 10. He began. It has been the principle of my life never to inflict a willful injury upon anything that lives. I need not express my regret when I find myself obliged to be the promulgator of a criminal charge. How gladly would I pass unnoticed the evil I have sustained, but I owe it to society to detect an offender and prevent other men from being imposed upon, as I have been, by an appearance of integrity. It would be better, interrupted, Mr. Forester, to speak directly to the point. We ought not, though unwarily, by apologizing for ourselves, to create at such a time a prejudice against an individual, against whom a criminal accusation will always be prejudiced enough. I strongly suspect, continued Mr. Falkland, this young man, who has been peculiarly the object of my kindness, of having robbed me to a considerable amount. What, replied Mr. Forester, are the grounds of your suspicion? The first of them is the actual loss I have sustained in notes, jewels, and plate. I have missed bank-notes to the amount of nine hundred pounds, three gold-repeaters of considerable value, a complete set of diamonds, the property of my late mother, and several other articles. And why, continued my arbitrator, astonishment, grief, and a desire to retain his self-possession, strong contending in his countenance and voice, do you fix on this young man as the instrument of the depredation? I found him, on my coming home, upon the day when everything was in disorder from the alarm of fire, in the very act of quitting the private apartment where these articles were deposited. He was confounded at seeing me, and hastened to withdraw as soon as he possibly could. Did you say nothing to him? Take no notice of the confusion your sudden appearance produced? I asked what was his errand in that place. He was at first so terrified and overcome that he could not answer me. Afterwards, with a good deal of faltering, he said that when all the servants were engaged in endeavouring to save the most valuable part of my property, he had come hither with the same view, but that he had, as yet, removed nothing. Did you immediately examine to see that everything was safe? No. I was accustomed to confide in his honesty, and I was suddenly called away, in the present instance, to attend to the increasing progress of the flames. I therefore only took out the key from the door of the apartment, having first locked it, and putting it in my pocket, hastened to go where my presence seemed indispensable necessary. How long was it before you missed your property? The same evening, the hurry of the scene had driven the circumstance entirely out of my mind, till, going by accident, near the apartment, the whole affair, together with the singular and equivocal behaviour of Williams rushed at once upon my recollection. I immediately entered, examined the trunk in which these things were contained, and, to my astonishment, found the locks broken and the property gone. What steps did you take upon this discovery? I sent for Williams, and talked to him very seriously upon the subject. But he had now perfectly recovered his self-command, and calmly and stoutly denied all knowledge of the matter. I urged him with the enormousness of the offence, but I made no impression. He did not discover either the surprise and indignation one would have expected from a person entirely innocent, or the uneasiness that generally attends upon guilt. He was rather silent and reserved. I then informed him that I should proceed in a manner different from what he might perhaps expect. I would not, as is too frequent in such cases, make a general search, for I had rather lose my property for ever without redress, than expose a multitude of innocent persons to anxiety and injustice. My suspicion for the present unavoidably fixed upon him. But in a matter of so great consequence I was determined not to act upon suspicion. I would neither incur the possibility of ruining him, being innocent, nor be the instrument of exposing others to his depredations, if guilty. I should therefore merely insist upon his continuing in my service. He might depend upon it he should be well watched, and I trusted to the whole truth would eventually appear. Since he avoided confession now, I advised him to consider how far it was likely he would come off with impunity at last. This I determined on, that the moment he attempted an escape I would consider that as an indication of guilt and proceed accordingly. What circumstances have occurred from that time to the present? None upon which I can infer a certainty of guilt, several that agree to favour a suspicion. From that time Williams was perpetually uneasy in his situation, always desirous as it now appears to escape, but afraid to adopt such a measure without certain precautions. It was not long after that you, Mr. Forrester, became my visitor. I observed with dissatisfaction the growing intercourse between you, reflecting on the equivocalness of his character, and the attempt he would probably make to render you the dupe of his hypocrisy. I accordingly threatened him severely, and I believe you observed the change that presently after occurred in his behaviour with relation to you. I did, and it appeared at that time mysterious and extraordinary. Sometime after, as you well know, a encounter took place between you. Whether accidental or intentional on his part, I am not able to say. When he confessed to you the uneasiness of his mind, without discovering the cause, and openly proposed to you to assist him in his flight, and stand, in case of necessity, to him and my resentment, you offered, it seems, to take him into your service, but nothing, as he acknowledged, would answer his purpose, that did not place his retreat wholly out of my power to discover. Did it not appear extraordinary to you that he should hope for any effectual protection from me, while it remained perpetually in your power to satisfy me of his unworthiness? Perhaps he had hopes that I should not proceed to that step, at least so long as the place of his retreat should be unknown to me, and of consequence the event of my proceeding dubious. Perhaps he confided in his own powers, which are far from contemptible, to construct a plausible tale, especially as he had taken care to have the first impression in his favour. After all, this protection on your part was merely reserved in case all other expedience failed. He does not appear to have had any other sentiment upon the subject than that, if he were defeated in his projects for placing himself beyond the reach of justice, it was better to have bespoken a place in your patronage than to be destitute of every resource. Mr. Faulkland having thus finished his evidence called upon Robert, the Valet, to confirm the part of it which related to the day of the fire. Robert stated that he happened to be coming through the library that day, a few minutes after Mr. Faulkland's being brought home by the sight of the fire, that he had found me standing there with every mark of perturbation and fright, that he could not help stopping to notice it, that he had spoken to me two or three times before he could obtain an answer, and that all he could get from me at last was that I was the most miserable creature alive. He further said that in the evening of the same day Mr. Faulkland called him into the private apartment adjoining to the library, and bid him bring a hammer and some nails. He then showed him a trunk standing in the apartment with its locks and fastening broken, and ordered him to observe and remember what he saw, but not to mention it to any one. Robert did not at that time know what Mr. Faulkland intended by these directions, which were given in a manner uncommonly solemn and significant. But he entertained no doubt that the fastening were broken and drenched by the application of a chisel or such like instrument, with the intention of forcibly opening the trunk. Mr. Forrester observed upon this evidence that as much of it as related to the day of the fire seemed indeed to afford powerful reasons for suspicion, and that the circumstances that had occurred since strangely concurred to fortify that suspicion. Meantime, that nothing proper to be done might be omitted, he asked whether in my flight I had removed my boxes, to see whether by that means any trace could be discovered to confirm the imputation. Mr. Faulkland treated this suggestion slightly, saying that if I were the thief I had no doubt taken the precaution to obviate so palpable a means of detection. To this Mr. Forrester only replied that conjecture, however skillfully formed, was not always realized in the actions and behavior of mankind, and ordered that my boxes and trunks, if found, should be brought into the library. I listened to this suggestion with pleasure and uneasy, and confounded as I was at the appearances combined against me, I trusted in this appeal to give a new face to my cause. I was eager to declare the place where my property was deposited, and the servants, guided by my direction, presently produced what was inquired for. The two boxes that were first opened contained nothing to confirm the accusation against me. In the third were found a watch and several jewels that were immediately known to be the property of Mr. Faulkland. The production of this seemingly decisive evidence excited emotions of astonishment and concern, but no person's astonishment appeared to be greater than that of Mr. Faulkland. That I should have left the stolen goods behind against me, would, of itself, have appeared incredible. But when it was considered what a secure place of concealment I had found for them, the wonder diminished. And Mr. Forrester observed that it was by no means impossible I might conceive it easier to obtain possession of them afterwards than to remove them at the