nor the sound of a reprieve to one at the gallows, than did every word of the old gentleman in the ears of our hero. He gave his father full power to treat in his name, and desired nothing more than expedition. The old people now met; and Snap, who had information from his daughter of the violent passion of her lover, endeavoured to improve it to the best advantage, and would have not only declined giving her any fortune himself, but have attempted to cheat her of what she owed to the liberality of her relations, particularly of a pint silver caudle cup, the gift of her grandmother. However, in this, the young lady herself afterwards took care to prevent him. As to the old Mr Wild, he did not sufficiently attend to all the designs of Snap, as his faculties were busily employed in designs of his own, to overreach (or, as others express it, to cheat,) the said Mr Snap, by pretending to give his son a whole number for a chair, when in reality he was intitled to a third only. While matters were thus settling between the old folks, the young lady agreed to admit Mr Wild's visits; and, by degrees, began to entertain him with all the shew of affection, which the great natural reserve of her temper, and the greater artificial reserve of her education, would permit. At length, every thing being agreed between their parents, settlements made, and the lady's fortune (to wit, seventeen pounds and nine shillings in money and goods,) paid down, the day for their nuptials was fixed, and they were celebrated accordingly. Most private histories, as well as comedies, end at this period; the historian and the poet both concluding they have done enough for their hero when they have married him: or intimating rather, that the rest of his life must be a dull calm of happiness, very delightful indeed to pass through, but somewhat insipid to relate; and matrimony in general must, I believe, without any dispute, be allowed to be this state of tranquil felicity, including so little variety, that, like Salisbury Plain, it affords only one prospect, a very pleasant one it must be confessed, but the same. Now, there was all the probability imaginable, that this contract would have proved of such happy note, both from the great accomplishments of the young lady, who was thought to be possessed of every qualification_necessary to make the marriage state happy, and from the truly ardent passion of Mr Wild: but whether it was, that nature and fortune had great designs for him to execute, and would not suffer his vast abilities to be lost and sunk in the arms of a wife, or whether neither nature nor fortune had any hand in the matter, is a point I will not determine. Certain it is, that this match did not produce that serene state we have mentioned above; but resembled the most turbulent and ruffled, rather than the most calm sea. I cannot here omit a conjecture ingenious enough of a friend of mine, who had a long intimacy in the Wild family. He hath often told me, he fancied one reason of the dissatisfactions which afterwards fell out between Wild and his lady, arose from the number of gallants to whom she had before marriage granted favours; for, says he, and indeed very probable it is too, the lady might expect from her husband what she had before received from several, and being angry not to find one man as good as ten, she had, from that indignation, taken those steps which we cannot perfectly justify. From this person I received the following dialogue, which, he assured me, he had overheard, and taken down verbatim. It passed on the day fortnight after they were married. A CHAP. VIII. dialogue-matrimonial, which passed between Jonathan Wild, Esq. and Lætitia his wife, on the morning of the day fortnight on which his nuptials were celebrated; which concluded more amicably than those debates generally do. Jonathan. My dear, I wish you would lie a little longer in bed this morning. Lætitia. Indeed, I cannot; I am engaged to breakfast with Jack Strongbow. Jonathan. I don't know what Jack Strongbow doth so often at my house. I assure you I am uneasy at it; for though I have no suspicion of your virtue, yet it may injure your reputation in the opinion of my neighbours. Lætitia. I don't trouble my head about my neighbours; and they shall no more tell me what company I am to keep, than my husband shall. Jonathan. A good wife would keep no company which made her husband uneasy. Lætitia. You might have found one of those good wives, sir, if you had pleased; I had no objection to it. Jonathan. I thought I had found one in you. Lætitia. You did! I am very much obliged to you for thinking me so poor-spirited a creature; but I hope to convince you to the contrary. What! I suppose you took me for a raw, senseless girl, who knew not what other married women do! Jonathan. No matter what I took you for: I have taken you for better and worse. Lætitia. And at your own desire too: for, I am sure, you never had mine. I should not have broken my heart, if Mr Wild had thought proper to bestow himself on any other more happy woman-Ha, ha! Jonathan. I hope, madam, you don't imagine that was not in my power, or that I married you out of any kind of necessity? Lætitia. O no, sir, I am convinced there are silly women enough. And far be it from me to accuse you of any necessity for a wife. I believe you could have been very well contented with the state of a bachelor: I have no reason to complain of your necessities; but that, you know, a woman cannot tell beforehand. Jonathan. I can't guess what you would insinuate; for I believe no woman had ever less reason to complain of her husband's want of fond ness. Lætitia. Then some, I am certain, have great reason to complain of the price they give for them.