I can’t help it, Belford!—­I have only to add, that it is happy that the poor fellow lived not to be hanged; as it seems he would have been; for who knows, as he had got into such a penitential strain, what might have been in his dying speech?

When a man has not great good to comfort himself with, it is right to make the best of the little that may offer.  There never was any discomfort happened to mortal man, but some little ray of consolation would dart in, if the wretch was not so much a wretch, as to draw, instead of undraw, the curtain, to keep it out.

And so much, at this time, and for ever, for poor Capt.  Tomlinson, as I called him.

Your solicitude to get me out of this heavy changeable climate exactly tallies with every body’s here.  They all believe that travelling will establish me.  Yet I think I am quite well.  Only these plaguy news and fulls, and the equinoctals, fright me a little when I think of them; and that is always:  for the whole family are continually ringing these changes in my ears, and are more sedulously intent, than I can well account for, to get me out of the kingdom.

But wilt thou write often, when I am gone?  Wilt thou then piece the thread where thou brokest it off?  Wilt thou give me the particulars of their distress, who were my auxiliaries in bringing on the event that affects me?—­Nay, principals rather:  Since, say what thou wilt, what did I do worth a woman’s breaking her heart for?

Faith and troth, Jack, I have had very hard usage, as I have often said:  —­to have such a plaguy ill name given me, screamed out upon, run away from, as a mad dog would be; all my own friends ready to renounce me!—­ Yet I think I deserve it all; for have I not been as ready to give up myself, as others are to condemn me?

What madness, what folly, this!—­Who will take the part of a man that condemns himself?—­Who can?—­He that pleads guilty to an indictment, leaves no room for aught but the sentence.  Out upon me, for an impolitical wretch!  I have not the art of the least artful of any of our Christian princes; who every day are guilty of ten times worse breaches of faith; and yet, issuing out a manifesto, they wipe their mouths, and go on from infraction to infraction, from robbery to robbery; commit devastation upon devastation; and destroy—­for their glory!  And are rewarded with the names of conquerors, and are dubbed Le Grand; praised, and even deified, by orators and poets, for their butcheries and depredations.

While I, a poor, single, harmless prowler; at least comparatively harmless; in order to satisfy my hunger, steal but one poor lamb; and every mouth is opened, every hand is lifted up, against me.

Nay, as I have just now heard, I am to be manifestoed against, though no prince:  for Miss Howe threatens to have the case published to the whole world.

I have a good mind not to oppose it; and to write an answer to it, as soon as it comes forth, and exculpate myself, by throwing all the fault upon the old ones.  And this I have to plead, supposing all that my worst enemies can allege against me were true,—­That I am not answerable for all the extravagant consequences that this affair has been attended with; and which could not possibly be foreseen.