period of my precipitate flight. Here, however, I thought it necessary to interfere. I fervently urged my right to affair and impartial construction. I asked Mr. Forrester whether it were probable, if I had stolen these things that I should not have contrived, at least to remove them along with me? And again, whether, if I had been conscious they would be found among my property, I should myself have indicated the place where I had concealed it? The insinuation I conveyed against Mr. Forrester's impartiality overspread his whole countenance, for an instant, with the flush of anger. Impartiality, young man! Yes, be sure, from me, you shall experience an impartial treatment. God send that may answer your purpose. Presently you shall be heard at full in your own defence. You expect us to believe you innocent because you did not remove these things along with you? The money is removed. Where, sir, is that? We cannot answer for the inconsistencies and oversights of any human mind, and least of all if that mind should appear to be disturbed with the consciousness of guilt. You observe that it was by your own direction these boxes and trunks have been found. That is indeed extraordinary. It appears little less than infatuation. But to what purpose appeal to probabilities and conjecture in the face of incontestable facts? There, sir, are the boxes. You alone knew where they were to be found. You alone had the keys. Tell us, then, how this watch and these jewels came to be contained in them. I was silent. To the rest of the person's present I seemed to be merely the subject of detection. But in reality I was, of all the spectators, that individual who was most at a loss to conceive, through every stage of the scene, what would come next, and who listened to every word that was uttered with the most uncontrollable amazement. Amazement, however, alternately yielded to indignation and horror. At first I could not refrain from repeatedly attempting to interrupt, but I was checked in these attempts by Mr. Forrester, and I presently felt how necessary it was to my future peace that I should collect the whole energy of my mind to repel the charge and assert my innocence. Everything being now produced that could be produced against me, Mr. Forrester turned to me with a look of concern and pity, and told me that now was the time, if I chose to allege anything in my defence. In reply to this invitation I spoke nearly as follows. I am innocent. It is in vain that circumstances are accumulated against me. There is not a person upon earth less capable than I of the things of which I am accused. I appeal to my heart. I appeal to my looks. I appeal to every sentiment my tongue ever uttered. I could perceive that the fervour with which I spoke made some impression upon every one that heard me, but in a moment their eyes returned upon the property that lay before them, and their countenance has changed. I proceeded. One thing more I must aver. Mr. Falkland is not deceived. He perfectly knows that I am innocent. I had no sooner uttered these words than an involuntary cry of indignation burst from every person in the room. Mr. Forrester turned to me with a look of extreme severity and said, Young man, consider well what you are doing. It is the privilege of the party accused to say whatever he thinks proper, and I will take care that you shall enjoy that privilege in its utmost extent. But do you think it will conduce in any respect to your benefit to throw out such insolent and intolerable insinuations? I thank you most sincerely, replied I, for your caution. But I well know what it is I am doing. I make this declaration, not merely because it is solemnly true, but because it is inseparably connected with my vindication. I am the party accused, and I shall be told that I am not to be believed in my own defence. I can produce no other witnesses of my innocence. I therefore call upon Mr. Falkland to be my evidence. I ask him. Did you never boast to me in private of your power to ruin me? Did you never say that, if once I brought on myself the weight of your displeasure, my fall should be irreparable? Did you not tell me that, though I should prepare in that case a tale however plausible or however true, you would take care that the whole world should execrate me as an imposter? Were not those your very words? Did you not add that my innocence should be of no service to me, and that you laughed at so feeble a defence? I ask you further. Did you not receive a letter from me the morning of the day on which I departed, requesting your consent to my departure? Should I have done that, if my flight had been that of a thief? I challenge any man to reconcile the expressions of that letter with this accusation. Should I have begun with stating that I had conceived a desire to quit your service, if my desire and the reasons for it had been of the nature that is now alleged? Should I have dared to ask for what reason I was thus subjected to an eternal penance? Saying this, I took out a copy of my letter and laid it open upon the table. Mr. Falkland returned no immediate answer to my interrogations. Mr. Forrester turned to him and said, Well, sir, what is your reply to this challenge of your servant?" Mr. Falkland answered, Such a mode of defence scarcely calls for a reply. But I answer, I held no such conversation. I never used such words. I received no such letter. Surely it is no sufficient refutation of a criminal charge that the criminal repels what is alleged against him with volubility of speech and intrepidity of manner? Mr. Forrester then turned to me. If, said he, you trust your vindication to the plausibility of your tale, you must take care to render it consistent and complete. You have not told us what was the cause of the confusion and anxiety in which Robert professes to have found you, why you were so impatient to quit the service of Mr. Falkland, or how you account for certain articles of his property being found in your possession. All that, sir," answered I, is true. There are certain parts of my story that I have not told. If they were told, they would not conduce to my disadvantage, and they would make the present accusation appear still more astonishing. But I cannot, as yet at least, prevail upon myself to tell them. Is it necessary to give any particular and precise reasons why I should wish to change the place of my residence? You all of you know the unfortunate state of Mr. Falkland's mind. You know the sternness, reservedness, and distance of his manners. If I had no other reasons, surely it would afford small presumption of criminality that I should wish to change his service for another. The question of how these articles of Mr. Falkland's property came to be found in my possession is more material. It is a question I am wholly unable to answer. There being found there was, at least as unexpected to me as to any one of the persons now present. I only know that, as I have the most perfect assurance of Mr. Falkland's being conscious of my innocence, for observe, I do not shrink from that assertion. I reiterate it with new confidence. I therefore firmly, and from my soul, believe that their being there is of Mr. Falkland's contrivance. I know sooner said this than I was again interrupted by an involuntary exclamation from every one present. They looked at me with furious glances as if they could have torn me to pieces. I proceeded. I have now answered everything that is alleged against me. Mr. Forrester, you are a lover of justice. I conjure you not to violate it in my person. You are a man of penetration. Look at me. Do you see any of the marks of guilt? Recollect all that has ever passed under your observation. Is it compatible with a mind capable of what is now alleged against me? Could a real criminal have shown himself so unabashed, composed and firm as I have now done? Fellow servants, Mr. Falkland is a man of rank and fortune. He is your master. I am a poor country lad without a friend in the world. That is a ground of real difference to a certain extent, but it is not a sufficient ground for the subversion of justice. Remember that I am in a situation that is not to be trifled with, that a decision given against me now, in a case in which I solemnly assure you I am innocent, will forever deprive me of reputation and peace of mind, combine the whole world in a league against me, and determine perhaps upon my liberty and my life. If you believe, if you see, if you know that I am innocent, speak for me. Do not suffer a pusillanimous timidity to prevent you from saving a fellow creature from destruction who does not deserve to have a human being for his enemy. Why have we the power of speech but to communicate our thoughts? I will never believe that a man, conscious of innocence, cannot make other men perceive that he has that thought. Do not you feel that my whole heart tells me? I am not guilty of what has imputed to me. To you, Mr. Falkland, I have nothing to say. I know you, and know that you are impenetrable. At the very moment that you are urging such odious charges against me, you admire my resolution and forbearance. But I have nothing to hope from you. You can look upon my ruin without pity or remorse. I am most unfortunate indeed in having to do with such an adversary. You oblige me to say ill things of you. But I appeal to your own heart whether my language is that of exaggeration or revenge. Everything that could be alleged on either side being now concluded, Mr. Forrester undertook to make some remarks upon the whole. Williams said he, The charge against you is heavy. The direct evidence—strong. The corroborating circumstance is numerous and striking. I grant that you have shown considerable dexterity in your answers. But you will learn, young man, to your cost, that dexterity, however powerful it may be in certain