-But I know better things. [These words were spoken with a very great air, and toss of the head.] Jonathan. Well, my sweeting, I will make it impossible for you to wish me more fond. Lætitia. Pray, Mr Wild, none of this nauseous behaviour, nor those odious words.—I wish you were fond!—I assure you-I don't know what you would pretend to insinuate of me.-I have no wishes which misbecome a virtuous woman -no, nor should not, if I had married for love. And especially now, when nobody, I am sure, can suspect me of any such thing. Jonathan. If you did not marry for love, why did you marry? Lætitia. Because it was convenient, and my parents forced me. Jonathan. I hope, madam, at least, you will not tell me to my face you have made your convenience of me. Lætitia. I have made nothing of you; nor do I desire the honour of making any thing of Jonathan. You should think yourself obliged to me for that desire. Latitia. La! sir, you was not so singular in it. I was not in despair. I have had other offers, and better too. Jonathan. I wish you had accepted them, with all my heart. Lætitia. I must tell you, Mr Wild, this is a very brutish manner of treating a woman, to whom you have such obligations; but I know how to despise it, and to despise you too for shewing it me. Indeed, I am well enough paid for the foolish preference I gave to you. I flattered myself that I should at least have been used with good manners. I thought I had married a gentleman: but I find you every way contemptible, and below my concern. Jonathan. D-n you, madam, have not I more reason to complain, when you tell me you married me for your convenience only? Lætitia. Very fine, truly. Is it behaviour worthy a man to swear at a woman? yet why should I mention what comes from a wretch whom I despise. Jonathan. Don't repeat that word so often. I despise you as heartily as you can me. And, to tell you a truth, I married you for my convenience likewise, to satisfy a passion which I have now satisfied, and you may be d-d for any thing I care. Lætitia. The world shall know how barbarously I am treated by such a villain. Jonathan. I need take very little pains to acquaint the world what a b-ch you are, your actions will demonstrate it. Lætitia. Monster! I would advise you not to depend too much on my sex, and provoke me too far; for I can do you a mischief, and will, if you dare use me so, you villain! Jonathan. Begin whenever you please, madam; but assure yourself, the moment you lay aside the woman, I will treat you as such no longer; and if the first blow is yours, I promise you the last shall be mine. Lætitia. Use me as you will; but d—n me if ever you shall use me as a woman again; for may I be cursed if ever I enter your bed more. Jonathan. May I be cursed if that abstinence be not the greatest obligation you can lay upon me: for I assure you faithfully, your person was all I had ever any regard for; and that I now loath and detest as much as ever I liked it. Lætitia. It is impossible for two people to agree better; for I always detested your person, and, as for any other regard, you must be convinced I never could have any for you. Jonathan. Why, then, since we are come to a right understanding, as we are to live together, suppose we agreed, instead of quarrelling and abusing, to be civil to each other? Lætitia. With all my heart. Jonathan. Let us shake hands then, and henceforwards never live like man and wife; that is, never be loving, nor ever quarrel. Lætitia. Agreed.-But pray, Mr Wild, why b-ch? Why did you suffer such a word to escape you? Jonathan. It is not worth your remembrance. Lætitia. You agree I shall converse with whomsoever I please? Jonathan. Without controul. And I have the same liberty? Lætitia. When I interfere, may every curse you can wish attend me. Jonathan. Let us now take a farewell kiss, and may I be hanged if it is not the sweetest you tion; and the joy arising on that occasion at length dismissed them pretty chearfully from each other, though Lætitia could not help concluding with the words, WHY B—CH? CHAP. IX. Observations on the foregoing dialogue, together with a base design on our Hero, which must be detested by every lover of GREATNESS. THUS did this dialogue (which, though we have termed it matrimonial, had indeed very little savour of the sweets of matrimony in it,) produce at last a resolution more wise than strictly pious, and which, if they could have rigidly adhered to it, might have prevented some unpleasant moments, as well to our hero as to his serene consort; but their hatred was so very great and unaccountable, that they never could bear to see the least composure in one another's countenance, without attempting to ruffle it. This set them on so many contrivances to plague and vex one another, that as their proximity