 Book 1, Chapter 13 of the late Mr. Jonathan Wilde, The Great. Book 1, Chapter 13. A chapter of which we are extremely vain, and which, indeed, we look on as our chef-dove, containing a wonderful story concerning the devil, and as nice a scene of honor as ever happened. My reader, I believe, even if he be a gangster, 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 anyone 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 honorable capacities, not being willing to trust alone to the evidence of his eyes, had frequently dived into the said Bagshot's pocket. Wence, as he tells us in the Apology for His Life, afterwards published footnote, not in a book by itself, in invitation of some other such persons, but in the ordinary's account, etc., where all the apologies for the lives of rogues and whores, which had been published within these twenty years, should have been inserted. Into the said Bagshot's pocket, Wence, 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, in which, leaping up from his chair in violent passion, he cried out, I thought I had been among gentlemen and men of honor, but D. Blank Blank and me, I find we have a pickpocket in company. The scandalous sound of this word extremely alarmed the whole board, nor did they all show less surprise than the C. O. N. V. Blank Blank 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 leveled, 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. Blank Blank in 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. Wilde, 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 honor, 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. Wilde, 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 honor, 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 Kant 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 honor 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 honor, and yet they scorn those pitiful qualities I have mentioned? Again some few, or I am mistaken, include the idea of honesty in their honor, 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 honor, heaven forbid, I should say so, in this, or indeed in any other good company. Is honor truth? No. It is not in the lies going from us, but in its coming to us, our honor is injured. Doth it then consist in what the vulgar call cardinal virtues? It would be in affront to your understandings to suppose it since we see every day so many men of honor without any. In what then doth the word honor consist? Why, in itself alone, a man of honor is he that is called a man of honor, and while he is so called he so remains, and no longer. Think not anything a man commits can forfeit his honor. Look abroad into the world, the prig, while he flourishes, is a man of honor. And in jail, 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 honor 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 honor. Why, he hath called him a pickpocket, and that, probably, by a severe construction, and a long roundabout way of reasoning may seem a little to derogate from his honor, if considered in a very nice sense. Committing it, therefore, for argument's sake, to be some small imputation on his honor, 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 honor. The gentleman answered he was content to refer it to Mr. Wilde, 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 honor 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 Wilde, wrapping 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 honor would most certainly have produced very dreadful consequences, was happily concluded Mr. Wilde 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 disposition in his favor, it was the usual height to which the ardor 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 wrapping. For note, wrapping is a can't word for perjury. A little wrapping for his friend. And of Book 1, Chapter 13, read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California, for LibriVox. Book 1, Chapter 14 of the late Mr. Jonathan Wilde, The Great. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, read by Dennis Sayers. The late Mr. Jonathan Wilde, The Great, by Henry Fielding. Book 1, Chapter 11, in which the history of greatness is continued. Matters being thus reconciled, and the gaming over, for reasons before hinted, the company proceeded to drink about with the utmost cheerfulness and friendship, drinking health, 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. Wilde, 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 Wilde, our hero, blane 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. Wilde, 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. Wilde's tea, with his whippers in, follows close at their heels, regardless of their dogged humor. Till, having seen them safe within the door, he turns the key and then retires to whatever business or pleasure calls him dense. So, with lowering 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 Wilde, 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 traveler 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 eye. 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 convenience for repose. I fancy, reader, if thou hast ever traveled 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, then, 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 hast, and he overdid not only, on the many perils to which great men are daily liable while they are in their progress, but hast 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 consumption 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 the malument only. And, be apt to cry out, it is pity that those for whose pleasure in profit mankind are to labor 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 labor and ruin of a thousand such reptiles as myself, I might, with satisfaction, exclaim, sick, sick, 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 wracked by it, then 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 had 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. Wilde was no sooner retired to a nightseller, then he began to reflect on the sweets he had that day enjoyed from the labors of others. Viz, first, from Mr. Bagshot, who had, for his use, robbed the good 