go, so without a direct revelation from the Almighty no positive
knowledge could be had of life in the world to come, which is
therefore properly said to be derived to us through Christ Jesus,
who in plain terms, and with that authority which confounded his
enemies, the Scribes and Pharisees, taught the doctrine of a final
judgment, and by affording us the means of grace, raised in us at
the same time the hopes of glory.

The arguments, therefore, which might appear sufficient unto the
heathens, to justify killing themselves to avoid what they thought
greater evils, if they had any force then must have totally lost it
now. Indeed, the far greater number of instances which history has
transmitted us, show that self-murder, even then, proceeded from the
same causes as at present, viz., rage, despair, and disappointment.
Wise men in all ages despised it as a mean and despicable flight
from evils the soul wanted courage and strength to bear. This has
not only been said by philosophers, but even by poets, too; which
shows that it appeared a notion, not only rational, but heroic.
There are none so timorous, says Martial, but extremity of want may
force upon a voluntary death; those few alone are to be accounted
brave who can support a life of evil and the pressing load of
misery, without having recount to a dagger.

But if there were no more in it than the dispute of which was the
most gallant act of the two, to suffer, or die, it would not deserve
so much consideration. The matter with you is of far greater
importance, it is not how, or in what manner you ought to die in
this world, but how you are to expect mercy and happiness in that
which is to come. This is your last stake, and all that now can
deserve your regard. Even hope is lost as to present life, and if
you make use of your reason, it must direct you to turn all your
wishes and endeavours towards attaining happiness in a future state.
What, then, remains to be examined in respect of this question is
whether persons who slay themselves can hope for pardon or happiness
in the sentence of that Judge from whom there is no appeal, and
whose sentence, as it surpasses all understanding, so is it executed
immediately.

If we judge only from reason, it seems that we have no right over a
life which we receive not from ourselves, or from our parents, but
from the immediate gift of Him who is the Lord thereof, and the
Fountain of Being.

To take away our own life, then, is contradicting as far as we are
able the Laws of Providence, and that disposition which His wisdom
has been pleased to direct. It is as though we pretended to have
more knowledge or more power than he; and as to that pretence which
is usually made use of, that Life is meant as a blessing, and that
therefore when it becomes an evil, we may if we think fit resign it,
it is indeed but a mere sophistry. We acknowledge God to be infinite
in all perfections, and consequently in wisdom and power; from the
latter we receive our existence in this Life, and as to the measure
it depends wholly on the former; so that if we from the shallow
dictates of our reason contemptuously shorten that term which is
appointed us by the Almighty, we thereby contradict all His laws,
throw up all right to His promises, and by the very last act we are
capable of, put ourselves out of His protection.

This I say is the prospect of the fruits of suicide, looked on with
the eye only of natural religion; and the opinion of Christians is
unanimous in this respect, that persons who wilfully deprive
themselves of life here, involve themselves also in death
everlasting. As to your particular case, in which you say 'tis only
making choice of one death rather than another, there are also the
strongest reasons against it, The Law intends your death, not only
for the punishment of your crimes, but as an example to deter
others. The Law of God which hath commanded that the magistrates
should not bear the sword in vain, hath given power to denounce this
sentence against you; but that authority which you would assume,
defeats both the law of the land in its intention, and is opposite
also unto the Law of God. Add unto all this, the example of our
blessed Saviour, who submitted to be hung upon a tree, tho' He had
only need of praying to His Father to have sent Him thousands of
Angels; yet chose He the death of a thief, that the Will of God, and
the sentence even of an unrighteous judge might be satisfied.

Let, then, the testimony of your own reason, your reverence towards
God, and the hopes which you ought to have in Jesus Christ,
determine you to await with patience the hour of your dissolution,
dispose you to fill up the short interval which yet remains with
sincere repentance, and enable you to support your sufferings with
such a Christian spirit of resignation, as may purchase for you an
eternal weight of glory. In the which you shall always be assisted
with my Prayers to God.

Who am, etc.