cases, will avail little against the stubbornness of truth. It is fortunate for mankind that the Empire of Talents has its limitations, and that it is not in the power of ingenuity to subvert the distinctions of right and wrong. Take my word for it that the true merits of the case against you will be too strong for sophistry to overturn. That justice will prevail and impotent malice be defeated. To you, Mr. Faulklin, society is obliged for having placed this black affair in its true light. Do not suffer the malignant aspersions of the criminal to give you uneasiness. Depend upon it that they will be found of no weight. I have no doubt that your character, in the judgment of every person that has heard them, stands higher than ever. We feel for your misfortune in being obliged to hear such columnies from a person who has injured you so grossly. But you must be considered in that respect as a martyr in the public cause. The purity of your motives and dispositions is beyond the reach of malice, and truth and equity will not fail to award to your columnia toward infamy and to you the love and approbation of mankind. I have now told you, Williams, what I think of your case. But I have no right to assume to be your ultimate judge. Desperate as it appears to me I will give you one piece of advice, as if I were retained as a counsel to assist you. Leave out of it whatever tends to the disadvantage of Mr. Faulklin. Defend yourself as well as you can, but do not attack your master. It is your business to create in those who hear you a prepossession in your favour. But the recrimination you have been now practicing will always create indignation. The deliberate malice you have now been showing is a thousand times more atrocious. It proves you to have the mind of a demon rather than of a felon. Wherever you shall repeat it, those who hear you will pronounce you guilty upon that, even if the proper evidence against you were glaringly defective. If therefore you would consult your interest, which seems to be your only consideration. It is incumbent upon you by all means immediately to retract that. If you desire to be believed honest, you must in the first place show that you have a due sense of merit in others. You cannot better serve your cause than by begging pardon of your master, and doing homage to rectitude and worth, even when they are employed in vengeance against you. It is easy to conceive that my mind sustained an extreme shock from the decision of Mr. Forester. But his call upon me to retract and humble myself before my accuser penetrated my whole soul with indignation, I answered, I have already told you I am innocent. I believe that I could not endure the effort of inventing a plausible defence if it were otherwise. You have just affirmed that it is not in the power of ingenuity to subvert the distinctions of right and wrong, and in that very instant I find them subverted. This is indeed to me a very awful moment. New to the world I know nothing of its affairs, but what has reached me by rumour or is recorded in books. I have come into it with all the ardour and confidence inseparable from my years. In every fellow being I expected to find a friend. I am unpracticed in its wiles and have even no acquaintance with its injustice. I have done nothing to deserve the animosity of mankind, but if I may judge from the present scene I am henceforth to be deprived of the benefits of integrity and honour. I am to forfeit the friendship of every one I have hitherto known and to be precluded from the power of acquiring that of others. I must therefore be reduced to derive my satisfaction from myself. Depend upon it. I will not begin that career by dishonourable concessions. If I am to despair of the good will of other men, I will at least maintain the independence of my own mind. Mr. Falkland is my implacable enemy. Whatever may be his merits in other respects, he is acting towards me without humanity, without remorse, and without principle. Do you think I will ever make submissions to a man by whom I am thus treated, that I will fall down at the feet of one who is, to me, a devil, or kiss the hand that is red with my blood? In that respect, answered Mr. Forester, do as you shall think proper. I must confess that your firmness and consistency astonish me. They add something to what I had conceived of human powers. Perhaps you have chosen the part which, all things considered, may serve your purpose best, though I think more moderation would be more conciliating. The exterior of innocence will, I grant, stagger the persons who may have the direction of your fate. But it will never be able to prevail against plain and incontrovertible facts. But I have done with you. I see in you a new instance of that abuse which is so generally made of talents, the admiration of an undiscerning public. I regard you with horror. All that remains is that I should discharge my duty in consigning you as a monster of depravity to the justice of your country. No, rejoined Mr. Falkland, to that I can never consent. I have put a restraint upon myself thus far because it was right that evidence and inquiry should take their course. I have suppressed all my habits and sentiments because it seemed due to the public that hypocrisy should be unmasked. But I can suffer this violence no longer. I have, through my whole life, interfered to protect, not overbear, the sufferer. And I must do so now. I feel not the smallest resentment of his impotent attacks upon my character. I smile at their malice and they make no diminution in my benevolence to their author. Let him say what he pleases. He cannot hurt me. It was proper that he should be brought to public shame, that other people might not be deceived by him as we have been. But there is no necessity for proceeding further, and I must insist upon it that he be permitted to depart wherever he pleases. I am sorry that public interest abforged so gloomy a prospect for his future happiness. Mr. Falkland answered, Mr. Forester, these sentiments do honour to your humanity, but I must not give way to them. They only serve to set in a stronger light the venom of this serpent, this monster of ingratitude, who first robs his benefactor and then reviles him. Wretch that you are will nothing move you? Are you inaccessible to remorse? Are you not struck to the heart with the unmerited goodness of your master? Vile columniator, you are the abhorrence of nature, the opprobrium of the human species and the earth can only be freed from an insupportable burden by your being exterminated. Recollect, sir, that this monster, at the very moment that you are exercising such unexampled forbearance in his behalf, has the presumption to charge you with prosecuting a crime of which you know him to be innocent? Nay, with having conveyed the pretended stolen goods among his property for the express purpose of ruining him? By this unexampled villainy he makes it your duty to free the world from such a pest, and your interest to admit no relaxing in your pursuit of him, lest the world should be persuaded by your clemency to credit his vile insinuations. I care not for the consequences, replied Mr. Falkland. I will obey the dictates of my own mind. I will never lend my assistance to the reforming mankind by axes and gibbets. I am sure things will never be as they ought till honour, and not law, be the dictator of mankind, till vice be taught to shrink before the resistless might of inborn dignity, and not before the cold formality of statutes. If my columnator were worthy of my resentment I would chastise him with my own sword, and not that of the magistrate. But in the present case I smile at his malice, and resolve to spare him, as the generous lord of the forest spares the insect that would disturb his repose. The language you now hold, said Mr. Forester, is that of romance, and not of reason. Yet I cannot but be struck with the contrast exhibited before me, of the magnanimity of virtue and the obstinate impenetrable injustice of guilt, while your mind overflows with goodness nothing can touch the heart of this thrice-refined villain. I shall never forgive myself for having once been entrapped by his detestable arts. This is no time for us to settle the question between chivalry and law. I shall therefore simply insist, as a magistrate, having taken the evidence in this felony upon my right and duty of following the course of justice, and committing the accused to the county jail. After some further contest, Mr. Falkland, finding Mr. Forester obstinate and impracticable, withdrew his opposition. Accordingly, a proper officer was summoned from the neighbouring village, a minimus made out, and one of Mr. Falkland's carriages prepared, to conduct me to the place of custody. It will easily be imagined that this sudden reverse was very painfully felt by me. I looked round on the servants who had been the spectators of my examination. But not one of them, either by word or gesture, expressed compassion for my calamity. The robbery of which I was accused appeared to them atrocious from its magnitude, and whatever sparks of compassion might otherwise have sprung up in their ingenuous and undisciplined minds, were totally obliterated by indignation at my supposed profligacy in recriminating upon their worthy and excellent master. My fate being already determined, and one of the servants dispatched for the officer, Mr. Forester and Mr. Falkland withdrew, and left me in the custody of two others. One of these was the son of a farmer at no great distance, who had been in habits of long established intimacy with my late father. I was willing accurately to discover the state of mind of those who had been witnesses of this scene, and who had had some previous opportunity of observing my character and manners. I, therefore, endeavored to open a