bread after the infamous manner of the inmates of Drury. These two Marys
used to walk together between Temple Bar and Ludgate Hill, where
sometimes they met with foolish young fellows out of whom they got
considerable sums, though at other times their adventures produced so
little that they were obliged to part with almost every rag of clothes
they had; nay, they were now and then reduced so low that one was
obliged to stay at home while the other went out.

Mary Rawlins, contrary to the rules established amongst the sisterhood,
married a man who had been a Life-Guardsman, and so was obliged to
remove her lodgings to go with him into a little court near King
Street, Westminster. Some of my readers may perhaps imagine that either
her love for her husband, or the fear of his authority, might work a
reformation, but therein they would be highly mistaken for he proposed
no other end to himself than plundering her of those presents she
received from gallants, so that whenever evening drew on, he was very
assiduous for her to turn out (as they phrase it), that is to go upon
the street-walking account picking pockets. She had not followed this
trade long before she became so uneasy under it that one night meeting
with her old companion Standford, she persuaded her to remove into a new
quarter of the town, whither she fled to her from her husband. They
there carried on their intrigues together, and lived much more at their
ease then they had done before; for being now got towards Wapping, they
drew in the sailors when they had any money to part with for their
favours, and getting into acquaintance with some navy solicitors, they
found means to raise them cash, at the rate of 60 per cent. to the
broker, and as much to the whore.

Thus they lived till Standford took it in her head to serve her partner
as she had done her before, for finding a man mad enough to marry her,
she was fool enough to consent to the marriage. But after living with
the man for about a year, she repented her bargain, and left him, as
Rawlins had done hers. Some time after this she contracted an
acquaintance with another man, at that time servant to a person in the
City. By him she had a child, which as it increased her necessary
expense, so it plunged her into the greater difficulty of knowing how to
supply it. However, fancying her gains would be larger if she plied by
herself, she totally left the company of her former associates, and
applied herself with an infamous industry to her shameful trade of
prostitution.

Not long after she had entered upon this single method of
street-walking, she fell into the company of a gentleman who was more
than ordinary amorous of her, and who after treating her with a supper,
lay with her, and (as she said) gave her four guineas; but he on the
contrary charged her with picking his pocket of a shagreen book, a silk
handkerchief, and the money before mentioned. For this fact she was
committed to Newgate, and soon after tried and convicted,
notwithstanding her excuse of the man bestowing it on her as a present.

After she had received sentence, some of her friends gave her hopes of
having it changed into a transportation pardon, but this she rejected
utterly, declaring that she had rather die not only the most
ignominious, but the most cruel death that could be invented at home,
rather than be sent abroad to slave for her living. Such strange
apprehensions enter into the head of these unhappy creatures, and
hinder them from taking the advantage of the only possibility they have
left of tasting happiness on this side of the grave; and as this
aversion to the plantations has so bad effects, especially in making the
convicts desirous of escaping from the vessel, or of flying out of the
country whither they were sent, almost before they have seen it, I am
surprised that no care has been taken to print a particular and
authentic account of the manner in which they are treated in those
places. I know it may be suggested that the terror of such usage as they
are represented to meet with there has often a good effect in diverting
them from such acts as they know must bring them to transportation; yet
though I confess I have heard this more than once repeated, yet I am far
from being convinced, and I am thoroughly satisfied that instead of
magnifying the miseries of their pretended slavery, or rather of
inventing stories that make a very easy service pass on these unhappy
creatures for the severest bondage, the convicts should be told the true
state of the case, and be put in mind that instead of suffering death,
the lenity of our Constitution permitted them to be removed into another
climate no way inferior to that in which they were born, where they were
to perform no harder tasks than those who work honestly for their bread
in England do. And this, not under persons of another nation, who might
treat them with less humanity, but with those who are no less English
for their living in the New, than if they dwelt in Old England, people
famous for their humanity, justice, and, piety,[76] and amongst whom
they are sure of meeting with no variation of manners, customs, etc.,
unless in respect of the progress of their vices which are at present
more numerous there than in their motherland. I say if pains were taken
to instil into these unhappy persons such notions, at the same time
demonstrating to them that from being exposed either to want and
necessity from the loss they had sustained of this reputation, and being
thereby under a kind of force in following their old courses, and as
soon as discharged from the fears of death (supposing a free pardon
could be procured) obliged to run a like hazard immediately after, they
might probably conceive justly of that clemency which is extended
towards them, and instead of shunning transportation, flying from the
country where they are landed as soon as they have set their foot in
them, or neglecting opportunities they might have on their first coming
there, and be brought to serve their masters faithfully, to endure the
time of their service cheerfully, and settle afterwards in the best
manner they are able, so as to pass the close of their life in an
honest, easy and reputable manner. Now it too often happens that their
last end is worse than their first, because those who return from
transportation being sure of death if apprehended, are led thereby to
behave themselves worse and more cruelly than any malefactors,
whatsoever.