Jonathan at last pretended to be overcome with the reasons which had
been offered to him on the subject of self-murder. But it plainly
appeared that in this he was a hypocrite; for the day before his
execution, notwithstanding the keepers had the strictest eye on him
imaginable, somebody conveyed to him a bottle of liquid laudanum, of
which having taken a very large quantity, he hoped it would forestall
his dying at the gallows. But as he had not been sparing in the dose, so
the largeness of it made a speedy effect, which was perceived by his
fellow-prisoners seeing he could not open his eyes at the time that
prayers were said to them as usual in the condemned hold. Whereupon they
walked him about, which first made him sweat exceedingly, and he was
then very sick. At last he vomited, and they continuing still to lead
him, he threw the greatest part of the laudanum off from his stomach.
Notwithstanding that, he continued very drowsy, stupid and unable to do
anything but gasp out his breath until it was stopped by the halter.

He went to execution in a cart, and instead of expressing any kind of
pity or compassion for him, the people continued to throw stones and
dirt all the way along, reviling and cursing him to die last, and
plainly showed by their behaviour how much the blackness and notoriety
of his crimes had made him abhorred, and how little tenderness the
enemies of mankind meet with, when overtaken by the hand of Justice.

When he arrived at Tyburn, having by that gathered a little strength
(nature recovering from the convulsions in which the laudanum had thrown
him), the executioner told him he might take what time he pleased to
prepare his death. He therefore sat down in the cart for some small
time, during which the people were so uneasy that they called out
incessantly to the executioner to dispatch him, and at last threatened
to tear him to pieces if he did not tie him up immediately. Such a
furious spirit was hardly ever discovered in the populace upon such an
occasion. They generally look on blood with tenderness, and behold even
the stroke of Justice with tears; but so far were they from it in this
case that had a reprieve really come, 'tis highly questionable whether
the prisoner could ever have been brought back with safety, it being far
more likely that as they wounded him dangerously in the head in his
passage to Tyburn, they would have knocked him on the head outright, if
any had attempted to have brought mm back.

Before I part with Mr. Wild, 'tis requisite that I inform you in regard
to his wives, or those who were called his wives, concerning whom so
much noise has been made. His first was a poor honest woman who
contented herself to live at Wolverhampton, with the son she had by him,
without ever putting him to any trouble, or endeavouring to come up to
Town to take upon her the style and title of Madam Wild, which the last
wife he lived with did with the greatest affection. The next whom he
thought fit to dignify with the name of his consort, was the
afore-mentioned Mrs. Milliner, with whom he continued in very great
intimacy after they lived separately, and by her means carried on the
first of his trade in detecting stolen goods. The third one was Betty
Man, a woman of the town in her younger days, but so suddenly struck
with horror by a Romish priest that she turned Papist; and as she
appeared in her heart exceedingly devout and thoroughly penitent for all
her sins, it is to be hoped such penitence might merit forgiveness,
however erroneous the principle might be of that Church in the communion
of which she died. Wild ever retained such an impression of the sanctity
of this woman after her decease, and so great veneration for her, that
he ordered his body to be buried next hers in Pancras Churchyard, which
his friends saw accordingly performed, about two o'clock in the morning
after his execution.[66]

The next of Mr. Wild's sultana's was Sarah Perrin, _alias_ Graystone,
who survived him; then there was Judith Nunn, by whom he had a daughter,
who at the time of his decease might be about ten years old, both mother
and daughter being then living. The sixth and last was no less
celebrated as Mrs. or Madam Wild, than he was remarkable by the style of
Wild the Thief-catcher, or, by way of irony, of Benefit Jonathan. Before
her first marriage this remarkable damsel was known by the name of Mary
Brown, afterwards by that of Mrs. Dean, being wife to Skull Dean who was
executed about the year 1716 or 1717 for housebreaking. Some malicious
people have reported that Jonathan was accessory to hanging him merely
for the sake of the reward, and the opportunity of taking his relict,
who, whatever regard she might have for her first husband, is currently
reported to have been so much affected with the misfortunes that
happened to the latter, that she twice attempted to make away with
herself, after she had the news of his being under sentence of death.
However, by this his last lady, he left no children, and but two by his
three other wives were living at the time of his decease.

As to the person of the man, it was homely to the greatest degree. There
was something remarkably villainous in his face, which nature had
imprinted in stronger terms than perhaps she ever did upon any other;
however, he was strong and active, a fellow of prodigious boldness and
resolution, which made the pusillanimity shown at his death more
remarkable. In his life-time he was not at all shy in owning his
profession, but on the contrary bragged of it upon all occasions; into
which perhaps he was led by that ridiculous respect which was paid him,
and the meanness of spirit some persons of distinction were guilty of in
talking to him freely.