conversation with him. Well, my good Thomas, said I, in a quarrelous tone, and with a hesitating manner. Am I not a most miserable creature? Do not speak to me, Mr. Williams. You have given me a shock that I shall not get the better of for one while. You were hatched by a hen, as the saying is, but you came of the spawn of a cockatrice. I am glad to my heart that honest farmer Williams is dead. Your villainy would else have made him curse the day that ever he was born. Thomas, I am innocent. I swear by the great God that shall judge me another day. I am innocent. Pray, do not swear, for goodness sake, do not swear. Your poor soul is damned enough without that. For your sake, lad, I will never take anybody's word, nor trust to appearances, though it should be an angel. Lord bless us, how smoothly you palaverded over, for all the world as if you had been as fair as a newborn babe. But it will not do. You will never be able to persuade people that black is white. For my own part I have done with you. I loved you yesterday, all one as if you had been my own brother. Today I love you so well that I would go ten miles with all the pleasure in life to see you hanged. Good God, Thomas! Have you the heart? What a change! I call God to witness I have done nothing to deserve it. What a world do we live in! Hold your tongue, boy. It makes my very heart sick to hear you. I would not lie a night under the same roof with you for all the world. I should expect the house to fall and crush such wickedness. I admire that the earth does not open and swallow you alive. It is poison so much as to look at you. If you go on at this hardened rate I believe from my soul that the people you talk to will tear you to pieces, and you will never live to come to the gallows. Oh yes, you do well to pity yourself. Poor, tender thing, that spit-venomal round you like a toad, and leave the very ground upon which you crawl infected with your slime. Finding the person with whom I talked, thus impenetrable to all I could say, and considering that the advantage to be gained was small even if I could overcome his prepossession, I took his advice and was silent. It was not much longer before everything was prepared for my departure, and I was conducted to the same prison which had so lately enclosed the wretched and innocent Hawkinses. They too had been the victims of Mr. Falkland. He exhibited upon a contracted scale indeed, but in which the truth of delineation was faithfully sustained a copy of what monarchs are who reckon among the instruments of their power prisons of state. CHAPTER X For my own part I had never seen a prison, and like the majority of my brethren had given myself little concern to inquire what was the condition of those who committed offence against, or became obnoxious to suspicion from, the community. Oh, how enviable is the most tottering shed under which the labourer retires to rest, compared with the residence of these walls! To me everything was new, the massy doors, the resounding locks, the gloomy passages, the degraded windows, and the characteristic looks of the keepers, accustomed to reject every petition and to steal their hearts against feeling and pity. Curiosity and a sense of my situation induced me to fix my eyes on the faces of these men, but in a few minutes I drew them away with unconquerable loathing. It is impossible to describe the sort of squalidness and filth with which these mansions are distinguished. I have seen dirty faces in dirty apartments, which have nevertheless borne the impressions of health, and spoke carelessness and levity, rather than distress. But the dirt of a prison speaks sadness to the heart, and appears to be already in a state of putridity and infection. I was detained for more than an hour in the apartment of the keeper, one turnkey after another coming in, that they might make themselves familiar with my person. As I was already considered as guilty of felony to a considerable amount, I underwent a rigorous search, and they took from me a penknife, a pair of scissors, and that part of my money which was in gold. It was debated whether or not these should be sealed up, to be returned to me, as they said, as soon as I should be acquitted, and had I not displayed an unexpected firmness of manner and vigour of expostulation, such was probably the conduct that would have been pursued. Having undergone these ceremonies I was thrust into a day-room in which all the persons then under confinement for felony were assembled, to the number of eleven. Each of them was too much engaged in his own reflections, to take notice of me. Of these two were imprisoned for horse-stealing, and three for having stolen a sheep, one for shoplifting, one for coining, two for highway robbery, and two for burglary. The horse-stealers were engaged in a game at cards which was presently interrupted by a difference of opinion, attended with great vociferation. They calling upon one and another to decide it, to no purpose. One paying no attention to their summons, and another leaving them in the midst of their story, being no longer able to endure his own internal anguish in the midst of their mummary. It is a custom among thieves to constitute a sort of mock tribunal of their own body, from whose decision everyone is informed whether he shall be acquitted, respited, or pardoned, as well as respecting the supposed most skillful way of conducting his defence. One of the house-breakers, who had already passed this ordeal, and was stalking up and down the room with a forced bravery, exclaimed to his companion that he was as rich as the duke of Bedford himself. He had five guineas and a half, which was as much as he could possibly spend in the course of the ensuing month, and what happened after that it was Jack Ketch's business to see to, not his. As he uttered these words he threw himself abruptly upon a bench that was near him, and seemed to be asleep in a moment. But his sleep was uneasy and disturbed. His breathing was hard, and at intervals had rather the nature of a groan. A young fellow from the other side of the room came softly to the place where he lay, with a large knife in his hand, and pressed the back of it with such violence upon his neck, the head hanging over the side of the bench, that it was not till after several efforts that he was able to rise. Oh, Jack! cried this manual jester. I had almost done your business for you. The other expressed no marks of resentment, but sullenly answered, Damn you! Why did not you take the edge? It would have been the best thing you have done this many a day. The case of one of the persons committed for highway robbery was not a little extraordinary. He was a common soldier of a most engaging physiognomy, and two and twenty years of age. The prosecutor who had been robbed one evening as he returned late from the ale-house, of the sum of three shillings, swore positively to his person. The character of the prisoner was such as has seldom been equaled. He had been ardent in the pursuit of intellectual cultivation, and was accustomed to draw his favourite amusement from the works of Virgil and Horus. The humbleness of his situation, combined with his ardour for literature, only served to give an inexpressible heightening to the interestingness of his character. He was plain and unaffected. He assumed nothing. He was capable, when occasion demanded, of firmness. But in his ordinary deportment he seemed unarmed and unresisting, unsuspicious of Gael in others, as he was totally free from Gael in himself. His integrity was proverbially great. In one instance he had been entrusted by a lady to convey a sum of a thousand pounds to a person at some miles distance. In another he was employed by a gentleman, during his absence, in the care of his house and furniture, to the value of at least five times that sum. His habits of thinking were strictly his own, full of justice, simplicity, and wisdom. He from time to time earned money of his officers by his peculiar excellence in fervishing arms, but he declined offers that had been made him to become a sergeant or a corporal, saying that he did not want money, and that in a new situation he should have less leisure for study. He was equally constant in refusing presents that were offered him by persons who had been struck with his merit. Not that he was under the influence of false delicacy and pride, but that he had no inclination to accept that, the want of which he did not feel to be an evil. This man died while I was in prison. I received his last breath. The whole day I was obliged to spend in the company of these men, some of them having really committed the actions laid to their charge, others whom their ill fortune had rendered the victims of suspicion. The whole was a scene of misery, such as nothing short of actual observation can suggest to the mind. Some were noisy and obstreperous, endeavouring by a false bravery to keep at bay the remembrance of their condition, while others, incapable even of this effort, had the torment of their thoughts aggravated by the perpetual noise and confusion that prevailed around them. In the faces of those who assumed the most courage, you might trace the furrows of anxious care, and in the midst of their laboured hilarity dreadful ideas would ever and anon intrude, convulsing their features and working every line into an expression of the keenest agony. To these men the sun brought no return of joy. Day after day rolled on, but their state was immutable. Existence was to them a scene of invariable melancholy. Every moment was a moment of anguish, yet did they wish to prolong that moment, fearful that the coming period would bring a severe fate. They thought of the past with insupportable repentance. Each man contented to give his right hand to have again the choice of that peace and liberty