But to return to Mary Standford, who led us into this digression. She
showed little or no regard for anything; no, not even for her own child,
who, she said, she hoped would be well taken care of by the parish, and
added that she had been a great sinner, for which she hoped God would
forgive her, praying as well as she could, both while under sentence and
at the place of execution. She declared that she bore no malice either
against her prosecutor, or any other person, and in this disposition she
finished her life at Tyburn, the same day with the afore-mentioned
malefactors, being at that time near thirty-six years of age.

FOOTNOTES:

[76] A New Hampshire law regulating the behaviour of masters
towards their white servants enacts, "if any man smite out the
eye or tooth of his manservant or maid-servant or otherwise maim
or disfigure them much, unless it be mere casualty, he shall let
him or her go free from his service and shall allow such further
recompense as the Court of Quarter Sessions shall adjudge them."
A good example of New England humanity and justice.




The Life of JOHN CARTWRIGHT, a Thief


This unhappy young man was born in Yorkshire, of a tolerable family, who
had been sufficiently careful in having him instructed in whatever was
necessary for a person of his condition, breeding him up to all works of
husbandry in general, and also qualifying him in every respect for a
gentleman's service; in one of which capacities they were in hopes he
would not find it difficult to get his bread. He lived with several
persons in the country with unspotted reputation, until at last a whim
came into his head of coming up to London. An uncle of his procured him
a very good service with one Mr. Charvin, a mercer in Paternoster Row,
with whom he Stayed for some time with great satisfaction on both sides;
for his master was highly pleased with the careful industry of the young
man's temper, and Cartwright on the other side had not the least reason
to complain, considering the great kindness and indulgence with which he
was used. But some young fellows of loose principles taking notice of
Cartwright's easy and tractable temper, quickly drew him into becoming
fond of their company and conversation.

Every other Sunday he was permitted to go out where he would, until nine
o'clock at night, and these young fellows meeting at a fine alehouse
not far from his master's house, whither they began to bring Yorkshire
John (as they called him), there they usually ran over the description
of the diversions of the town, and of those places round it which are
most remarkable for the resort of company. These were new scenes to poor
John, who was unacquainted with any representation better than a puppet
show, or recreation of a superior nature to bullbaitings at a country
fair; and therefore his thoughts were extremely taken up with all he
heard, and his companions were so obliging that they took abundance of
pains to satisfy such questions as he asked them, and were often
soliciting him to go and partake with them at plays, dancing-bouts, and
all the various divertisements to which young unthinking youths are
addicted. He wanted not many intreaties to comply with their request,
but money, the main ingredient in such delights, was wanting, and of
this he at last acknowledged the deficiency to one of the young men his
companions. This fellow took no notice of it at that time, farther than
to wish he had more, and to tell him that a young man of his spirit
ought never to be without and that there were ways and means enough to
get it, if a man had not as much cash as courage.

He repeated these insinuations often, without explaining them at all,
until frequent stories of the fine sights at the theatres and elsewhere
had so far raised poor John's curiosity that one evening he entreated
his companion to let him into the bottom of what he meant. The cunning
villain turned it at first into a jest and continued to banter him about
his being a country put, and so forth, until he perceived it was past
twelve o'clock, and knew that it was too late for him to get in at home;
then he told him that if he promised never to reveal it, he would tell
him what he meant. John being full of liquor swore he would not, and the
other replied, _Why, here you stand complaining of the want of money,
while I warrant you, there's a hundred or two pounds in your master's
drawer under the counter. Maybe there may_, said Cartwright, _but what's
that to me? Nay_, replied the other, _nothing, if you have not the
courage to go and fetch it; why now, you can get in I'm sure. Come, I'll
put you in a way of never being taken._