afforded them such frequent opportunities of executing their malicious purposes, they seldom passed one easy or quiet day together. And this, reader, and no other, is the cause of those many inquietudes which thou must have observed to disturb the repose of some married couples, who mistake implacable hatred for indifference. For why should Corvinus, who lives in a round of intrigue, and seldom doth, and never willingly would, dally with his wife, endeavour to prevent her from the satisfaction of an intrigue in her turn? Why doth Camilla refuse a more agreeable invitation abroad, only to expose her husband at his own table at home? In short, to mention no more instances, whence can all the quarrels, and jealousies, and jars proceed, in people who have no love for each other, unless from that noble passion above mentioned, that desire, according to my Lady Betty Modish, of curing each other of a smile. We thought proper to give our readers a short taste of the domestic state of our hero, the rather to shew him that great men are subject to the same frailties and inconveniences in ordinary life, with little men, and that heroes are really of the same species with other human creatures, notwithstanding all the pains they themselves, or their flatterers, take to assert the contrary; and that they differ chiefly in the immensity of their greatness, or, as the vulgar erroneously call it, villainy. Now, therefore, that we may not dwell too long on low scenes, in a history of this sublime kind, we shall return to actions of a higher note, and more suitable to our purpose. When the boy Hymen had, with his lighted torch, driven the boy Cupid out of doors, that is to say, in common phrase, when the violence of Mr Wild's passion (or rather appetite) for the chaste Lætitia began to abate, he returned to visit his friend Heartfree, who was now in the liberties of the Fleet, and had appeared to the commission of bankruptcy against him. Here he met with a more cold reception than he himself had apprehended. Heartfree had long entertained suspicions of Wild; but these suspicions had, from time to time, been confounded with circumstances, and principally smothered with that amazing confidence, which was indeed the most striking virtue in our hero. Heartfree was unwilling to condemn his friend without certain evidence, and laid hold on every probable semblance to acquit him; but the proposal made at his last visit had so totally blackened his character in this poor man's opinion, that it entirely fixed the wavering scale, and he no longer doubted but that our hero was one of the greatest villains in the world. Circumstances of great improbability often escape men who devour a story with greedy ears. The reader therefore cannot wonder that Heartfree, whose passions were so variously concerned, first for the fidelity, and, secondly, for the safety of his wife; and, lastly, who was so distracted with doubt concerning the conduct of his friend, should at his first relation pass unobserved the incident of his being committed to the boat by the captain of the privateer, which he had, at the time of his telling, so lamely accounted for; but now when Heartfree came to reflect on the whole, and with a high prepossession against Wild, the absurdity of this fact glared in his eyes, and struck him in the most sensible manner. length a thought of great horror suggested itself to his imagination, and this was, whether the whole was not a fiction, and Wild, who was, as he had learned from his own mouth, equal to any undertaking, how black soever, had not spirited away, robbed, and murdered his wife. At Intolerable as this apprehension was, he not only turned it round and examined it carefully in his own mind, but acquainted young Friendly with it at their next interview. Friendly, who detested Wild, (from that envy probably with which these GREAT CHARACTERS naturally inspire low fellows,) encouraged these suspicions so much, that Heartfree resolved to attach our hero, and carry him before a magistrate. This resolution had been some time taken; and Friendly, with a warrant and a constable, had, with the utmost diligence, searched several days for our hero; but whether it was that, in compliance with modern custom, he had retired to spend the honey-moon with his bride, the only moon indeed in which it is fashionable or customary for the married parties to have any correspondence with each other; or perhaps his habitation might, for particular reasons, be usually kept a secret; like those of some few great men whom unfortunately the law hath left out of that reasonable, as well as honourable provision, which it hath made for the security of the persons of other greai men But Wild resolved to perform works of supererogation in the way of honour; and though no hero is obliged to answer the challenge of my Lord Chief Justice, or indeed of any other magistrate, but may with unblemished reputation slide away from it; yet such was the bravery, such the greatness, the magnanimity of Wild, that he appeared in person to it. Indeed, Envy may say one thing which may lessen the glory of this action, namely, that the said Mr Wild knew nothing of the said warrant or challenge; and, as thou mayst be assured, reader, that the malicious