which he had unthinkingly bartered away. We talk of instruments of torture. Englishmen take credit to themselves for having banished the use of them from their happy shore. Alas! he that has observed the secrets of a prison well knows that there is more torture in the lingering existence of a criminal, in the silent intolerable minutes that he spends, than in the tangible misery of whips and racks. Such were our days. At sunset our jailers appeared and ordered each man to come away and be locked into his dungeon. It was a bitter aggravation of our fate to be under the arbitrary control of these fellows. They felt no man's sorrow. They were of all men least capable of any sort of feeling. They had a barbarous and sullen pleasure in issuing their detested mandates and observing the mournful reluctance with which they were obeyed. Whatever they directed it was in vain to expostulate. Fetters and bread and water were the sure consequences of resistance. Their tyranny had no other limit than their own caprice. To whom shall the unfortunate fell an appeal? To what purpose complain, when his complaints are sure to be received within credulity? A tale of mutiny and necessary precaution is the unfailing refuge of the keeper, and this tale is an everlasting bar against redress. Our dungeons were cells, seven-and-a-half feet by six-and-a-half, below the surface of the ground, damp, without window, light, or air, except from a few holes worked for that purpose in the door. In some of these miserable receptacles three persons were put to sleep together. I was fortunate enough to have one to myself. It was now the approach of winter. We were not allowed to have candles, and, as I have already said, were thrust in here at sunset, and not liberated till the returning day. This was our situation for fourteen or fifteen hours out of the four-and-twenty. I had never been accustomed to sleep more than six or seven hours, and my inclination to sleep was now less than ever. Thus was I reduced to spend half my day in this dreary abode and incomplete darkness. This was no trifling aggravation of my lot. Among my melancholy reflections I tasked my memory, and counted over the doors, the locks, the bolts, the chains, the massy walls, and grated windows that were between me and liberty. These, said I, are the engines that tyranny sits down in cold and serious meditation to invent. This is the empire that man exercises over man. Thus is a being formed to expatiate, to act, to smile and enjoy, restricted and benumbed. How great must be his depravity or healessness who vindicates this scheme for changing health and gaiety and serenity into the oneness of a dungeon and the deep furrows of agony and despair. Thank God, exclaims the Englishman, we have no Bastille. Thank God with us no man can be punished without a crime. Unthinking wretch. Is that a country of liberty where thousands languish in dungeons and fetters? Go, go, ignorant fool, and visit the scenes of our prisons. Witness their unwholesomeness, their filth, the tyranny of their governors, the misery of their inmates. After that show me the man shameless enough to triumph and say England has no Bastille. Is there any charge so frivolous upon which men are not consigned to those detested abodes? Is there any villainy that is not practiced by justices and prosecutors? But against all this perhaps you have been told there is redress. Yes, a redress. That is the consummation of insult so much as to name. Where shall the poor wretch reduced to the last despair, to whom acquittal perhaps comes just time enough to save him from perishing? Where shall this man find leisure, and much less money, to fee counsel and officers, and purchase the tedious, dear-bought remedy of the law? No, he is too happy to leave his dungeon and the memory of his dungeon behind him, and the same tyranny and wanton oppression become the inheritance of his successor. For myself I looked round upon my walls and forward upon the premature death I had too much reason to expect. I consulted my own heart that whispered nothing but innocence, and I said, This is society. This is the object, the distribution of justice, which is the end of human reason. For this, sages have toiled, and midnight oil has been wasted. This. The reader will forgive this digression from the immediate subject of my story. If it should be said these are general remarks, let it be remembered that they are the dear-bought result of experience. It is from the fullness of a bursting heart that reproach thus flows to my pen. These are not the declamations of a man desirous to be eloquent. I have felt the iron of slavery grating upon my soul. I believed that misery, more pure than that which I now endured, had never fallen to the lot of a human being. I recollected with astonishment my pure-ile eagerness to be brought to the test, and have my innocence examined. I execrated it as the vilest and most insufferable pedantry. I exclaimed in the bitterness of my heart, of what value is a fair fame? It is the duel of men formed to be amused with baubles. Without it I might have had serenity of heart and cheerfulness of occupation, peace and liberty. Why should I consign my happiness to other men's arbitration? But if a fair fame were of the most inexpressible value, is this the method which common sense would prescribe to retrieve it? The language which these institutions hold out to the unfortunate is, come, and be shut out from the light of day. Be the associate of those whom society has marked out for her abhorrence. Be the slave of jailers. Be loaded with fetters. Thus shall you be cleared from every unworthy aspersion, and restored to reputation and honour. This is the consolation she affords to those whom malignity or folly, private peak or unfounded positiveness, have, without the smallest foundation, loaded with calamity. For myself I felt my own innocence, and I soon found, upon inquiry, that three-fourths of those who are regularly subjected to a similar treatment are persons whom, even with all the superciliousness and precipitation of our courts of justice, no evidence can be found sufficient to convict. How slender then must be that man's portion of information and discernment, who is willing to commit his character and welfare to such guardianship? But my case was even worse than this. I intimately felt that a trial, such as our institutions have hitherto been able to make it, is only the worthy sequel of such a beginning. What chance was there after the purgation I was now suffering, that I should come out acquitted at last? What probability was there that the trial I had endured in the house of Mr. Falkland was not just as fair as any that might be expected to follow? No, I anticipated my own condemnation. Thus was I cut off, for ever, from all that existence has to bestow, from all the high hopes I had so often conceived, from all the future excellence my soul so much delighted to imagine, to spend a few weeks in a miserable prison, and then to perish by the hand of the public executioner. No language can do justice to the indignant and soul-sickening loathing that these ideas excited. My resentment was not restricted to my prosecutor, but extended itself to the whole machine of society. I could never believe that all this was the fair result of institutions inseparable from the general good. I regarded the whole human species as so many hangmen and torturers. I considered them as confederated to tear me to pieces, and this wide scene of inexorable persecution inflicted upon me inexpressible agony. I looked on this side and on that. I was innocent. I had a right to expect assistance. But every heart was steeled against me. Every hand was ready to lend its force to make my ruin secure. No man that has not felt, in his own most momentous concerns, justice, eternal truth, unalterable equity engaged in his behalf, and on the other side brute force, impenetrable obstinacy, and unfeeling insolence, can imagine the sensations that then passed through my mind. I saw treachery triumphant and enthroned. I saw the sinews of innocence crumbled into dust by the gripe of all mighty guilt. What relief had I from these sensations? Was it relief that I spent the day in the midst of profligacy and execrations, that I saw reflected from every countenance agonies only inferior to my own? He that would form a lively idea of the regions of the damned, not only to witness, for six hours, a scene to which I was confined for many months. Not for one hour could I withdraw myself from this complexity of horrors, or take refuge in the calmness of meditation. Air, exercise, series, contrast, those grand enliveners of the human frame, I was forever debarred from, by the inexorable tyranny under which I was fallen. Nor did I find the solitude of my nightly dungeon less insupportable. Its only furniture was the straw that served me for my repose. It was narrow, damp, and unwholesome. The slumbers of a mind, weary like mine with the most detestable uniformity, to whom neither amusement nor occupation ever offered themselves to beguile the painful hours, were short, disturbed, and unrefreshing. My sleeping, still more than my waking thoughts, were full of perplexity, deformity, and disorder. To these slumbers succeeded the hours which, by the regulations of our prison, I was obliged, though awake, to spend in solitary and cheerless darkness. Here I had neither books nor pens, nor anything upon which to engage my attention. All was a sightless blank. How was a mind, active and indefatigable like mine, to endure this misery? I could not sink it in lethargy. I could nor forget my woes. They haunted me with unintermitted and demonic malice, cruel, inexorable policy of human affairs, that condemns a man to torture like this, that sanctions it, and knows not what is done under its