Cartwright, who was half drunk, remembered that there was a parcel of
gold in the drawer, and that it was in his power to get at a silver
watch and some plate, so that he fatally yielded to the temptations of
his companion, and thereupon the next morning, conveyed to him the
watch, fourscore pounds in money, and three silver spoons. They shared
the greatest part of the booty, of which Cartwright was quickly cheated,
and though he fled with the remainder as far as Monmouthshire, in Wales,
yet some way or other he was there detected, committed prisoner to the
county gaol and then sent up to London, where a few days after his
arrival he was tried and convicted.

Never poor wretch suffered deeper affliction than he did, in the
reflection of his follies, for giving up all hopes of life, he spent the
whole interval of time between sentence and execution in grieving for
the sorrows he had brought upon himself and the stain his ignominious
death would leave upon his family. His companion, in the meantime, was
fled far enough out of the reach of Justice, so that Cartwright had
nothing to expect but death to which he patiently submitted,
acknowledging upon all occasions the justice of that sentence which had
befallen him, and wishing that his death might be sufficient to warn
other young men in such circumstances, as his once were, from falling
into faults of that kind, which had brought him to ruin and shame. Yet
though he laid aside all desires relating to worldly things, he yet
expressed a little peevishness from the neglect shown towards him by his
friends in the country, who though they knew well enough of his
misfortunes, yet they absolutely declined doing anything for him, from a
notion perhaps that it might reflect upon themselves. Above all things
Cartwright manifested a due sense of the ingratitude he had been guilty
of towards so good a master as the gentleman whom he robbed had been to
him, he therefore prayed for his prosperity, even with his last breath,
and declared he died without malice or ill-will against any person
whatsoever.

At the place of his execution he attended very devoutly to the prayers,
but did not say anything to the people more than to beg of them to take
warning by him, after the rope was fixed about his neck. He was executed
at Tyburn, on Monday, the 21st of September, 1726, being then about
twenty-three years of age, a remarkable instance of how far youth, even
of the best principles, is liable to be corrupted, if they are not
carefully watched over and may justify those restraints which parents
and masters, from a just apprehension of things, put upon their children
or servants.




The Life of FRANCES, _alias_ MARY BLACKET, a Highwaywoman


Nothing deserves observation more than the resolution, or rather
obstinacy, with which some criminals deny the facts they have committed,
though ever so evidently proved against them. There are two evils which
follow from a hasty judgment formed from this consideration; the first
is, that people either instigated through malice, or rashly and by
mistake, swear against innocent persons from a presumption that nobody
would be so wicked as to die with a lie in their mouths; the other fault
consists in imagining that the prosecutor is never in the wrong, but
believing that covetousness or revenge can never bring people to such a
pitch as to take away the life of another to gain money, or glut their
passions. Our experience convinces us that either of these notions taken
generally is wrong in itself, and that even as many have died in the
profession of falsehoods, so some have suffered though innocent of the
crime for which they died. The true use, therefore, of this reflection
is that where life is concerned, too much care cannot be taken to sift
the truth, since appearances often deceive us and circumstances are
sometimes strong where the evidence, if the whole affair were known,
would be but weak.

Mary Blacket, which was the real name of this unfortunate woman, was the
daughter of very mean parents, who yet were so careful of her education
that they brought her up to read and write tolerably well, and to do
everything which could be expected from a household servant, which was
the best station they ever expected she would arrive at. When she grew
big enough to go out, they procured for her a service in which as well
as in several others, while a single woman, she lived with very good
reputation. After this she married a sailor, and for all her neighbours
knew, lived by hard working while he was abroad. Then on a sudden she
was taken up and committed to Newgate, for assaulting William Whittle,
in the highway, and taking from him a watch value £4, and sixpence in
money, on the 6th of August, 1726.

