know that I was a thief, growing up in all manner of villany, and ripening apace for the gallows, it came often into my thoughts that I was going wrong, that I was in the high road to the devil; and several times I would stop short, and ask myself if this was the life of a gentleman?

But these little things wore off again as often as they came on, and I followed the old trade again; especially when Will came to prompt me, as I have observed; for he was a kind of a guide to me in all these things; and I had, by custom and application, together with seeing his way, learned to be as acute a workman as my master.

But, to go back where I left off. Will came to me, as I have said, and telling me how much better business he was fallen into, would have me go along with him, and I should be a gentleman. Will, it seems, understood that word in a quite different manner from me: for his gentleman was nothing more or less than a gentleman thief, a villain of a higher degree than a pickpocket, and one that might do something more wicked, and better entitling him to the gallows, than could be done in our way; but my gentleman that I had my eye upon, was another thing quite, though I could not really tell how to describe it either.

However the word took with me, and I went with him. We were neither of us old; Will was about twenty-four, and as for me I was now about eighteen, and pretty tall of my age.

The first time I went with him, he brought me into the company only of two more young fellows. We met at the lower part of Gray's-Inn-lane, about an hour before sunset, and went out into the fields toward a place called Pindar of Wakefield, where are abundance of brick-kilns; here it was agreed to spread from the field-path to the road way, all the way towards Pancras church, to observe any chance game, as they called it, which they might shoot flying. Upon the path, within the bank, on the side of the road, going towards Kentish-town, two of our gang, Will, and one of the other, met a single gentleman, walking apace towards the town; being almost dark, Will cried, Mark, ho! which, it seems, was the word at which we were all to stand still at a distance, come in, if he wanted help, and give a signal if anything appeared that was dangerous.

Will steps up to the gentleman, stops him, and put the question; that is, Sir, your money? The gentleman seeing

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he was alone, struck at him with his cane, but Will, a nimble, strong fellow, flew in upon him, and, with struggling, got him down; then he begged for his life, Will having told him with an oath that he would cut his throat. In that moment, while this was doing, comes a hackney-coach along the road, and the fourth man, who was that way, cries, Mark, ho! which was to intimate that it was a prize, not a surprise; and accordingly the next man went up to assist him, where they stopped the coach, which had a doctor of physic and a surgeon in it, who had been to visit some considerable patient, and, I suppose, had considerable fees; for here they got two good purses, one with eleven or twelve guineas, the other six, with some pocket money, two watches, one diamond ring, and the surgeon's plaster-box, which was most of it full of silver instruments.

While they were at this work, Will kept the man down who was under him; and though he promised not to kill him, unless he offered to make a noise, yet he would not let him stir till he heard the noise of the coach going on again, by which he knew the job was over on that side. Then he carried him a little out of the way, tied his hands behind him, and bid him lie still and make no noise, and he would come back in half an hour and untie him, upon his word; but if he cried out, he would come back and kill him.

The poor man promised to lie still and make no noise, and did so; and had not above 11s. 6d. in his pocket, which Will took, and came back to the rest; but while they were together, I, who was on the side of the Pindar of Wakefield, cried, Mark, ho! too.

What I saw was a couple of poor women, one a kind of a nurse, and the other a maid-servant going for Kentish-town. As Will knew that I was but young at the work, he came flying to me, and seeing how easy a bargain it was, he said, Go, Colonel, fall to work. I went up to them, and speaking to the elderly woman, Nurse, said I, don't be in such haste, I want to speak with you; at which they both stopped, and looked a little frighted. Don't be frighted, sweetheart, said I to the maid; a little of that money in the bottom of your pocket will make all easy, and I will do you no harm. By this time Will came up to us, for they did not see him before; then they began to scream out. Hold! says I, make

no noise, unless you have a mind to force us to murder you whether we will or no; give me your money presently, and make no words, and we shan't hurt you. Upon this the poor maid pulled out 5s. 6d. and the old woman a guinea and a shilling, crying heartily for her money, and said it was all she had left in the world. Well, we took it for all that, though it made my very heart bleed to see what agony the poor woman was in at parting with it, and I asked her where she lived; she said her name was Smith, and she lived at Kentish-town: I said nothing to her, but bid them go on about their business, and I gave Will the money; so in a few minutes we were all together again: says one of the other rogues, Come this is well enough for one road, it' time to be gone. So we jogged away, crossing the fields out of the path towards Tottenham-court; But hold! says Will, I must go and untie the man. D-mn him, says one of them, let him lie. No, says Will, I won't be worse than my word, I will untie him. So he went to the place, but the man was gone; either he had untied himself, or somebody had passed by, and he had called for help, and so was untied, for he could not find him, nor make him hear, though he ventured to call twice for him aloud.