Common report has swelled the number of malefactors executed through his
means to no less than one hundred and twenty; certain it is that they
were very numerous in reality as in his own reckoning. The most
remarkable of them were these: White, Thurland, and Dunn, executed for
the murder of Mrs. Knap, and robbing Thomas Mickletwait, Esq.; James
Lincoln and Robert Wilkinson, for robbing and murdering Peter Martin,
the Chelsea Pensioner (but it must be noted that they denied the murder
even with their last breath); James Shaw, convicted by Jonathan, for the
murder of Mr. Pots, though he had been apprehended by others; Humphrey
Angier, who died for robbing Mr. Lewin, the City Marshal; John Levee and
Matthew Flood, for robbing the Honourable Mr. Young and Colonel Cope, of
a watch and other things of value; Richard Oakey, for robbing of Mr.
Betts, in Fig Lane; John Shepherd and Joseph Blake, for breaking the
house of Mr. Kneebone; with many others, some of which, such as John
Malony and Val Carrick, were of an older date.

It has been said that there was a considerable sum of money due to him
for his share in the apprehension of several felonies at the very time
of his death, which happened, as I have told you, at Tyburn, on Monday,
the 24th day of May, 1725; he being then about forty-two years of age.

[Illustration: JONATHAN WILD PELTED BY THE MOB ON HIS WAY TO TYBURN

(_From the Newgate Calendar_)]

FOOTNOTES:

[61] A few additional particulars concerning Wild may be of
interest. Soon after he came to London he opened a brothel in
the infamous Lewkenor's Lane, in partnership with Mary Milliner;
after a time they quitted it to take an alehouse in Cock Alley,
Cripplegate. He then drifted into business as a receiver and
instigator of thefts, organizing regular gangs which operated in
every branch of the thieving trade. On account of the number of
criminals he brought to justice (as a result of their disloyalty
to himself) the authorities winked at and tolerated his
proceedings; and in January, 1724, he had the impudence to
petition for the freedom of the City, as some recognition for
the good services he had rendered in this direction. A few
months later, however, his reputation became sadly blown upon,
and in January, 1725, he was implicated in an affair with one of
his minions, a sailor named Johnson, who had been arrested and
had appealed to Wild for help. A riot was engineered, in which
Johnson made his escape, but information was laid against the
thief-taker, himself, who, after lying in hiding for three
weeks, was arrested and committed to Newgate, which he only left
to attend his trial and to take his last ride to Tyburn.

[62] A well-known tavern in Old Bailey.

[63] This was the Poultry Compter.

[64] Her name was really Statham.

[65] See page 418.

[66] Soon after burial his body was disinterred and the head
and body separated. Wild's skull and the skeleton of his trunk
were exhibited publicly as late as 1860.




The Life of JOHN LITTLE, a Housebreaker and Thief


The papers which I have in relation to this malefactor speak nothing
with regard to his parents and education. The first thing that I with
concerning him is his being at sea, where he was at the time my Lord
Torrington, then Sir George Byng, went up the Mediterranean, as also in
my Lord Cobham's expedition to Vigo; and in these expeditions he got
such a knack of plundering that he could never bring himself afterwards
to thinking it was a sin to plunder anybody. This wicked principle he
did not fail to put in practice by stealing everything he could lay his
hands on, when he afterwards went into Sweden in a merchant-ship.
Indeed, there is too common a case for men who have been inured to
robbing and maltreating an enemy, now and then to receive the same
talents at home, and make free with the subjects of their own Sovereign
as they did with those of the enemy. Weak minds sometimes do not really
so well apprehend the difference, but thieve under little apprehension
of sin, provided they can escape the gallows; others of better
understanding acquire such an appetite to rapine that they are not
afterwards able to lay it aside; so that I cannot help observing that it
would be more prudent for officers to encourage their men to do their
duty against the enemy from generous motives of serving their country
and vindicating its rights, rather than proposing the hopes of gain, and
the reward arising from destroying those unhappy wretches who fall under
their power. But enough of this, and perhaps too much here; let us
return again to him of whom we are now speaking.