When sessions came on, the prosecutor appeared and swore the fact
positively upon her, whereupon the jury found her guilty, though at the
bar she declared with abundance of asseverations that she never was
guilty of anything of that sort in her life, and insisted on it that the
man was mistaken in her face. While under sentence of death, she behaved
herself with great devotion, and seemed to express no concern at leaving
the world, excepting her only apprehensions that her child would neither
be taken care of nor educated so well after her decease, at the charge
of the parish, as hitherto it had been. Yet with respect to the crime
for which she was to die, she still continued to profess her innocency
thereof, averring that she had never been concerned in injuring anybody
by theft, and charging the oath of the prosecutor wholly upon his
mistake, and not upon wilful design to do her prejudice. At chapel, as
well as in the place of her confinement, she declared she absolutely
forgave him who had brought her to that ignominious end, as freely as
she hoped forgiveness from her Creator; and with these professions she
left the world at Tyburn, on the same day with the before-mentioned
malefactor, being then about thirty-four years of age, persisting even
at the place of execution in the denial of the fact.




The Life of JANE HOLMES, _alias_ BARRET, _alias_ FRAZER, a Shoplifter


In the summer of the year 1726, shoplifting became so common a practice,
and so detrimental to the shopkeepers, that they made an application to
the Government for assistance in apprehending the offenders; and in
order thereto, offered a reward and a pardon for any who would discover
their associates in such practices. It was not long before by their
vigilance and warmth in carrying on the prosecution, they seized and
committed several of the most notorious shoplifters about town, and at
the next several ensuing sessions convicted six or seven of them, which
seems to have pretty well broke the neck of this branch of thieving ever
since.

The malefactor of whom we are now speaking pretended to have been the
daughter of a gentleman of some rank in a northern county. Certain it is
that the woman had had a tolerable education, and neither in her person,
nor in her behaviour betrayed anything of vulgar birth. Yet those whom
she called her nearest relations absolutely disowned her on her
application to them, and would not be prevailed on to take any steps
whatsoever in order to procure her a reprieve.

When between fifteen and sixteen years old, she came up to London to her
aunt, as she asserted, much against the will of her relations. At that
time she was not ugly, and therefore a young man in the neighbourhood
began to be very assiduous in his courtship to her, hoping also that the
persons she talked of, as her father and brothers in the country, would
give him a sum of money to set up his trade. Miss Jenny was a forward
lass, and the fellow being a spruce young spark, soon prevailed over her
affections, and they were accordingly privately married, though it
proved not much to her advantage. For her husband finding no money come,
began to use her indifferently, upon which she fell into that sort of
business which goes under the name of a Holland's Trader, and gave the
best opportunities of vending goods that are ill come by, at a
tolerable price, and with little danger.

Whether in the life-time of this husband or afterwards, I cannot say,
but she fell into the acquaintance of the famous Jonathan Wild, and
possibly received some of his instructions in managing her affairs in
the disposal of stolen goods; but as Jonathan's friendships were mostly
fatal, so in about a year's time afterwards she was apprehended upon
that score, and shortly after was tried and convicted, and thereupon
ordered for transportation. She continued abroad for two years or
somewhat more; and then, under pretence of love to her children,
ventured over to England again, where it was not long before she got
acquainted with her old crew, who, if they were to be believed upon
their oaths, were inferior to her in the art or mystery of shoplifting.
However it were, whether by selling stolen goods, or by stealing them,
certain it is that she ran into so much money that an Irish sharper
thought fit, about Christmas before her death, to marry her in order to
possess himself of her effects; which without ceremony he did upon her
being last apprehended, disposing of every thing she had, and taking
away particularly a large purse of old gold, which by her industry she
had collected against a rainy day.

The woman who became an evidence against her swore so positively on the
several indictments, and what she said was corroborated with so many
circumstances, that the jury found her guilty on the four following
indictments, viz.: for stealing 20 yards of straw-ground brocaded silk,
value £10, the goods of John Moon and Richard Stone, on the 1st of June,
1726; of stealing, in the shop of Mr. Mathew Herbert, 40 yards of
pink-coloured mantua silk, value £10, on the 1st of May, in the same
year; of stealing, in company with Mary Robinson, a silver cup of the
value of £5, the goods of Elizabeth Dobbinson, on the 7th January; of
stealing, in the company of Mary Robinson aforesaid, 80 yards of
cherry-coloured mantua silk value £5, the goods of Joseph Bourn and Mary
Harper, on the 24th December.