fury will omit nothing which can anywise sully so great a character, so she hath endeavoured to account for this second visit of our hero to his friend Heartfree, from a very different motive than that of asserting his own innocence. CHAP. X. Mr Wild, with unprecedented generosity, visits his friend Heartfree, and the ungrateful recep tion he met with. IT hath been said, then, that Mr Wild, not being able, on the strictest examination, to find in a certain spot of human nature called his own heart, the least grain of that pitiful low quality called honesty, had resolved, perhaps a little too generally, that there was no such thing. He therefore imputed the resolution with which Mr Heartfree had so positively refused to concern himself in murder, either to a fear of bloodying his hands, or the apprehension of a ghost, or lest he should make an additional example in that excellent book called God's Revenge against Murder; and doubted not but he would (at least in his present necessity) agree without scruple to a simple robbery, especially where any considerable booty should be proposed, and the safety of the attack plausibly made appear; which, if he could prevail on him to undertake, he would immediately get him impeached, convicted, and hanged. He no sooner, therefore, had discharged his duties to Hymen, and heard that Heartfree had procured himself the liberties of the Fleet, than he resolved to visit him, and to propose a robbery, with all the allurements of profit, ease, and safety. This proposal was no sooner made, than it was answered by Heartfree in the following manner : "I might have hoped the answer which I gave to your former advice would have prevented me from the danger of receiving a second affront of this kind. An affront I call it ; and surely if it be so to call a man a villain, it can be no less to shew him you suppose him one. Indeed it may be wondered how any man can arrive at the boldness, I may say impudence, of first making such an overture to another; surely it is seldom done, unless to those who have previously betrayed some symptoms of their own baseness. If I have therefore shewn you any such, these insults are more pardonable; but I assure you, if such appear, they discharge all their malignance outwardly, and reflect not even a shadow within; for to me baseness seems inconsistent with this rule, OF DOING NO OTHER PERSON AN INJURY FROM ANY MOTIVE, OR ON ANY CONSIDERA TION WHATEVER. This, sir, is the rule by which I am determined to walk; nor can that man justify disbelieving me, who will not own he walks not by it himself. But whether it be allowed to me or no, or whether I feel the good effects of its being practised by others, I am resolved to maintain it: for surely no man can reap a benefit from my pursuing it, equal to the comfort I myself enjoy. For, what a ravishing thought! how replete with ecstasy must the consideration be, that Almighty Goodness is, by its own nature, engaged to reward me! How different must such a persuasion make a man to all the occurrences of this life! What trifles must he represent to himself, both the enjoyments and afflictions of this world! How easily must he acquiesce under missing the former, and how patiently will he submit to the latter, who is convinced that his failing of a transitory imperfect reward here, is a most certain argument of his obtaining one permanent and complete hereafter! Dost thou think, then, thou little, paltry, mean animal, (with such language did he treat our truly Great Man,) that I will forego such comfortable expectations for any pitiful reward which thou canst suggest or promise to me? for that sordid lucre for which all pains and labour are undertaken by the industrious, and all barbarities and iniquities committed by the vile? for a worthless acquisition, which such as thou art can possess, can give, or can take away?" The former part of this speech occasioned much yawning in our hero, but the latter roused his anger; and he was collecting his rage to answer, when Friendly and the constable, who had been summoned by Heartfree on Wild's first appearance, entered the room, and seized the great man just as his wrath was bursting from his lips. The dialogue which now ensued is not worth relating; Wild was soon acquainted with the reason of this rough treatment, and presently conveyed before a magistrate. Notwithstanding the doubts raised by Mr Wild's lawyer on his examination, he insisting that the proceeding was improper; for that a Writ de Homine replegiando should issue, and on the return of that, a Capias in Withernam, the justice inclined to commitment; so that Wild was driven to other methods for his defence. He therefore acquainted the justice, that there was a young man likewise with him in the boat, and begged that he might be sent for, which request was accordingly granted, and the faithful Achates (Mr Fireblood) was soon produced to bear testimony for his friend, which he did with so much becoming zeal, and went through his examination with such coherence, (though he was forced to collect his evidence from the hints given him by Wild in the presence of the justice and the accusers,) that as here was direct evidence against mere presumption, our hero was most honourably acquitted, and