When he came home into England, he fell into bad company, particularly
of John Bewle, _alias_ Hanley, and one Belcher, who it is to be supposed
inclined him by idle discourse first to look upon robbing as a very
entertaining employment, in which they met with abundance of pleasure,
and might, with a little care, avoid all the danger. This was language
very likely to work upon Little's disposition, who had a great
inclination to all sorts of debauchery, and no sort of religious
principles to check him. Over above all this he was unhappily married to
a woman of the same ways of living, one who got her bread by walking the
streets and picking of pockets. Therefore, instead of persuading her
husband to quit such company as she saw him inclined to follow, on the
contrary she encouraged, prompted and offered her assistance in the
expedition she knew they were going about.

Thus Little's road to destruction lay open for him to rush into without
any let or the least check upon his vicious inclinations.

He and his wicked companions became very busy in the practice of their
employment. They disturbed most of the roads near London, and were
particularly good customers to Sadler's Wells, Belsize,[67] and the rest
of the little places of junketting and entertainment which are most
frequented in the neighbourhood of this Metropolis. Their method upon
such occasions was to observe who was drunkest, and to watch such
persons when they came out, suffering them to walk a little before them
till they came to a proper place; then jostling them and picking a
quarrel with them, they fell to fighting, and in conclusion picked their
pockets, snatched their hats and wigs, or took any other methods that
were the most likely to obtain something wherewith to support their
riots in which they spent every night.

At last, finding their incomings not so large as they expected, they
took next to housebreaking, in which they had found somewhat better
luck. But their expenses continuing still too large for even their
numerous booties to supply them, they were continually pushed upon
hazarding their lives, and hardly had any respite from the crimes they
committed, which, as they grew numerous, made them the more known and
consequently increased their danger, those who make it their business to
apprehend such people having had intelligence of most of them, which is
generally the first step in the road to Hyde Park Corner.[68]

It is remarkable that the observation which most of all shocks thieves,
and convinces them at once both of the certainty and justice of a
Providence is this, that the money which they amass by such unrighteous
dealings never thrives with them; that though they thieve continually,
they are, notwithstanding that, always in want, pressed on every side
with fears and dangers, and never at liberty from the uneasy
apprehensions of having incurred the displeasure of God, as well as run
themselves into the punishments inflicted by the law. To these general
terrors there was added, to Little, the distracting fears of a discovery
from the rash and impetuous tempers of his associates, who were
continually defrauding one another in their shares of the booty, and
then quarrelling, fighting, threatening, and what not, till Little
sometimes at the expense of his own allotment, reconciled and put them
in humour.

Nor were his fatal conjectures on this head without cause; for Bewle,
though as Little always declared he had drawn him into such practices,
put him into an information he made for the sake of procuring a pardon.
A few days after, Little was taken into custody, and at the next
sessions indicted for breaking open the house of one Mr. Deer, and
taking from thence several parcels of goods expressed in the indictment.
Upon this trial the prosecutor swore to the loss of his goods and Bewle,
who had been a confederate in the robbery, gave testimony as to the
manner in which they were taken. As he was conscious of his guilt,
Little made a very poor defence, pretending that he was utterly
unacquainted with this Bewle, hoping that if he could persuade the jury
to that, the prosecutor's evidence (as it did not affect him personally)
might not convict him. But his hope was vain, for Bewle confirmed what
he said by so many circumstances that the jury gave credit to his
testimony, and thereupon found the prisoners guilty. Little, though he
entertained scarce any hopes of success, moved the Court earnestly to
grant transportation; but as they gave him no encouragement upon the
motion, so it must be acknowledged that he did not amuse himself with
any vain expectations.

During the time he remained under conviction, he behaved with great
marks of penitence, assisted constantly at the public devotions in the
chapel, and often prayed fervently in the place where he was confined;
he made no scruple of owning the falsehood of what he had asserted upon
his trial, and acknowledging the justice of that sentence which doomed
him to death. He seemed to be under a very great concern lest his wife,
who was addicted to such practices, should follow him to the same place;
in order to prevent which, as far as it lay in his power, he wrote to
her in the most pressing terms he was able, intreating her to take
notice of that melancholy condition in which he then lay, miserable
through the wants under which he suffered, and still more miserable from
the apprehensions of a shameful death, and the fear of being plunged
also into everlasting torment. Having finished this letter, he began to
withdraw his thoughts as much as possible from this world, and to fix
them wholly where they ought to have been placed throughout his life;
praying to God for His assistance, and endeavouring to render himself
worthy of it by a sincere repentance. In fine, as he had been enormously
wicked through the course of his life, so he was extraordinarily
penitent throughout the course of his misfortunes, deeply affected from
the apprehensions of temporal punishment, but apparently more afflicted
with the sense of his sins, and the fear of that punishment which the
justice of Almighty God might inflict upon him. Therefore, to the day of
his execution, he employed every moment in crying for mercy, and with
wonderful piety and resignation submitted to that death which the law
had appointed for his offences; on the 13th of September, 1725, at
Tyburn. As to his own age, that I am not able to say anything of, it not
being mentioned in the papers before me.