Notwithstanding the clearness of the evidence given against her, while
under sentence of death she absolutely denied not only the several facts
of which she was convicted, but of her having been ever guilty of any
theft during the whole life. Yet she confessed her acquaintance with
Jonathan Wild, nay, she went so far as to own having bought stolen
goods, and disposing of them, by which she had got great sums of money.
She was exceedingly uneasy at the thoughts of dying, and left no method
untried to procure a reprieve, venting herself in most opprobrious terms
against some whom she would have put upon procuring it for her, by
pretending to be their near relation, though the people knew very well
that she had nothing to do with them or their family; and she herself
had been reproved for nuking such pretensions by the ministers who
assist condemned persons; yet she still persisted therein, and on the
Ordinary of Newgate's acquainting her that the gentleman she called her
father died the week before, suddenly, she fell into a great agony of
crying, and as soon as she came a little to herself, reproached, though
in very modest terms, the unnatural conduct of those she still averred
to be so nearly related to her.

Nothing could be more fond than she was of her children, who were
brought to Newgate to see her, and over whom she wept bitterly, and
expressed great concern at her not having saved wherewith to support
them in their tender years. At last, when she lost all hopes of life,
instead of growing calmer and better reconciled to death, as is frequent
enough with persons in that sad condition, on the contrary, she became
more impatient than ever, flew out into excessive passions and behaved
herself with such vehemency and flights of railing, that she did not a
little disturb those who lay under sentence in the same place with her.
For this she was reprimanded by the keepers, and exhorted to alter her
behaviour by the minister of the place, which had at last so good an
effect upon her that she became more quiet for the two or three last
days of her life; in which she professed herself exceedingly grieved for
the many offences of her misspent life, declaring she heartily forgave
the woman who was an evidence against her, and who she believed was much
wickeder than herself, because as this criminal pretended, she had
varied not a little from the truth. At the place of execution she was
more composed than could have been expected, and with many prayers that
her life might prove a warning to others, she yielded up her last
breath, at Tyburn, on the same day with the before-mentioned
malefactors, being then about thirty-four years of age.




The Life of KATHERINE FITZPATRICK, _alias_ GREEN, _alias_ BOSWELL, a
notorious Shoplift


After once the mercers had got Burton, who was the evidence, into their
hands, she quickly detected numbers of her confederates, several of whom
were apprehended, and chiefly on her evidence, convicted. Amongst the
rest was this Katherine Fitzpatrick, who was born in Lincolnshire, of
parents far from being in low circumstances, and who were careful in
bestowing on her a very tolerable education. In the country she
discovered a little too much forwardness, and though London was a very
improper place in which to hope for her amendment, yet hither her
friends sent her, where she quickly fell into such company as deprived
her of all sentiments, either of virtue or honesty. What practices she
might pursue before she fell into shoplifting I have not been able to
learn, and will not therefore impose upon my readers at the expense of a
poor creature, who is so long ago gone to answer for her offences,
which, as they were doubtless many of themselves, so they shall never be
increased by me.

Being a woman of a tolerable person, notwithstanding her not having the
best of characters, she got a man in the mind to marry her, to whom she
made an indifferent good wife; and though he was not altogether clear
from knowing of her being concerned with shoplifters, yet he was so far
from giving her the least encouragement therein that they were on the
contrary continually quarrelling upon this subject; and whenever, from
any circumstances, he guessed she had been thieving, he beat her
severely. Yet all this was to no purpose, she still continued to treat
in the old path and associated herself with a large number of women, who
were at this time busy in stealing silks out of the shops, either in the
absence of the master, or under the pretence of seeing others. It is
observable not only of Katherine Fitzpatrick, of whom we are now
speaking, but also of all the persons who died for this offence, that
they were extremely shy of making detailed confessions, though ready
enough to confess in general that they had been grievous sinners, and
that the punishment they were to undergo was very just from the hand of
God. Fitzpatrick, as well as the former criminal Holmes, charged Burton
the evidence with disingenuity in what she delivered on her oath against
them, and yet Fitzpatrick could not absolutely deny having been guilty
of a multitude of offences as to shoplifting, so that it is highly
probable, even if the evidence erred a little in immaterial
circumstances, that in the main she swore truth.