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 leveled 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 center in myself? This gang shall rob for me only, receiving very moderate rewards for their action. Out of this gang I will prefer to my favor 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 and 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 sure 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 favors 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 sureer stratagem, and casting his eyes around 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 favorite 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 too 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 take a little breath, and therefore we shall here close this book. End of Book 1, Chapter 14. End of Book 1. Read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California for LibriVox. Book 2, Chapter 1 of the late Mr. Jonathan Wilde the Great. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by Dennis Sayers. The late Mr. Jonathan Wilde the Great. By Henry Fielding. Book 2, Chapter 1. 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 with. 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, Wilde, having shared the booty in much the same manner as before, that is taken three-fourths of it, amounting to 18 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 has been the case between these lads, for whereas Wilde was rapacious and intrepid, the other had always more regard for his skin than his money. Wilde, therefore, had very generously compassionate 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 happened here. For this poor lad had considered himself in the highest degree obliged to Mr. Wilde, 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 Wilde, therefore, then he accosted him in the most friendly manner, and invited him home with him to breakfast, it being near nine in the morning, which invitation our hero, with no great difficulty, consented to. This young man, who was about Wilde's age, had some time before set up in the trade of a jeweler, 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 Hartfrey, 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, with all 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 cheerful 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 neighbors, 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 benevolence 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. Hartfree 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 today and of his bed tomorrow, while therefore instantly returned the compliment, as he understood it, with his eyes and pleasantly after bestowed many incomiums 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 favors 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, endeavor 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. Wilde, 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. Wilde himself was then a tradesman in good business, but by misfortunes in the world to it extravagance and gaming, he had reduced himself to that honorable 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. End of book two, chapter one, read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California, for LibriVox. Book two, chapter two, of the late Mr. Jonathan Wilde the Great. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, read by Dennis Sayers. The late Mr. Jonathan Wilde the Great, by Henry Fielding. Book two, chapter two, great examples of greatness in Wilde, shown as well by his behavior 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. Wilde 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, cried Bagshot, that is in your power. For you know what an inconsiderable part of it fell to my share. How, replied Wilde, 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. Mary, come up, quote 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 show 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 showed me some 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 Wilde. I do deny everything, and do you find a witness to prove it, and to show 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 Wilde, and perhaps I may take pity on you. What must I refund? answered Bagshot. Every farthing in your pocket, replied Wilde, 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, Wilde pretended to make to the door, and wrapped out an oath of vengeance with so violent an emphasis that his friend no longer presumed to balance, but suffered Wilde to search his pockets and draw forth all he found to the amount of 21 guineas and a half, which, last peace, 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, vis a bold heart, a thundering voice, and a steady countenance. Wilde now returned to the count, and informed him that he had got 10 guineas of Bagshot for, with great and commendable prudence, he sunk the other 11 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 heart-free. 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 endeavors, 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 heart-free 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 befall him in the sequel, for to have no suspicion that an old school fellow 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, endeavor 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. Wilde remembered that his friend Hartfrey'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 were 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 Hartfrey 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 Hartfrey 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 Wilde did not only propose to make the imposition on Hartfrey, 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 three thousand more, to be prepared by that day seven night. The interval was employed by Wilde 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 enterprise, how dangerous or great, so ever. We had before remarked that the truest mark of greatness is insatiability. Wilde 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 some which was to be received in hand, by heart free, 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 heart free 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. End of Book Two, Chapter Two, read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California, for LibriVox. Book Two, Chapter Three, of the late Mr. Jonathan Wilde, The Great. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, read by Dennis Sayers. The late Mr. Jonathan Wilde, The Great, by Henry Fielding. Book Two, Chapter Three, containing scenes of softness, love, and honor, all in the great style. 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 heart free, promising him the rest within a month. His house, his equipage, his appearance, but above all, a certain plausibility in his voice and behavior 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. Heart free, 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 pounds in speci and gave his note for two thousand eight hundred pounds more to heart free, who burnt with gratitude to Wilde for the noble customer he had recommended to him. As soon as heart free was departed, Wilde, who waited in another room, came in and received the casket from the Count, yet 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. Wilde, 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 honor 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 Wilde, and, accordingly, an appointment being made for that purpose, he set out in haste to pursue heart free 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 heart free left sprawling on the ground, our hero, who wisely declined, trusting the booty in his friend's hands, though he had good experience of their honor, made off after the conquerors at length, they being all at a place of safety, Wilde, 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 honor, to perform their contract, but Wilde, partly by argument, but more by oaths and threatenings, prevailed with them to fulfill 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 Leticia, 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. Wilde, 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 neighboring tavern. The hero, though he loved the chaste Leticia, with excessive tenderness, was not of that low, sniveling breed of mortals, who, as it is generally expressed, tied themselves to a woman's 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 rumour and horseshoe, where they retired to a room by themselves. Wilde 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 Wilde entertained for his dear Leticia 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 downstairs, and thence immediately set forward to Leticia 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. Wilde, on his arrival at Mr. Snaps, found only Miss Dashi at home, that young lady being employed alone in imitation of Penelope, with her thread, or worsted, only with this difference, that whereas Penelope unraveled by night what she had knit, or wove, or spun by day, so what our young heroine unraveled 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. Wilde immediately asked for his beloved, and was informed that she was not at home. He then inquired 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 honorable. 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 Doshi, who had not the common failure of sisters in envying and often endeavoring to disappoint each other's happiness that she desired Mr. Wilde to sit down a few minutes, whilst she endeavored to find her sister and to bring her to him. The lover thanked her and promised to stay till her return, and Miss Doshi, leaving Mr. Wilde to his meditations, fastened him in the kitchen by barring the door for her. 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 upstairs, where Miss Leticia was engaged in close conference with Mr. Bagshot. Miss Letti, being informed by her sister in a whisper of what Mr. Wilde had said and what he had produced, told Mr. Bagshot that a young lady was below to visit her whom she would dispatch with all imaginable haste and return to him. She desired him, therefore, to stay with patience for her in the meantime, and that she would leave the door unlocked, though her papa would never forgive her if he should discover it. Bagshot promised on his honor not to step without his chamber, and the two young ladies went softly downstairs. When pretending first to make their entry into the house, they repaired to the kitchen, where not even the presence of the chaste Leticia 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 banknotes of nine hundred pounds, which had been taken from Mr. Hartfrey, 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 honorable addresses to Miss Leti. This young lady, among many other good ingredients, had three very predominant passions, to it 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 honor 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. Wilde, with a most composed aspect, that she was glad he had repented of his manner of treating her at their last interview, where his behavior 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 odes, 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 honor, might listen to, she must own, and then she feigned, and hesitation, when Theodosia began, Nay, sister, I am resolved, you shall counterfeit no longer. I assure you, Mr. Wilde, she hath the most violent passion for you in the world, and indeed, dear Tishi, if you offer to go back, since I plainly see Mr. Wilde's designs are honorable, I will betray all you have ever said. How, sister, answered Leticia, I protest you will drive me out of the room. I did not expect this usage from you, Wilde, 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 hear 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. Wilde 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 decked the well-whiten neck of Thelestris, queen of Abonzans, and a bullen, queen Elizabeth, or some other high princess in Drolik's story. It was, indeed, composed of that paste, which Derdeus Magnus, an ingenious toyman, doth at a very moderate price dispense of to the second-rate bows of the metropolis, for to open a truth which we ask our readers pardon for having concealed from him so long. The sagacious count, wisely fearing lest some accident might prevent Mr. Wilde's return at the appointed time, had carefully conveyed the jewels which Mr. Hartfrey 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 learned 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 imminent pawnbroker. The lightning, therefore, which should have flashed from the jewels, flashed from her eyes, and thunder immediately followed from her voice. She be named, be rascald, be robed 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 at 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. And Book Two, Chapter Three, read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California, for LibriVox. Book Two, Chapter Four, of the late Mr. Jonathan Wilde the Great. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, read by Dennis Sayers. The late Mr. Jonathan Wilde the Great, by Henry Fielding. Book Two, Chapter Four, in which Wilde, after many fruitless endeavors to discover his friend, moralizes 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 Wilde did at the Count's door, which was immediately opened by a well-dressed liveryman, who answered that his master was not at home. Wilde, 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. Wilde 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. Wilde, finding his search ineffectual, resolved to give it over for that night. He then retired to his seat of contemplation. A nightseller, 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 with the following celluliquy. How vain is human greatness! What avails 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 prigism! 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 busy forecasting some great enterprise, 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 reign 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 is a conqueror, a tyrant, a statesman, or a prig. These must bear him up against the private curse and public implication, 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 labor 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 neighbors, to introduce rape, repent, bloodshed, and every kind of misery among their own species. What but some glorious appetite of mind could inflame princes, endowed with the greatest honors, 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 and honest, and a plentiful livelihood, and at the hazard of even life itself, and what is mistaken called dishonor, 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 had 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 of heart-free, 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 stripped 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 anyone daring to make the least demand. By Henry Fielding Book 2 Chapter 5 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 Wilde's departure, the fair Theodosia had again be taken herself to her stocking, and Miss Letty had retired upstairs to Mr. Bagshot. But that gentleman had broken his parole, and having conveyed himself below stairs behind the door, he took the opportunity of Wilde's sally to make his escape. We shall only observe that Miss Letty's surprise 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 doted, but was exposed to the rage of an injured father, tenderly jealous of his honor, 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 mistrattle, with wonderful greatness of mind and steadiness of countenance, went early in the morning to visit his friend heart-free, at a time when the common herd of friends would have forsaken and avoided him. He entered the room with a cheerful air, which he presently changed into surprise, on seeing his friend in a nightgown, with his wounded head bound about with linen, and looking extremely pale from a great effusion of blood. When Wilde was informed by heart-free what had happened, he first expressed great sorrow, and afterwards suffered as violent agonies of rage against the robbers to burst from him. Heart-free, in compassion to the deep impression his misfortunes seemed to make on his friend, endeavored to lessen it as much as possible, at the same time exaggerating the obligation he owed to Wilde, in which his wife likewise seconded him, and they breakfasted with more comfort than was reasonably to be expected after such an accident. Heart-free 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. Wilde greatly felicitated him on the lucky accident of preserving his note, and then proceeded with much acrimony to convey against the barbarity of people of fashion who kept tradesmen out of their money. Wilde amused themselves with discourses of this kind, Wilde meditating within himself whether he should borrow or steal from his friend, or indeed whether he could not affect both. The apprentice brought a bank note of 500 pounds in to Heart-free, which he said a gentlewoman in the shop who had been looking at some jewels desired him to exchange. Heart-free, looking at the number, immediately recollected it to be one of those he had been robbed of. With this discovery he acquainted Wilde, 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. Heart-free 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 show 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 Heart-free. Wilde went immediately upstairs into the room appointed, whether the apprentice, according to appointment, conducted the lady. The apprentice was ordered downstairs the moment the lady entered the room, and Wilde, 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. Ms. Strattle, 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. Wilde 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 Strattle, if you will follow my advice, I promise you on my honor to forgive you, nor shall you be ever called in question on this account. Why, what would you have me do, Mr. Wilde? replied the young lady, with a pleasanter aspect. You must know, then, said Wilde, the money you picked out of my pocket, nay, by G. Blank D., you did, and if you offer to flinch, you shall be convicted of it. I, one 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 receive the note from him, and leave the rest to me. I am certain, Mollie, you must be sensible of your obligations to me, who returned good for evil to you