FOOTNOTES:

[67] See note, page 243.

[68] That is, Tyburn tree.




The Life of JOHN PRICE, a Housebreaker and Thief[69]


Amongst the ordinary kind of people in England, debauchery is so common,
and the true principles of honesty and a just life so little understood,
that we need not be surprised at the numerous sessions we see so often
held in a year at the Old Bailey, and the multitudes which in
consequence of them are yearly executed at Tyburn. Fraud, which is only
robbery within the limits of the Law, is at this time of day (especially
amongst the common people) thought a sign of wit, and esteemed as fair a
branch of their calling as their labours. Mechanics of all sorts
practise it without showing any great concern to hide it, especially
from their own family, in which, on the contrary, they encourage and
admire it. Instead of being reproved for their first essays in
dishonesty, their children are called smart boys, and their tricks
related to neighbours and visitors as proofs of their genius and spirit.
Yet when the lads proceed in the same way, after being grown up a
little, nothing too harsh, or too severe can be inflicted upon them in
the opinion of these parents, as if cheating at chuck, and filching of
marbles were not as real crimes in children of eight years old, as
stealing of handkerchiefs and picking of pockets, in boys of thirteen or
fourteen. But with the vulgar, 'tis the punishment annexed to it, and
not the crime, that is dreaded; and the commandments against stealing
and murder would be as readily broke as those against swearing and
Sabbath-breaking, if the civil power had not set up a gallows at the end
of them.

John Price, of whom we are now to speak, has very little preserved
concerning him in the memoirs that lie before me; all that I am able to
say of him is that by employment he was a sailor. In the course of his
voyages he had addicted himself to gratifying such inclinations as he
had towards drink or women, without the least concern as to the
consequences, here or hereafter; he said, indeed, that falling sick at
Oporto, in Portugal, and becoming very weak and almost incapable of
moving himself, the fear of death gave him apprehensions of what the
Justice of God might inflict on him through the number and heinousness
of his sins. This at last made so great an impression on his mind that
he put up a solemn vow to God of thorough repentance and amendment, if
it should please Him to raise him once more from the bed of sickness,
and restore him again to his former health. But when he had recovered,
his late good intentions were forgotten, and the evil examples he had
before his eyes of his companions, who, according to the custom of
Portugal, addicted themselves to all sorts of lewdness and debauchery,
prevailed. He returned like the dog to the vomit, and his last state was
worse than his first.

On his return into England he had still a desire towards the same
sensual enjoyments, was ever coveting debauches of drink, accompanied
with the conversation of lewd women; but caring little for labour, and
finding no honest employment to support these expenses into which his
lusts obliged him to run, he therefore abandoned all thoughts of
honesty, and took to thieving as the proper method of supporting him in
his pleasures. When this resolution was once taken, it was no difficult
thing to find companions to engage with him, houses to receive him, and
women to caress him. On the contrary, it seemed difficult for him to
choose out of the number offered, and as soon as he had made the choice,
he and his associates fell immediately into the practice of that
miserable trade they had chosen.

How long they continued to practice it before they fell into the hands
of Justice, I am not able to say, but from several circumstances it
seems probable that there was no long time intervening; for Price, in
company with Sparks and James Cliff, attempted the house of the Duke of
Leeds, and thrusting up the sash-window James Cliff was put into the
parlour and handed out some things to Price and Sparks. But it seems
they were seen by Mr. Best, and upon their being apprehended, Cliff
confessed the whole affair, owned that it was concerted between them,
and that himself handed out the things to his companions, Price and
Sparks.