The particular facts on which Fitzpatrick was convicted, were: (1)
stealing 19 yards of green damask valued at £9, the goods of Joseph
Giffard and John Ravenal, on July the 29th, 1724; (2) Taking 10 yards of
green satin out of the shop of John Moon and Richard Stone, value £3, on
the 10th February, 1724/25; (3) Stealing, in company with another
person, 50 yards of green mantua, value £10, the goods of John Autt, May
the 5th, 1725; (4) Stealing 63 yards of modena and pink italian mantua,
the goods of Joshua Fairy, February 24, 1724/25. These dates were all of
them somewhat more than a twelvemonth before the time of her
apprehension, and she insisted on it that she had left off committing
any such thing for a considerable space, which made the evidence envy
her, and so brought on the prosecution.

As she was a woman of good natural parts, and had not utterly lost that
education which had been bestowed upon her, she was not near so much
confuted at the apprehensions of death as people in her circumstances
usually are. She said she was glad she had some reformation in her life
before this great evil came upon her, because she hoped her repentance
was the more sincere as it had not proceeded from force; yet she was
very desirous of life when first condemned, and, like Mrs. Holmes,
pleaded her belly, in hopes her pregnancy might have prevented her
execution. But a jury of matrons found neither of them to be quick with
child; yet both to the time of their death averred they were so, and
seemed exceedingly uneasy that their children should die violent deaths
within them.

When the time of her execution drew very near, she called her thoughts
totally off from worldly affairs, and seemed to apply herself to the
great business which lay before her, with an earnestness and assiduity
seldom to be seen in such people. The assistance she had from her
friends abroad were not large, but she contented herself with a very
spare diet, being unwilling that anything should call her off from
penitence and religious duties. She seemed to have entirely weaned her
affections from the desire of life, and never showed any extraordinary
emotions, except on the visit of her youngest child, in the nurse's
arms, at the first sight of which she fell into strong convulsion fits,
from which she was not brought to herself without great difficulty. She
sometimes expressed a little uneasiness at the misfortunes which had
befallen her after she had left off that way of living, but upon her
being spoken to by several reverend persons, who explained and
vindicated the wisdom and justice of Providence, she acquiesced under
its decrees, and without murmuring submitted to her fate.

A little before she died, she, with the rest of the shoplifters, was
asked some questions concerning one Mrs. Susanna, who was suspected of
having been in some degree concerned with her. Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Mrs.
Holmes each of them declared that they knew nothing evil about her. Mrs.
Fitzpatrick did indeed say that she had some little acquaintance with
the woman, and knew that she got her living by selling coffee, tea, and
some other little things, yet never was concerned in any ill practices
in relation to them, or anybody else she knew of. After having done
this public justice, she, with great meekness, yielded up her breath at
Tyburn, the 6th of September, 1726, being then about thirty-eight years
of age.




The Life of MARY ROBINSON, a Shoplift


The indiscretions of youth are always pitied, and often excused even by
those who suffer most by them; but when persons grown up to years of
discretion continue to pursue with eagerness the most flagitious
courses, and grow in wickedness as they grow in age, pity naturally
forsakes us, and they appear in so execrable a light that instead of
having compassion for their misfortunes we congratulate our country on
being rid of such monsters, whom nothing could tame, nor the approach
even of death in a natural way hinder them from anticipating it by
drawing on a violent one through their crimes.

I am drawn to this observation from the fate of the miserable woman of
whom we are now speaking. What her parents were, or what her education
it is impossible to say, since she was shy of relating them herself; and
being seventy years old at the time of her execution, there was nobody
then living who could give an account about her. She was indicted for
stealing a silver cup, in company with Jane Holmes, and also stealing
eighty yards of cherry-coloured mantua silk, value five pounds, in
company with the aforesaid Jane Holmes, the property of Joseph Brown and
Mary Harper, on the 24th of December. On these facts she was convicted
as the rest were, in the evidence of Burton, whom, as is usual in such
cases, they represented as a woman worse than themselves, and who had
drawn many of them into the commission of what she now deposed against
them.

As to this old woman Mary Robinson, she said she had been a widow
fourteen years, and had both children and grandchildren living at the
time of her execution; she said she had worked as hard for her living as
any woman in London. Yet when pressed thereupon to speak the truth and
not wrong her conscience in her last moments, she did then declare she
had been guilty of thieving tricks; but persisted in it that the
evidence Burton had not been exactly right in what she had sworn against
her. It was a melancholy thing to see a woman of her years, and who
really wanted not capacity, brought into those lamentable circumstances,
and going to a violent and ignominious death, when at a time when she
could not expect it would be any long term before she submitted to a
natural one.