sanction, that is too supine and unfeeling to inquire into these petty details, that calls this the ordeal of innocence, and the protector of freedom. A thousand times I could have dashed my brains against the walls of my dungeon. A thousand times I longed for death, and wished, with inexpressible ardour, for an end to what I suffered. A thousand times I meditated suicide, and ruminated in the bitterness of my soul, upon the different means of escaping from the load of existence. What had I to do with life? I had seen enough to make me regarded with detestation. Why should I wait the lingering process of legal despotism, and not dare so much as to die, but when and how its instruments decreed? Still, some inexplicable suggestion withheld my hand. I clung with desperate fondness to this shadow of existence, its mysterious attractions, and its hopeless prospects. CHAPTER XII Such were the reflections that haunted the first days of my imprisonment, in consequence of which they were spent in perpetual anguish. But, after a time, nature, wearied with distress, would no longer stoop to the burden. Thought, which is incessantly varying, introduced a series of reflections totally different. My fortitude revived. I had always been accustomed to cheerfulness, good humour, and serenity, and this habit now returned to visit me at the bottom of my dungeon. No sooner did my contemplations take this turn than I saw the reasonableness and possibility of tranquility and peace, and my mind whispered to me the propriety of showing, in this forlorn condition, that I was superior to all my persecutors. Blessed state of innocence and self-approbation, the sunshine of conscious integrity pierced through all the barriers of my cell, and spoke ten thousand times more joy to my heart than the accumulated splendours of nature and art can communicate to the slaves of vice. I found out the secret of employing my mind. I said, I am shut up for half the day in total darkness, without any external source of amusement. The other half I spend in the midst of noise, turbulence, and confusion. What, then, can I not draw amusement from the stores of my own mind? Is it not freighted with various knowledge? Have I not been employed from my infancy in gratifying an insatiable curiosity? When should I derive benefit from these superior advantages, if not at present? Accordingly I tasked the stores of my memory and my powers of invention. I amused myself with recollecting the history of my life. By degrees I called to mind a number of minute circumstances, which, but for this exercise, would have been for ever forgotten. I repast in my thoughts whole conversations. I recollected their subjects, their arrangement, their incidents, frequently their very words. I amused upon these ideas till I was totally absorbed in thought. I repeated them till my mind glowed with enthusiasm. I had my different employments, fitted for the solitude of the night in which I could give full scope to the impulses of my mind, and for the uproar of the day, in which my chief object was, to be insensible to the disorder with which I was surrounded. By degrees I quitted my own story, and employed myself in imaginary adventures. I figured to myself every situation in which I could be placed, and conceived the conduct to be observed in each. Thus scenes of insult and danger, of tenderness and oppression, became familiar to me. In fancy I often passed the awful hour of dissolving nature. In some of my reveries I boiled with impetuous indignation, and in others patiently collected the whole force of my mind for some fearful encounter. I cultivated the powers of oratory suited to these different states, and improved more in eloquence in the solitude of my dungeon than perhaps I should have done in the busiest and most crowded scenes. At length I proceeded to as regular a disposition of my time as the man in his study who passes from mathematics to poetry, and from poetry to the law of nations, in the different parts of each single day. And I as seldom infringed upon my plan. Nor were my subjects of disquisition less numerous than his. I went over by the assistance of memory only a considerable part of Euclid during my confinement, and revived day after day the series of facts and incidents in some of the most celebrated historians. I became myself a poet, and while I described the sentiments cherished by the view of natural objects, recorded the characters and passions of men, and partook with a burning zeal in the generosity of their determinations, I eluded the squalid solitude of my dungeon, and wandered in idea through all the varieties of human society. I easily found expedience, such as the mind seems always to require, and which books and pens supply to the man at large, to record from time to time the progress that had been made. While I was thus employed I reflected with exultation upon the degree in which man is independent of the smiles and frowns of fortune. I was beyond her reach, for I could fall no lower. To an ordinary eye I might seem destitute and miserable, but in reality I wanted for nothing. My fare was coarse, but I was in health. My dungeon was noisome, but I felt no inconvenience. I was shut up from the usual means of exercise and air, but I found the method of exercising myself even to perspiration in my dungeon. I had no power of withdrawing my person from a disgustful society in the most cheerful and valuable part of the day, but I soon brought to perfection the art of withdrawing my thoughts, and saw and heard the people about me for just as short a time and as seldom as I pleased. Such is man in himself considered, so simple his nature, so few his wants. How different from the man of artificial society! Palaces are built for his reception, a thousand vehicles provided for his exercise, provinces are ransacked for the gratification of his appetite, and the whole world traversed to supply him with apparel and furniture. Thus vast is his expenditure, and the purchase slavery. He is dependent on a thousand accidents for tranquility in health, and his body and soul are at the devotion of whoever will satisfy his imperious cravings. In addition to the disadvantages of my present situation I was reserved for an ignominious death. What then? Every man must die. No man knows how soon. It surely is not worse to encounter the king of terrors in health and with every advantage for the collection of fortitude than to encounter him already half-subdued by sickness and suffering. I was resolved at least fully to possess the days I had to live, and this is peculiarly in the power of the man who preserves his health to the last moment of his existence. Why should I suffer my mind to be invaded by unavailing regrets? Every sentiment of vanity, or rather of independence and justice within me, instigated me to say to my persecutor, you may cut off my existence, but you cannot disturb my serenity. CHAPTER XIII. In the midst of these reflections another thought, which had not before struck me, occurred to my mind. I exult, said I, and reasonably, over the impotence of my persecutor. Is not that impotence greater than I have yet imagined? I say he may cut off my existence, but cannot disturb my serenity. It is true. My mind, the clearness of my spirit, the firmness of my tamper, are beyond his reach. Is not my life equally so, if I please? What are the material obstacles that man never subdued? What is the undertaking so arduous that by some has not been accomplished? And if by others, why not by me? Had they stronger motives than I? Was existence more variously endeared to them? Or had they more numerous methods by which to animate and adorn it? Many of those who have exerted most perseverance and intrepidity were obviously my inferiors in that respect. Why should not I be as daring as they? Adiment and steel have a ductility like water, to a mind sufficiently bold and contemplative. The mind is master of itself, and is endowed with powers that might enable it to laugh at the tyrant's vigilance. I passed and repast these ideas in my mind, and heated with the contemplation I said, No! I will not die. My reading, in early youth, had been extremely miscellaneous. I had read of housebreakers, to whom locks and bolts were a jest, and who, vein of their art, exhibited the experiment of entering a house the most strongly barricaded, with as little noise and almost as little trouble as other men would lift up a latch. There is nothing so interesting to the juvenile mind, as the wonderful, there is no power that it so eagerly covets as that of astonishing spectators by its miraculous exertions. Mind appeared, to my untutored reflections, vague, airy and unfettered, the susceptible perceiver of reasons, but never intended by nature to be the slave of force. Why should it be in the power of man to overtake and hold me by violence? Why, when I choose to withdraw myself, should I not be capable of eluding the most vigilant search? These limbs, and this trunk, are a cumbersome and unfortunate load for the power of thinking to drag along with it. But why should not the power of thinking be able to lighten the load, till it shall be no longer felt? These early modes of reflection were by no means indifferent to my present inquiries. Our next-door neighbor at my father's house had been a carpenter. Fresh from the sort of reading I have mentioned, I was eager to examine his tools, their powers, and their uses. This carpenter was a man of strong and vigorous mind, and his faculties having been chiefly confined to the range of his profession, he was fertile in experiments and ingenious in reasoning upon these particular topics. I therefore obtained from him considerable satisfaction, and my mind being set in action, I sometimes even improved upon the hints he furnished. His conversation was particularly