At the ensuing sessions, Price was tried for that offence, and upon the
evidence of Mr. Best, the confession of James Cliff, and Benjamin Bealin
deposing that he himself, at the time of his being apprehended,
acknowledged that he had been in company with Cliff and Sparks, the jury
found him guilty, as they did Cliff also, upon his own confession. Under
sentence he seemed to have a just sense of his preceding wicked life,
and was under no small apprehensions concerning his repentance, since it
was forced and not voluntary. However, the Ordinary having satisfied his
scruples of this sort, as far as he was able, recommended it to him
without oppressing his conscience with curious fears and unnecessary
scruples, to apply himself to prayer and other duties of a dying man. To
this he seemed inclinable enough, but complained that James Cliff, who
was in the condemned hold, prevented both him and the rest of the
criminals from their duty, by extravagant speeches, wild and profane
expressions, raving after the woman he had conversed with, and abusing
everybody who came near him, which partly arose from the temper of that
unhappy person, and was also owing to indisposition of body, as all the
while he lay in the hole he was labouring under a high fever. Another
great misfortune to Price, in the condition in which he was, consisted
in his incapacity to supply the want of ministers through his incapacity
of reading; however, he endeavoured to make up for it as well as he
could by attending constantly at chapel, and not only behaving gravely
at prayers, but listening attentively at sermon, by which means he
constantly brought away a great part, and sometimes lost very little out
of his memory of what he heard there.

In a word, all the criminals who were at this time under sentence
(excepting Cliff) seemed perfectly disposed to make a just use of that
time which the peculiar clemency of the English Law affords to
malefactors, that they may make their peace with God, and by their
sufferings under the hands of men, prevent eternal condemnation. They
expressed, also, a great satisfaction that their crimes were of an
ordinary kind and occasioned no staring and whispering when they came to
chapel, a thing they were very much afraid of, inasmuch as it would have
hindered their devotions, and discomposed the frame of their minds.

At the same time with Price, there lay under condemnation one Woolridge,
who was convicted for entering the house of Elizabeth Fell, in the night
time, with a felonious intent to take away the goods of Daniel Brooks;
but it seems he was apprehended before he could so much as open the
chest he had designed to rob. The thieves in Newgate usually take upon
them to be very learned in the Law, especially in respect to what
relates to evidence, and they had persuaded this unhappy man that no
evidence which could be produced against him would affect his life.
There is no doubt, but his conviction came therefore upon him with
greater surprise, and certain it is that such practices are of the
utmost ill consequence to those unhappy malefactors. However, when he
found that death was inevitable, by degrees he began to reconcile
himself thereto; and as he happened to be the only one amongst the
criminals who could read, so with great diligence he applied himself to
supply that deficiency in his fellow-prisoners. Even after he was seized
with sickness, which brought him exceedingly low, he ceased not to
strive against the weakness of the body, that he might do good to his
fellow-convicts.

In a word, no temptation to drink, nor the desire of pleasing those who
vend it[70], circumstances which too often induce others in that
condition to be guilty of strange enormities, ever had force enough to
obtrude on them more than was necessary to support life, and to keep up
such a supply of spirits as enabled them to perform their duties; from
whence it happened that the approach of death did not affect them with
any extraordinary fear, but both suffered with resignation on the same
day with the former criminals at Tyburn.

FOOTNOTES:

[69] See page 230.

[70] The gaolers and others in prisons had an interest in
furnishing prisoners with liquor and not only looked askance at
those who refused but made it highly uncomfortable for all who
avoided debauchery.




The Life of FOSTER SNOW, a Murderer


There cannot be anything more dangerous in our conduct through human
life, than a too ready compliance with any inclination of the mind,
whether it be lustful or of an irascible nature. Either transports us on
the least check into wicked extravagancies, which are fatal in their
consequences, and suddenly overwhelm us with both shame and ruin. There
is hardly a page in any of these volumes, but carries in it examples
which are so many strong proofs of the veracity of this observation. But
with respect to the criminal we are now speaking of, he is a yet more
extraordinary case than any of the rest; and therefore I shall in the
course of my relation, make such remarks as to me seem more likely to
render his misfortunes, and my account of them, useful to my readers.

