to receive him;” and then turning to my son, “I again find, sir,” proceeded he, “that you are guilty of the same offence for which you once had my reproof, and for which the law is now preparing its justest punishments. You imagine, perhaps, that a contempt for your own life gives you a right to take that of another: but where, sir, is the difference between a duellist who hazards a life of no value, and the murderer who acts with greater security? Is it any diminution of the gamester’s fraud when he alleges that he has staked a counter?”

“Alas, sir,” cried I, “whoever you are, pity the poor misguided creature; for what he has done was in obedience to a deluded mother, who in the bitterness of her resentment required him upon her blessing to avenge her quarrel. Here, sir, is the letter, which will serve to convince you of her imprudence and diminish his guilt.”

He took the letter and hastily read it over. “This,” says he, “though not a perfect excuse, is such a palliation of his fault, as induces me to forgive him. And now, sir,” continued he, kindly taking my son by the hand, “I see you are surprised at finding me here; but I have often visited prisons upon occasions less interesting. I am now come to see justice done a worthy man, for whom I have the most sincere esteem. I have long been a disguised spectator of thy father’s benevolence. I have at his little dwelling enjoyed respect uncontaminated by flattery, and have received that happiness that courts could not give, from the amusing simplicity round his fire-side. My nephew has been apprised of my intentions of coming here, and I find is arrived; it would be wronging him and you to condemn him without examination: if there be injury there shall be redress; and this I may say without boasting, that none have ever taxed the injustice of Sir William Thornhill.”

We now found the personage whom we had so long entertained as a harmless amusing companion was no other than the celebrated Sir William Thornhill, to whose virtues and singularities scarcely any were strangers. The poor Mr. Burchell was in reality a man of large fortune and great interest, to whom senates listened with applause, and whom party heard with conviction; who was the friend of his country but loyal to his king. My poor wife recollecting her former familiarity, seemed to shrink with apprehension; but Sophia, who a few moments before thought him her own, now perceiving the immense distance to which he was removed by fortune, was unable to conceal her tears.

“Ah, sir,” cried my wife, with a piteous aspect, “how is it possible that I can ever have your forgiveness; the slights you received from me the last time I had the honour of seeing you at our house, and the jokes which I audaciously threw out, these jokes, sir, I fear can never be forgiven.”

“My dear good lady,” returned he with a smile, “if you had your joke I had my answer: I’ll leave it to all the company if mine were not as good as yours. To say the truth, I know nobody whom I am disposed to be angry with at present but the fellow who so frighted my little girl here. I had not even time to examine the rascal’s person so as to describe him in an advertisement. Can you tell me, Sophia, my dear, whether you should know him again?”

“Indeed, sir,” replied she, “I can’t be positive; yet now I recollect he had a large mark over one of his eyebrows.” “I ask pardon, madam,” interrupted Jenkinson, who was by, “but be so good as to inform me if the fellow wore his own red hair?”—“Yes, I think so,” cried Sophia.—“And did your honour,” continued he, turning to Sir William, “observe the length of his legs?” —“I can’t be sure of their length,” cried the Baronet, “but I am convinced of their swiftness; for he outran me, which is what I thought few men in the kingdom could have done.”—“Please your honour,” cried Jenkinson, “I know the man: it is certainly the same; the best runner in England; he has beaten Pinwire of Newcastle, Timothy Baxter is his name; I know him perfectly and the place of his retreat this moment. If your honour will bid Mr. Gaoler let two of his men go with me, I’ll engage to produce him to you in an hour at farthest.” Upon this the gaoler was called, who instantly appearing, Sir William demanded if he knew him. “Yes, please your honour,” replied the gaoler, “I know Sir William Thornhill well, and everybody that knows anything of him will desire to know more of him.”— “Well, then,” said the Baronet, “my request is, that you will permit this man and two of your servants to go upon a message by my authority; and as I am in the commission of the peace,


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