This made us hasten away the faster, and getting into Tottenham-court road, they thought it was a little too near, so they made into the town at St. Giles's, and crossing to Piccadilly, went to Hyde-Park-gate; here they ventured to rob another coach, that is to say, one of the two other rogues and Will did it, between the Park-gate and Knigtsbridge; there was in it only a gentleman and a punk that he had picked up, it seems, at the spring-garden, a little farther. They took the gentleman's money, his watch, and his silverhilted sword; but when they came to the slut, she damned and cursed them for robbing the gentleman of his money, and leaving none for her; as for herself, she had not one sixpenny-piece about her, though she was indeed well enough dressed too.

Having made this adventure, we left that road too, and went over the fields to Chelsea. In the way from Westminster to Chelsea, we met three gentlemen, but they were too strong for us to meddle with; they had been afraid to come over the fields so late (for by this time it was eight o'clock, and though the moon gave some light, yet it was

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too late and too dark to be safe), so they hired three men at Chelsea, two with pitchforks, and the third, a waterman, with a boat-hook-staff to guard them: we would have steered clear of them, and cared not to have them see us, if we could help it, but they did see us, and cried, Who comes there? we answered, Friends; and so they went on, to our great satisfaction.

CHAPTER V.

MY NEW PROFESSION VERY HATEFUL TO ME-WILL IS IN GREAT DANGER OF BEING TAKEN FOR A HOUSEBREAKING AT HOUNSLOW-HE LEAVES HIS PLUNDER UNDER MY BED-I MEET WITH HIM BY ACCIDENT, AND RECEIVE HIS DIRECTIONS HOW TO DISPOSE OF THE STOLEN GOODS-I MEET CAPTAIN JACK, WHO INFORMS ME WILL IS COMMITTED TO NEWGATE-I PAY A VISIT TO MY OLD FRIEND MENTIONED IN THE THIRD CHAPTER-CONVERSATION WITH HIM-I AM APPREHENDED CONSEQUENCES THEREOF.

WHEN We came to Chelsea, it seems we had other work to do, which I had not been made privy to; and this was a house to be robbed. They had some intelligence, it seems, with a servant in the house, who was of their gang; this rogue was a waiting-man, or footman, and he had a watchword to let them in by; but this fellow, not for want of being a villain, but by getting drunk, and not minding his part of the work, disappointed us; for he had promised to rise at two o'clock in the morning and let us all in, but, being very drunk, and not come in at eleven o'clock, his master ordered him to be shut out, and the doors locked up, and charged the other servants not to let him in upon any terms whatsoever.

We came about the house at one o'clock to make our observations, intending to go and lie under Beaufort House wall till the clock struck two, and then to come again; but, behold! when we came to the house, there lay the fellow at the door fast asleep, and very drunk. Will, who I found was the leader in all these things, waked the fellow, who, as he had had about two hours' sleep, was a little come to himself, and told them the misfortune, as he called it, and

that he could not get in: they had some instruments about them, by which they could have broken in by force, but Will considered that as it was but waiting till another time, and they should be let in quietly, they resolved to give it over for that time.

But this was a happy drunken bout for the family; for the fellow having let fall some words in his drink (for he was a saucy one as well as a drunken one, and talked oddly), as that it had been better they had let him in, and he would make them pay dear for it, or some such thing; the master hearing of it, turned him away in the morning, and never let him come into his house again: so, I say, it was a happy drunkenness to the family, for it saved them from being robbed, and perhaps murdered, for they were a cursed bloody crew, and, as I found, were about thirteen of them in all, whereof three of them made it their business to get into gentlemen's services, and so to open doors in the night, and let the other rogues in upon them to rob and destroy them.

I rambled this whole night with them. They went from Chelsea, being disappointed there as above, to Kensington; there they broke into a brewhouse and washhouse, and by that means into an out-kitchen of a gentleman's house, where they unhanged a small copper, and brought it off, and stole about a hundred weight of pewter, and went clear off with that too; and every one going their own by-ways, they found means to get safe to their several receptacles where they used to dispose of such things.

We lay still the next day, and shared the effects stolen that night, of which my share came to 8l. 19s. The copper and pewter being weighed, and cast up, a person was at hand to take it as money, at about half value, and in the afternoon Will and I came away together. Will was

mighty full of the success we had had, and how we might be sure of the like this way every day. But he observed that I did not seem so elevated at the success of that night's ramble as I used to be, and also, that I did not take any great notice of the expectations he was in, of what was to come; yet I had said little to him at that time.

But my heart was full of the poor woman's case at Kentish-town, and I resolved, if possible, to find her out, and give her her money. With the abhorrence that filled