Foster Snow was the son of very honest and reputable parents, who gave
him an education suitable to their station in life, and which was also
the same they intended to breed him up to, viz., that of a gardener, in
which capacity, or as a butler, he served abundance of persons of
quality, with an untainted reputation. About fourteen years before the
time of his death, he married and set up an alehouse, wherein his
conduct was such that he gained the esteem and respect of his
neighbours, being a man who was without any great vices, except only
passions, in which he too much indulged himself. Whenever he was in
drink, he would launch out into unaccountable extravagancies both in
words and actions. However, it is likely that this proceeded in a great
measure from family uneasiness, which undoubtedly had for a long time
discomposed him before committing that murder for which he died. Though,
when sober, he might have wisdom enough to conceal his resentment, yet
when the fumes of wine had clouded his reason, he (as it is no uncommon
case) gave vent to his passion, and treated with undistinguished
surliness all who came in his way.

Now, as to the source of these domestic discontents, it is apparent from
the papers I have that they were partly occasioned by family
mismanagement, and partly from the haughty and impudent carriage of the
unfortunate person who fell by his hands; for it seems the woman who
Snow married had a daughter by a former husband This daughter she
brought home to live with the deceased Mr. Snow, who was so far from
being angry therewith, or treating her with the coldness which is usual
to fathers-in-law, that, on the contrary, he gave her the sole direction
of his house, put everything into her hands, and was so fond of the
young daughter she had, that greater tenderness could not have been
shown to the child if she had been his own.

It seems the deceased Mr. Rawlins had found a way to ingratiate himself
with both the mother and the daughter, but especially the latter, so
that although his circumstances were not extraordinary, they gave him
very extensive credit; and as he had a family of children, they
sometimes suffered them to get little matters about their house; and
thereby so effectually entailed them upon them, that at last they were
never out of it.

Mr. Snow, it seems, took umbrage at this, and spared not to tell Mr.
Rawlins flatly, that he did not desire he should come thither, which was
frequently answered by the other in opprobrious and under-valuing terms,
which gave Mr. Snow uneasiness enough, considering that the man at the
same time owed him money; and this carriage on both sides having
continued for a pretty while, and broken out in several instances, it at
last made Mr. Snow so uneasy that he could not forbear expressing his
resentment to his wife and family. But it had little effect, they went
on still at the same rate; Mr. Rawlins was frequently at the house, his
children received no less assistance there than before, and in short,
everything went on in such a manner that poor Mr. Snow had enough to
aggravate the suspicions which he entertained.

At last it unfortunately happened that he, having got a little more
liquor in his head than ordinary, when Mr. Rawlins came into the house,
he asked him for money, and upbraided him with his treatment in very
harsh terms, to which the other making no less gross replies, it kindled
such a resentment in this unfortunate man that, after several threats
which sufficiently expressed the rancour of his disposition, he snatched
up a case knife, and pursuing the unfortunate Mr. Rawlins, gave him
therewith a mortal wound, of which he instantly died. For this fact he
was apprehended and committed to Newgate.

At the next sessions he was indicted, first for the murder of Thomas
Rawlins, by giving him with a knife a mortal wound of the breadth of an
inch, and of the depth of seven inches, whereby he immediately expired;
he was a second time indicted on the Statute of Stabbing[71]; and a
third time also on the coroner's inquest, for the same offence. Upon
each of the which indictments the evidence was so dear that the jury,
notwithstanding some witnesses which he called to his reputation, and
which indeed deposed that he was a very civil and honest, and peaceable
neighbour, found him guilty on them all, and he thereupon received
sentence of death.

In passing this sentence, the then deputy-recorder, Mr. Faby, took
particular notice of the heinousness of the crime of murder, and
expatiated on the equity of the Divine Law, whereby it was required that
he who had shed man's blood, by man should his blood be shed; and from
thence took occasion to warn the prisoner from being misled into any
delusive hopes of pardon, since the nature of his offence was such as he
could not reasonably expect it from the Royal breast, which had ever
been cautious of extending mercy to those who had denied it unto their
fellow-subjects.

Under sentence of death this unhappy man behaved himself very devoutly,
and with many signs of true penitence. He was, from the first, very
desirous to acquaint himself with the true nature of that crime which he
had committed, and finding it at once repugnant to religion, and
contrary to even the dictates of human nature, he began to loath himself
and his own cruelty, crying out frequently when alone. _Oh! Murder!
Murder! it is the guilt of that great sin which distracts my soul._ When
at chapel he attended with great devotion to the duties of prayer and
service there; but whenever the Commandments came to be repeated, at the
words, _Thou shalt do no murder_, he would tremble, turn pale, shed
tears, and with a violent agitation of spirit pray to God to pardon him
that great offence.