agreeable to me. I at first worked with him sometimes for my amusement, and afterwards occasionally for a short time as his journeyman. I was constitutionally vigorous, and by the experience thus attained I added to the abstract possession of power, the skill of applying it, when I pleased, in such a manner as that no part should be inefficient. It is a strange but no uncommon feature in the human mind that the very resource of which we stand in greatest need in a critical situation, though already accumulated it may be, by preceding industry, fails to present itself at the time when it should be called into action. Thus my mind had passed through two very different stages since my imprisonment, before this means of liberation suggested itself. My faculties were overwhelmed in the first instance, and raised to a pitch of enthusiasm in the second. While in both I took it for granted in a manner that I must passively submit to the good pleasure of my persecutors. During the period in which my mind had been thus undecided, and when I had been little more than a month in endurance, the assizes which were held twice a year in the town in which I was a prisoner, came on. Upon this occasion my case was not brought forward, but was suffered to stand over six months longer. It would have been just the same if I had had a strong reason to expect acquittal as I had conviction. If I had been apprehended upon the most frivolous reasons upon which any justice of the peace ever thought proper to commit a naked beggar for trial, I must still have waited about two hundred and seventeen days before my innocence could be cleared. So imperfect are the effects of the boasted laws of a country whose legislators hold their assembly from four to six months in every year. I could never discover with certainty whether this delay were owing to any interference on the part of my prosecutor, or whether it fell out in the regular administration of justice, which is too solemn and dignified to accommodate itself to the rights or benefit of an insignificant individual. But this was not the only incident that occurred to me during my confinement, for which I could find no satisfactory solution. It was nearly at the same time that the keeper began to alter his behaviour to me. He sent for me one morning into the part of the building which was appropriated for his own use, and after some hesitation, told me he was sorry my accommodations had been so indifferent, and asked whether I should like to have a chamber in his family. I was struck with the unexpectedness of this question, and desired to know whether anybody had employed him to ask it. No, he replied, but now the assizes were over. He had fewer felons on his hands, and more time to look about him. He believed I was a good kind of a young man, and he had taken a sort of a liking to me. I fixed my eyes upon his countenance as he said this. I could discover none of the usual symptoms of kindness. He appeared to me to be acting apart, unnatural, and that sat with awkwardness upon him. He went on, however, to offer me the liberty of eating at his table, which, if I chose it, he said, would make no difference to him, and he should not think of charging me anything for it. He had always indeed as much upon his hands as one person could see to, but his wife and his daughter Peggy would be woundily pleased to hear a person of learning talk as he understood I was, and perhaps I might not feel myself unpleasantly circumstanced in their company. I reflected on this proposal, and had little doubt, notwithstanding what the keeper had affirmed to the contrary, that it did not proceed from any spontaneous humanity in him, but that he had, to speak the language of persons of his caste, good reasons for what he did. I busied myself in conjectures as to who could be the author of this sort of indulgence and attention. The two most likely persons were Mr. Falkland and Mr. Forester. The latter I knew to be a man austere and inexorable towards those whom he deemed vicious. He peaked himself upon being insensible to those softer emotions which he believed answered no other purpose than to seduce us from our duty. Mr. Falkland, on the contrary, was a man of the acutist sensibility. Hence arose his pleasures and his pains, his virtues and his vices. Though he were the bitterest enemy to whom I could possibly be exposed, and though no sentiments of humanity could divert or control the bent of his mind, I yet persuaded myself that he was more likely than his kinsmen to visit, in idea, the scene of my dungeon, and to feel impelled to alleviate my sufferings. This conjecture was by no means calculated to serve as balm to my mind. My thoughts were full of irritation against my persecutor. How could I think kindly of a man in competition with the gratification of whose ruling passion my good name or my life was deemed of no consideration? I saw him crushing the one and bringing the other into jeopardy with a quietness and composure on his part that I could not recollect without horror. I knew not what were his plans respecting me. I knew not whether he troubled himself so much as to form a barren wish for the preservation of one whose future prospects he had so iniquitously tarnished. I had hitherto been silent as to my principal topic of recrimination, but I was by no means certain that I should consent to go out of the world in silence, the victim of this man's objuracy and art. In every view I felt my heart ulcerated with a sense of his injustice, and my very soul spurned these pitiful indulgences at a time that he was grinding me into dust with the inexorableness of his vengeance. I was influenced by these sentiments in my reply to the jailer, and I found a secret pleasure in pronouncing them in all their bitterness. I viewed him with a sarcastic smile, and said I was glad to find him of a sudden become so humane. I was not, however, without some penetration as to the humanity of a jailer, and could guess at the circumstances by which it was produced. But he might tell his employer that his cares were fruitless. I would accept no favours from a man that held a halter about my neck, and had courage enough to endure the worst both in time to come and now. The jailer looked at me with astonishment, and turning upon his heel exclaimed, Well done, my cock! You have not had your learning for nothing, I see. You are set upon not dying Dunghill. But that is to come, lad. You had better by half keep your courage till you shall find it wanted. The assizes, which passed over without influence to me, produced a great revolution among my fellow prisoners. I lived long enough in the jail to witness a general mutation of its inhabitants. One of the housebreakers, the rival of the Duke of Bedford, and the coiner, were hanged. Two more were cast for transportation, and the rest acquitted. The transports remained with us, and though the prison was thus lightened of nine of its inhabitants, there were, at the next half-yearly period of assizes, as many persons on the felons side within three as I had found on my first arrival. The soldier, whose story I have already recorded, died on the evening of the very day on which the judges arrived, of a disease the consequence of his confinement. Such was the justice that resulted from the laws of his country, to an individual who would have been the ornament of any age. One who, of all the men I ever knew, was perhaps the kindest, of the most feeling heart, of the most engaging and unaffected manners, and the most unblemished life. The name of this man was Brightwell. Were it possible for my pen to consecrate him to never dying fame, I could undertake no task more grateful to my heart? His judgment was penetrating and manly, totally unmixed with imbecility and confusion, while at the same time there was such an uncontending frankness in his countenance, that a superficial observer would have supposed he must have been the prey of the first plausible navery that was practised against him. Great reason have I to remember him with affection. He was the most ardent I had almost said the last of my friends. Nor did I remain in this respect in his debt. There was indeed a great congeniality, if I may presume to say so, in our characters, except that I cannot pretend to rival the originality and self-created vigour of his mind, or to compare with what the world has scarcely surpassed, the correctness and untainted purity of his conduct. He heard my story as far as I thought proper to disclose it, with interest. He examined it with sincere impartiality. And if, at first, any doubt remained upon his mind, a frequent observation of me in my most unguarded moments taught him in no long time to place an unreserved confidence in my innocence. He talked of the injustice of which we were mutual victims, without bitterness, and delighted to believe that the time would come when the possibility of such intolerable oppression would be extirpated. But this, he said, was a happiness reserved for posterity. It was too late for us to reap the benefit of it. It was some consolation to him that he could not tell the period in his past life which the best judgment of which he was capable would teach him to spend better. He could say, with as much reason as most men, he had discharged his duty. But he foresaw that he should not survive his present calamity. This was his prediction, while yet in health. He might be said, in a certain sense, to have a broken heart. But if that phrase were in any way applicable to him, sure never was despair more calm, more full of resignation and serenity. At no time in the whole course of my adventures was I exposed to a shock more severe than I received from this man's death. The circumstances of his fate presented themselves to my mind in their full complication of iniquity. From