poor Heartfree was charged by the justice, the audience, and all others, who afterwards heard the story, with the blackest ingratitude, in attempting to take away the life of a man, to whom he had such eminent obligations. Lest so vast an effort of friendship as this of Fireblood's should too violently surprise the reader in this degenerate age, it may be proper to inform him, that besides the ties of engagement in the same employ, another nearer and stronger alliance subsisted between our hero and this youth, which latter was just departed from the arms of the lovely Lætitia, when he received her husband's message; an instance which may also serve to justify those strict intercourses of love and acquaintance, which so commonly subsist in modern history between the husband and gallant, displaying the vast force of friendship contracted by this more honourable than legal alliance, which is thought to be at present one of the strongest bonds of amity between great men, and the most reputable as well as easy way to their favour. Four months had now passed since Heartfree's first confinement, and his affairs had begun to wear a more benign aspect; but they were a good deal injured by this attempt on Wild, (so dangerous is any attack on a great man,) several of his neighbours, and particularly one or two of his own trade, industriously endeavouring, from their bitter animosity against such kind of iniquity, to spread and exaggerate his ingratitude as much as possible; not in the least scrupling, in the violent ardour of their indignation, to add some small circumstances of their own knowledge of the many obligations conferred on Heartfree by Wild. To all these scandals he quietly submitted, comforting himself in the consciousness of his own innocence, and confiding in time, the sure friend of justice, to acquit him. CHAP. XI. po A scheme so deeply laid, that it shames all the litics of this our age; with digression and subdigression. WILD having now, to the hatred he bore Heartfree on account of those injuries he had done him, an additional spur from this injury received, (for so it appeared to him, who, no more than the most ignorant, considered how truly he deserved it,) applied his utmost industry to accomplish the ruin of one whose very name sounded odious in his ears; when, luckily, a scheme arose in his imagination, which not only promised to effect it securely, but (which pleased him most) by means of the mischief he had already done him, and which would at once load him with the imputation of having committed what he himself had done to him, and would bring on him the severest punishment for a fact of which he was not only innocent, but had already so greatly suffered by; and this was no other than to charge him with having conveyed away his wife, with his most valuable effects, in order to defraud his creditors. He no sooner started this thought, than he immediately resolved on putting it in execution. What remained to consider was only the quomodo, and the person or tool to be employed; for the stage of the world differs from that in Drury-Lane principally in this, that whereas on the latter, the hero, or chief figure, is almost continually before your eyes, whilst the under-actors are not seen above once in an evening; now, on the former, the hero, or great man, is always behind the curtain, and seldom or never appears, or doth any thing in his own person. He doth indeed, in this grand drama, rather perform the part of the prompter, and doth instruct the welldressed figures, who are strutting in public on the stage, what to say and do. To say the truth, a puppet-show will illustrate our meaning better, where it is the master of the show (the great man) who dances and moves every thing; whether it be the King of Muscovy, or whatever other potentate, alias puppet, which we behold on the stage: but he himself wisely keeps out of sight; for should he once appear, the whole motion would be at an end. Not that any one is ignorant of his being there, or supposes that the puppets are not mere sticks of wood, and he himself the sole mover; but as this (though every one knows it) doth not appear visibly, i. e. to their eyes, no one is ashamed of consenting to be imposed upon; of helping on the drama by calling the several sticks or puppets by the names which the master hath allotted to them, and by assigning to each the character which the great man is pleased they shall move in, or rather, in which he himself is pleased to move them. It would be to suppose thee, gentle reader, one of very little knowledge in this world, to imagine thou hast never seen some of these puppet-shows, which are so frequently acted on the great stage. But though thou shouldst have resided all thy days in those remote parts of this island which great men seldom visit, yet, if thou hast any penetration, thou must have had some occasion to admire both the solemnity of countenance in the actor, and the gravity in the spectator, while some of those farces are carried on, which are acted almost daily in every village in the kingdom. He must have a very despicable opinion of mankind indeed, who can conceive them to be imposed on as often as they appear to be so. The truth is, they are in the same situation with the |