is my concern for that best of women, whom I hate myself for having ever censured in my opinion. O Friendly! thou didst know her goodness; yet, sure, her perfect character none but myself was ever acquainted with. She had every perfection both of mind and body, which heaven hath indulged to her whole sex, and possessed all in a higher excellence than nature ever indulged to another in any single virtue. Can I bear the loss of such a woman? Can I bear the apprehensions of what mischiefs that villain may have done to her, of which death is perhaps the lightest?' Friendly gently interrupted him as soon as he saw any opportunity, endeavouring to comfort him on this head likewise, by magnifying every circumstance which could possibly afford any hopes of his seeing her again. By this kind of behaviour, in which the young man exemplified so uncommon a height of friendship, he had soon obtained in the castle the character of as odd and silly a fellow as his master. Indeed, they were both the by-word, laughing-stock, and contempt of the whole place. The sessions now came on at the Old Bailey. The grand jury at Hicks's-hall had found the bill of indictment against Heartfree, and on the second day of the session he was brought to his trial; where, notwithstanding the utmost efforts of Friendly, and the honest old female ser |