him, and the execrations with which I loaded the government that could be the instrument of his tragedy, I turned to myself. I beheld the catastrophe of Brightwell with envy. A thousand times I longed that my course had lain in death instead of his. I was only reserved, as I persuaded myself, for unutterable woe. In a few days he would have been acquitted, his liberty, his reputation restored. Mankind, perhaps, struck with the injustice he had suffered, would have shown themselves eager to balance his misfortunes and obliterate his disgrace. But this man died, and I remained alive. I, who though not less wrongfully treated than he, had no hope of reparation, must be marked as long as I lived for a villain, and in my death probably held up to the scorn and detestation of my species. Such were some of the immediate reflections which the fate of this unfortunate martyr produced in my mind. Yet my intercourse with Brightwell was not in the review without its portion of comfort. I said, this man has seen through the veil of Columny that overshades me. He has understood, and has loved me. Why should I despair? May I not meet hereafter with men ingenuous like him, who shall do me justice and sympathize with my calamity? With that consolation I will be satisfied. I will rest in the arms of friendship and forget the malignity of the world. Henceforth I will be contented with tranquil obscurity, with the cultivation of sentiment and wisdom, and the exercise of benevolence within a narrow circle. It was thus that my mind became excited to the project I was about to undertake. I had no sooner meditated the idea of an escape than I determined upon the following method of facilitating the preparations for it. I undertook to ingratiate myself with my keeper. In the world I have generally found such persons as had been acquainted with the outline of my story, regarding me with a sort of loathing and abhorrence which made them avoid me, with as much care as if I had been spotted with the plague. The idea of my having first robbed my patron, and then endeavouring to clear myself by charging him with subordinations against me, placed me in a class distinct from, and infinitely more guilty than, that of common felons. But this man was too good a master of his profession to entertain aversion against a fellow creature upon that score. He considered the persons committed to his custody merely as so many human bodies, for whom he was responsible that they should be forthcoming in time and place, and the difference of innocence and guilt he looked down upon as an affair beneath his attention. I had not, therefore, the prejudices to encounter in recommending myself to him, that I have found so peculiarly obstinate in other cases, add to which the same motive, whatever it was, that had made him so profuse in his offers a little before, had probably its influence on the present occasion. I informed him of my skill in the profession of a joiner, and offered to make him half a dozen handsome chairs, if he would facilitate my obtaining the tools necessary for carrying on my profession in my present confinement. For without his consent previously obtained it would have been in vain for me to expect that I could quietly exert an industry of this kind, even if my existence had depended upon it. He looked at me first as asking himself what he was to understand by this novel proposal, and then his countenance most graciously relaxing said he was glad I was come off a little of my high notions, and my buckram, and he would see what he could do. Two days after he signified his compliance. He said that, as to the matter of the present I had offered him, he thought nothing of that. I might do as I pleased in it. But I might depend upon every civility from him that he could show, with safety to himself, if so be as, when he was civil, I did not offer a second time for to snap and take him up short. Having thus gained my preliminary, I gradually accumulated tools of various sorts. Gimlet sets, piercers, chisels, etc. I immediately set myself to work. The nights were long, and the sordid eagerness of my keeper, notwithstanding his ostentatious generosity, was great. I therefore petitioned for, and was indulged with, a bit of candle, that I might amuse myself for an hour or two with my work after I was locked up in my dungeon. I did not, however, by any means apply constantly to the work I had undertaken, and my jailer betrayed various tokens of impatience. Perhaps he was afraid I should not have finished it before I was hanged. I, however, insisted upon working at my leisure as I pleased, and this he did not venture expressly to dispute. In addition to the advantages thus obtained, I procured secretly from Miss Peggy, who now and then came into the jail to make her observations of the prisoners, and, who seemed to have conceived some partiality for my person, the implement of an iron crow. In these proceedings it is easy to trace the vice and duplicity that must be expected to grow out of injustice. I know not whether my readers will pardon the sinister advantage I extracted from the mysterious concessions of my keeper. But I must acknowledge my weakness in that respect. I am writing my adventures, and not my apology, and I was not prepared to maintain the unvaried sincerity of my manners at the expense of a speedy close of my existence. My plan was now digested. I believed that, by means of the crow, I could easily and without much noise force the door of my dungeon from its hinges, or if not, that I could, in case of necessity, cut away the lock. This door led into a narrow passage, bounded on one side by the range of dungeons, and on the other by the jailers and turn-keys apartments, through which was the usual entrance from the street. This outlet I dared not attempt, for fear of disturbing the persons close to whose very door I should, in that case, have found it necessary to pass. I determined therefore upon another door at the further end of the passage, which was well barricaded, and which led to a sort of garden in the occupation of the keeper. This garden I had never entered, but I had had an opportunity of observing it from the window of the felons' day-room, which looked that way, the room itself being immediately over the range of dungeons. I perceived that it was bounded by a wall of considerable height, which I was told by my fellow prisoners was the extremity of the jail on that side, and beyond which was a back lane of some length that terminated in the skirts of the town. Upon an accurate observation, and much reflection upon the subject, I found I should be able, if once I got into the garden, with my gimlets and piercers inserted at proper distances to make a sort of ladder, by means of which I could clear the wall, and once more take possession of the sweets of liberty. I preferred this wall to that which immediately skirted my dungeon, on the other side of which was a populous street. I suffered about two days to elapse, from the period at which I had thoroughly digested my project, and then in the very middle of the night began to set about its execution. The first door was attended with considerable difficulty, but at length this obstacle was happily removed. The second door was fastened on the inside. I was therefore able with perfect ease to push back the bolts. But the lock, which of course was depended upon for the principal security, and was therefore strong, was double-shot, and the key taken away. I endeavored with my chisel to force back the bolt of the lock, but to no purpose. I then unscrewed the box of the lock, and that being taken away the door was no longer opposed to my wishes. Thus far I had proceeded with the happiest success, but close on the other side of the door there was a kennel with a large mastiff dog, of which I had not the smallest previous knowledge. Though I stepped along in the most careful manner, this animal was disturbed and began to bark. I was extremely disconcerted, but immediately applied myself to soothe the animal, in which I presently succeeded. I then returned along the passage to listen whether anybody had been disturbed by the noise of the dog, resolved, if that had been the case, that I would return to my dungeon and endeavour to replace every thing in its former state. But the whole appeared perfectly quiet, and I was encouraged to proceed in my operation. I now got to the wall, and had nearly gained half the ascent when I heard a voice at the garden door crying, Halloa! Who's there? Who opened the door? The man received no answer, and the night was too dark for him to distinguish objects at any distance. He therefore returned, as I judged, into the house for a light. Meantime the dog, understanding the key in which these interrogations were uttered, began barking again more violently than ever. I had now no possibility of retreat, and I was not without hopes that I might yet accomplish my object and clear the wall. Meanwhile a second man came out, while the other was getting his lantern, and by the time I had got to the top of the wall was able to perceive me. He immediately set up a shout, and threw a large stone which grazed me in its flight. Alarmed at my situation I was obliged to descend on the other side without taking the necessary precautions, and in my fall nearly dislocated my ankle. There was a door in the wall of which I was not previously apprised, and this being opened the two men with the lanterns were on the other side in an instant. They had then nothing to do but to run along the lane to the place from which I had descended. I endeavoured to rise after my fall, but the pain was so intense that I was scarcely able to stand, and after having limped a few paces I twisted my foot under me, and fell down again. I had now no remedy, and quietly suffered myself to be retaken.