Possibly my readers may wonder how such large quantities of silk were
conveyed away. I thought, therefore, proper to inform them that the
evidence Burton said they had a contrivance under their petticoats, not
unlike two large hooks, upon which they laid a whole roll of silk, and
so conveyed it away at once, while one of their confederates amused the
people of the shop in some manner or other until they got out of reach;
and by this means they had for many years together carried on their
trade with great success and as much safety, until the losses of the
tradesmen ran so high as to induce them to take the method
before-mentioned, which quickly produced a discovery, not only of the
persons of the offenders, but of the place also where they had deposited
the goods. By this means a good part of them were recovered, and those
who had so long lived by this infamous practice were either detected or
destroyed; so that shoplifting has been thereby kept under ever since,
or at least the offenders have not ventured in so large a way as before.

But to return to the criminal of whom we are to treat. She said she was
not afraid of death at all, though she confessed herself troubled as to
the manner in which she was to die, and reflected severely upon Burton,
who had given evidence against her. By degrees she grew calmer, and on
the day of her execution appeared more composed and cheerful than she
had done during all her troubles. She suffered at the same time with the
malefactors before mentioned, and in her years looked as if she had been
the mother of those with whom she died.




The Life of JANE MARTIN, _alias_ LLOYD, a Cheat and a Thief, etc.


This woman was the daughter of parents in very good reputation, about an
hundred miles off in the country. While they lived they took care to
breed her to understand everything as became a gentlewoman of a small
fortune, and in her younger years she was tractable enough; but her
parents dying while Jane was but a girl, she came into the hand of
guardians who were not altogether so careful as they ought. Before she
was of age she married a young gentleman who had a pretty little
fortune, which he and she quickly confounded; insomuch that he became a
prisoner in the King's Bench for debt. Being thus destitute, and in
great want of money, she set her wits to work to consider ways and
means of cheating people for her support, in which she became as
dexterous as any who ever followed that infamous trade. Yet her husband
(as she herself owned) was a man of strict honour, and so much offended
at these villainies that he used her with great severity thereupon, but
that had no effect, for she still continued the old trade, putting on
the saint until people trusted her, and pulling off the mask as soon as
she found there was no more to be got by keeping it on.

Amongst the rest of her adventures in this way she once took it in her
head that it was possible for her to set up a great shop, entirely upon
credit, for except some good clothes she had nothing else to go to
market with. Accordingly she first took a shop not far from Somerset
House, and having caused some bales of brick-bats to be made up, sent
them thither in a cart with one of her confederates, which was safely
deposited in that which was to pass for the warehouse. A carpenter was
sent for, who was employed in making shelves, drawers, and other
utensils for a haberdasher's shop. Then going to the wholesale people in
that way, she found means to draw them in to six or seven hundred pounds
worth of goods to the house which she had taken. All of this stuff the
Saturday night following, she caused to be carried over into the Mint, a
practice very common with the infamous shelterers there who preserve
their pretended privileges.

Mrs. Martin having got some acquaintance in a tolerable family, and
having a very fair tongue, she quickly wheedled them into a belief of
her being able to do great matters by her interest with some person of
distinction, whose name she made use of on this occasion, and thereby
got several presents and small sums of money, and (if she herself were
to be believed) among the rest a silver cup. Whether her failing in her
promises really provoked the people to swearing a theft upon her, or
whether (which is more probable) she took an opportunity of conveying it
secretly away, certain it is that for this she was prosecuted, and the
fact appearing clear enough to the jury, was thereupon convicted and
ordered for transportation. This afflicted her at least as much as if
she had been condemned to instant death, and therefore she applied
herself continually to thinking which way it might be eluded, and she
might escape. Soon after her going abroad, she effected what she so
earnestly desired, and unhappily for her returned again into England.