To say truth never any man seemed to have a truer sense or a more quick
feeling of his crimes, than this unhappy man testified during his
confinement. His heart was so far from being hardened, as is too
commonly the case with those wretches who fall into the same condition,
that he, on the contrary, afflicted himself continually and without
ceasing, as fearing that all his penitence would be but too little in
the sight of God, for destroying His creature and taking away a life
which he could not restore. Amidst these apprehensions, covered with
terrors and sinking under the weight of his afflictions, he received
spiritual assistance of the Ordinary and other ministers, with much
meekness, and it is to be hoped with great benefit; since they
encouraged him to rely on the Mercy of God, and not by an unseasonable
diffidence to add the throwing away his own soul by despair, to the
taking away the life of another in his wrath.

What added to the heavy load of his sorrows, was the unkindness of his
wife, who neither visited him in his misfortunes, and administered but
indifferently to his wants. It seems the quarrels they had, had so
embittered them towards one another that very little of that friendship
was to be seen in either, which makes the marriage bond easy and the
yoke of matrimony light. His complaints with respect to her occasioned
some enquiries as to whether he were not jealous of her person; such
suspicions being generally the cause of married people's greatest
dislikes. What he spoke on this head was exceedingly modest, far from
that rancour which might have been expected from a man whom the world
insinuated had brought himself to death by a too violent resentment of
what related to her conduit; though no such thing appeared from what he
declared to those who attended him. He said he was indeed uneasy at the
too large credit she gave to the deceased, but that it was her purse
only that he entertained suspicions of, and that as he was a dying man,
he had no ill thought of her in any other way. But with regard to his
daughter, he expressed a very great dislike to her behaviour, and said
her conduct had been such as forced her husband to leave her; and that
though he had treated her with the greatest kindness and affection, yet
such was the untowardness of her disposition that he had received but
very sorry returns. However, to the last he expressed great uneasiness
lest after his decease his little grand-daughter-in-law might suffer in
her education, of which he had intended to take the greatest care; his
dislike to the mother being far enough from giving him any aversion to
the child. It seems from the time he had taken it home he had placed his
affections strongly upon it, and did not withdraw them even to the hour
of his departure.

As death grew near, he was afflicted with a violent disease, which
reduced him so low that he was incapable of coming to the chapel; and
when it abated a little it yet left his head so weak that he seemed to
be somewhat distracted, crying out in chapel the Sunday before he died,
like one grievously disturbed in mind, and expressing the greatest
agonies under the apprehension of his own guilt, and the strict justice
of Him to whom he was shortly to answer. However, he forgave with all
outward appearance of sincerity, all who had been in any degree
accessory to his death.

Being carried in a mourning coach to the place of execution, he appeared
somewhat more composed than he had been for some time before. He told
the people that, except the crime for which he died, he had never been
guilty of anything which might bring him within the fear of meeting with
such a death. And in this disposition of mind he suffered at Tyburn, on
the 3rd day of November, 1725, being about fifty-five years of age.
Immediately after his death a paper was published under the title of his
case, full of circumstances tending to extenuate his guilt but such as
in no way appeared upon his trial.

The Court of Old Bailey at the next sessions taking this paper into
their consideration, were of opinion that it reflected highly on the
justice of those who tried him, and therefore ordered the printer to
attend them to answer for this offence. Accordingly he attended the next
day, and being told that the Court was highly displeased with his
publishing a thing of that nature, in order to misrepresent the justice
of their proceedings, and that they were ready to punish him for his
contempt in the aforesaid publication of such a libel; Mr. Leech thought
fit to prevent it by making his most humble submission, and asking
pardon of the Court for his offence, assuring them that it proceeded
only from inadvertency, and promising never to print anything of the
like sort again. Whereupon the Court were graciously pleased to dismiss
him only with a reprimand, and to admonish others of the same
profession, that they should be cautious for the future of doing
anything which might reflect in any degree upon the proceedings had
before them.

FOOTNOTES:

[71] See note, page 218.




The Life of JOHN WHALEBONE, _alias_ WELBONE, a Thief, etc.