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prisoners of) a shilling, which he himself did not pay toe dear for.

CHAPTER IV.

The dead-warrant arrives for Heartfree; on which occasion Wild betrays some human weakness.

THE dead-warrant, as it is called, now came down to Newgate for the execution of Heartfree among the rest of the prisoners. And here the reader must excuse us who profess to draw natural, not perfect characters, and to record the truths of history, not the extravagances of romance, while we relate a weakness in Wild, of which we are ourselves ashamed, and which we would willingly have concealed, could we have preserved at the same time that strict attachment to truth and impartiality, which we have professed in recording the annals of this great man. Know then, reader, that this dead-warrant did not affect Heartfree, who was to suffer a shameful death by it, with half the concern it gave Wild, who had been the occasion of it. He had been a little struck the day before, on seeing the children carried away in tears from their father. This sight brought the remembrance of some slight injuries he had done the father, to his mind, which he endeavoured, as much as possible, to obliterate; but when one of the keepers (I should say lieutenants of the castle) repeated Heartfree's name among those of the malefactors who were to suffer within a few days, the blood forsook his countenance, and in a cold still stream moyed heavily to his heart, which had scarce strength enough left to return it through his veins. In short, his body so visibly demonstrated the pangs of his mind, that, to escape observation, he retired to his room, where he sullenly gave vent to such bitter agonies, that even the injured Heartfree, had not the apprehension of what his wife had suffered, shut every avenue of compassion, would have pitied him.

When his mind was thoroughly fatigued, and worn out with the horrors which the approaching fate of the poor

wretch, who lay under a sentence which he had iniquitously brought upon him, had suggested, sleep promised him relief; but this promise was, alas! delusive. This certain friend to the tired body is often the severest enemy to the oppressed mind. So at least it proved to Wild, adding visionary to real horrors, and tormenting his imagination with phantoms too dreadful to be described. At length, starting from these visions, he no sooner discovered his waking senses, than he cried out: 'I may yet prevent this catastrophe. It is too late to discover the whole.' He then paused a moment: but greatness instantly returning to his assistance, checked the base thought, as it first offered itself to his mind. He then reasoned thus coolly with himself: Shall I, like a child, or a woman, or one of those mean wretches, whom I have always despised, be frightened by dreams and visionary phantoms, to sully that honour which I have so difficultly acquired, and so gloriously maintained! Shall I, to redeem the worthless life of this silly fellow, suffer my reputation to contract a stain, which the blood of millions cannot wipe away! Was it only that the few, the simple part of mankind, should call me Rogue, perhaps I could submit; but to be for ever contemptible to the PRIGS, as a wretch who wanted spirit to execute my undertaking, can never be digested. What is the life of a single man? Have not whole armies and nations been sacrificed to the honour of ONE GREAT MAN? Nay to omit that first class of greatness, the conquerors of mankind, how often have numbers fallen by a ficticious plot only to satisfy the spleen, or perhaps exercise the ingenuity of a member of that second order of greatness the Ministerial! What have I done then? Why, I have ruined a family, and brought an innocent man to the gallows. I ought rather to weep with Alexander, that I have ruined no more, than to regret the little I have done.' He at length, therefore, bravely resolved to consign over Heartfree to his fate, though it cost him more struggling than may easily be believed, utterly to conquer his reluctance, and to banish away every degree

of humanity from his mind, these little sparks of which composed one of those weaknesses, which we lamented in the opening of our history.

But, in vindication of our hero, we must beg leave to observe that nature is seldom so kind as those writers who draw characters absolutely perfect. She seldom creates any man so completely great, or completely low, but that some sparks of humanity will glimmer in the former, and some sparks of what the vulgar call evil, will dart forth in the latter; utterly to extinguish which, will give some pain, and uneasiness to both; for I apprehend, no mind was ever yet formed entirely free from blemish, unless peradventure that of a sanctified hypocrite, whose praises some well-fed flatterer hath gratefully thought proper to sing forth.

CHAPTER V.

Containing various matters.