in this manner. The lady readily consented, and advanced to embrace Mr. Wilde, who stepped a little back and cried, Hold, Mollie, there are two other notes of two hundred pounds each to be accounted for. Where are they? The lady protested, with the most solemn severations that she knew of no more, with which, when Wilde was not satisfied, she cried, I will stand, search, that you shall, answered Wilde, 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 favorite of the ladies, being an Irish gentleman who had been bred clerk to an attorney. Afterwards whipped out of a regiment of dragoons, and was then a Newgate solicitor and a body 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, Wilde, 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. Hartfrey 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 Wilde, Hartfrey, 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 Wilde, 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 Wilde of what had happened, and in the evening received a visit from him. Wilde affected great concern for his friend's misfortune, and as great surprise 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 endeavored to take off her evidence, which he observed did not come home enough to endanger him. Besides, he 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 convict 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 Slye, the gentleman who had assisted in the exploit, and found and acquainted him with the apprehending of Fierce. Wilde, then, intimating his fear, lest Fierce should impeach Slye, advised him to be beforehand, to surrender himself to a justice of peace, and offer himself as an evidence. Slye approved Mr. Wilde's opinion, went directly to a magistrate, and was by him committed to the gatehouse, with the promise of being admitted to 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 Slye 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 defense, 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 bulger called treachery, dissembling, promising, lying, falsehood, etc., but which are by great men summed up in the collective name of policy, or politics, or rather, politics, an art of which, as it is the highest excellence of human nature, perhaps our great man was the most eminent master. End of Book Two, Chapter Five, read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California, for LibriVox. Book Two, Chapter Six of the Late Mr. Jonathan Wilde the Great. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by Dennis Sayers. The Late Mr. Jonathan Wilde the Great by Henry Fielding. Book Two, Chapter Six of Hats. Wilde had now got together a very considerable gang, composed of undone game-sters, 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 labor. As these persons wore different principles, that is, 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 Ranterboys, etc. The latter went by the several names of wags, roundheads, shake bags, old knolls, and several others. Between these continual jars arose, in so much 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. Wilde, therefore, having assembled them all at an alehouse on the night after Fierce's execution, and perceiving evident marks of their misunderstanding from their behavior 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 Galeras, which is Latin for a hat, signifies, likewise, a dogfish, as the Greek word kunie, 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 scoliest on the place tells us of one Crefantes, 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 showing respect by pulling off discovering, 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 bulgar in no very honorable sense. Gentlemen, I am ashamed to see men embarked in so great, and glorious, and 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 bulgar, 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 an 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 I'll 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. End of book two, chapter six, read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California, for LibriVox. Chapter seven of the late Mr. Jonathan Wilde The Great. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by Dennis Sayers. The late Mr. Jonathan Wilde The Great by Henry Fielding. Book two, chapter seven, showing the consequence which attended heart-free's adventures with Wilde, 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 done. Let us now return to heart-free, 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 inquiring 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 heart-free a visit, which he did with his usual formality, and conveyed him to his own house. Mrs. Heart-free 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 neighbors 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 dispatching 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 endeavoring 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 favor 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 colors imaginable, but by upgrading 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 precedence, to others who have an occasion, which happens commonly enough in genteel life, to answer the impertinence of a done. Letter One Mr. Heartfree, my lord commands me to tell you he is very much surprised 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, etc., can't possibly promise any time, etc., at present. And am your humble servant, Roger Morecraft. Letter Two 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, Charles Courtly. Letter Three 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, Catherine Rubbers. Pleased to present my compliments to Mrs. Heartfree. Letter Four Mr. Thomas Heartfree, sir, yours received, but as to some mention therein doth not suit at present. Your humble servant, Peter Pounce. Letter Five 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 grateful 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 Vox Hall. I am, sir, your most obliged, humble servant, Charles 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. End of Book Two, Chapter Six, read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California, for LibriVox.