THE day was now come when poor Heartfree was to suffer an ignominious death. Friendly had, in the strongest manner, confirmed his assurances of fulfilling his promise, of becoming a father to one of his children, and a husband to the other. This gave him inexpressible comfort, and he had, the evening before, taken his last leave of the little wretches, with a tenderness which drew a tear from one of the keepers, joined to a magnanimity which would have pleased a Stoic. When he was informed that the coach which Friendly had provided for him, was ready, and that the rest of the prisoners were gone, be embraced that faithful friend with great passion, and begged that he would leave him here; but the other desired leave to accompany him to his end; which at last he was forced to comply with. And now he was proceeding towards the coach, when he found his difficulties were not yet over; for now a friend arrived, of whom he was to take a harder and yet more tender leave than he had yet gone through. This friend, reader, was no other than Mrs. Heartfree herself, who ran to him with a look all wild, staring, and

frantic, and, having reached his arms, fainted away in them without muttering a single syllable. Heartfree was, with great difficulty, able to preserve his own senses in such a surprise at such a season. And indeed our goodmatured reader will be rather inclined to wish this miserable couple had, by dying in each other's arms, put a fi nal period to their woes, than have survived to taste those bitter moments which were to be their portion, and which the unhappy wife soon recovering from the short intermission of being, now began to suffer. When she became first mistress of her voice, she burst forth into the following accents: O my husband:-is this the condition in which I find you after our cruel separation! Who hath done this? Cruel Heaven? What is the occasion? I know thou canst deserve no ill. Tell me, somebody who can speak, while I have my senses left to understand,-what is the matter?" At which words several laughed, and one answered: 'The matter. Why no great matter.— The gentleman is not the first, nor won't be the last: The worst of the matter is, that if we are to stay all the morning here, I shall lose my dinner." Heartfree, pausing a moment, and recollecting himself, cried out: I will bear all with patience." And then, addressing himself to the commanding officer, begged he might only have a few minutes by himself with his wife, whom he had not seen before, since his misfortunes. The great man answered: "He had compassion on him, and would do more than he could answer; but he supposed he was too much a gentleman not to know that something was due for such civility." On this hint, Friendly, who was himself half dead, pulled five guineas out of his pocket, which the great man took, and said, he would be so generous to give him ten minutes; on which one observed, that many a gentleman had bought ten minutes with a woman dearer, and many other facetious remarks were made, unnecessary to be here related. Heartfree was now suffered to retire into a room with his wife, the commander informing him at his entrance, that he must be expeditious, for that the rest

of the good company would be at the tree before him, and he supposed he was a gentleman of too much breeding to make them wait.

This tender wretched couple were now retired for these few minutes, which the commander without, carefully measured with his watch; and Heartfree was mustering all his resolution to part with what his soul so ardently doated on, and to conjure her to support his loss for the sake of her poor infants, and to comfort her with the promise of Friendly on their account; but all his design was frustrated. Mrs. Heartfree could not support the shock, but again fainted away, and so entirely lost every symptom of life, that Heartfree called vehemently for assistance. Friendly rushed first into the room, and was soon followed by many others, and, what was remarkable, one who had unmoved beheld the tender scene between these parting lovers, was touched to the quick by the pale looks of the woman, and ran up and down for water, drops, &c. with the utmost hurry and confusion. The ten minutes were expired, which the commander now hinted; and seeing nothing offered for the renewal of the term, (for indeed Friendly had unhappily emptied his pockets,) he began to grow very importunate, and at last told Heartfree, He should be ashamed not to act more like a Heartfree begged his pardon, and said, he would make him wait no longer. Then, with the deepest sigh, cried, 'O my angel!' and embracing his wife with the utmost eagerness, kissed her pale lips with more fervency than ever bridegroom did the blushing cheeks of his bride; he then cried, 'The Almighty bless thee; and, if it be his pleasure, restore thee to life; if not, I beseech him we may presently meet again in a better world than this.' He was breaking from her, when perceiving her sense returning, he could not forbear renewing his embrace, and again pressing her lips, which now recovered life and warmth so fast, that he begged one ten minutes more to tell her what her swooning had prevented her hearing. The worthy commander being perhaps a littlə

man.

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