The numerous frauds she had committed had exasperated many people
against her, who as soon as it was rumoured that she was come back
again, never left searching for her until they found her out, and got
her committed to Newgate; and on the record of her conviction being
produced the next sessions, and the prosecutor swearing positively that
she was the same person, the jury, after a short consultation, brought
her in guilty, and she received sentence of death, from which, as she
had no friends, she could not hope to escape. When she found death was
inevitable, she fell into excessive agonies and well-nigh into despair.
The reflection on the many people she had injured gave her so great
grief and anxiety of mind that she could scarce be persuaded to get down
a sufficient quantity of food to preserve her life until the time of her
execution. But the minister at Newgate having demonstrated to her the
wickedness and the folly of such a course, she by degrees came to have a
better sense of things; her mind grew calmer, and though her repentance
was accompanied with sighs and tears, yet she did not burst out into
those lamentable outcries by which she before disturbed both herself and
those poor creatures who were under sentence with her. In this
disposition of mind she continued until the day of her death, which was
on the 12th of September, 1726, being between twenty-seven-and-eight
years of age, in the company of the before-mentioned malefactors,
Cartwright, Blacket, Holmes, Fitzpatrick, Robinson, and William Allison,
a poor country lad of about twenty-five, apparently of an easy gentle
temper who had been induced into the fact, partly through covetousness,
and partly through want.




The Life of TIMOTHY BENSON, a Highwayman


Amongst the number of those unfortunate persons whose memory we have
preserved to the world in order that their punishments may become
lasting warnings unto all who are in any danger of following their
footsteps, none is more capable of affording useful reflections than the
incidents that are to be found in the life of this robber are likely to
create. He was the son of a serjeant's wife, in the regiment of the Earl
of Derby, but who his father was it would be hard to say. His mother
having had a long intrigue with one Captain Benson and the serjeant
dying soon after this child was born, she thought fit to give him the
captain's name, declaring publicly enough, that if it was in her power
to distinguish, the captain must be his father. Certain it is that the
woman acted cunningly, at least, for Benson, who had never had a child,
was so pleased with the boy's ingenuity that he sent him to a grammar
school in Yorkshire, where he caused him to be educated as well as if
he had been his legitimate son.

Nothing could be more dutiful than Tim was, while a child. The captain
was continually vexed with long letters from the gentlewoman where he
was boarded, concerning master's fine person, great parts and wonderful
improvements, which Benson, being a man of sense, took to be such gross
flattery that he came down to Bellerby, the village where the child was,
on purpose to take it away. But Mr. Tim, upon his arrival, appeared such
a prodigy both in beauty and understanding that the old gentleman was
perfectly ravished with him, and whatever he might believe before,
vanity now engaged him to think the youth his son. For this reason he
doubled his care in providing for him, and when he had made a sufficient
progress at the Grammar School, he caused him to be sent over to Leyden,
a university of which he had a great opinion.

Timothy lost not any of his reputation in this change of climate, but
returned in three years time from Holland as accomplished a young fellow
as had been bred there for a long time. He had but just made his
compliments to his supposed father, and received thirty guineas from him
as a welcome to England, before the old gentleman fell ill of a
pleurisy, which in four days' time deprived him of his life; and as he
had no will, his estate of £300 a year, and about £700 in money (which
he had lent out on securities), descended to his sister's son, as arrant
a booby as ever breathed, and deprived Tim both of his present
subsistance and future hopes.

In this distressed condition he took lodgings in a little court at the
farther end of Westminster. He had a great number of good clothes, and
as he then addicted himself to nothing so much as reading, he lived so
frugally as to make a very tolerable appearance, and to pay everybody
justly for about half a year, which so well established his credit in
the neighbourhood that he was invited to the houses of the best families
thereabouts, and might undoubtedly, if he had had his wits about him,
have married some young gentlewoman thereabouts of a tolerable fortune.
But happening to lodge over against a great mantua-maker's, he took
notice of a young girl who was her apprentice, and happened to be a
chandler's daughter, at Hammersmith. The wench, whose name was Jenny,
was really handsome and agreeable, but as things were circumstanced with
him, nothing could be more ridiculous than that passion which he
suffered himself to entertain for her.

It is very probable that he might have had some transient amours before
this, but Jenny was certainly the mistress to whom he made his first
addresses, and the real passion of his heart. The girl was quickly
tempted by the person and appearance of her lover, and without enquiring
too narrowly into his circumstances, would certainly have yielded to his
passion, if marriage had been the thing at which he aimed; but he was an
obstacle hard to get over. Tim looked upon himself to be irretrievably
undone from the hour he entered into that state. At last he conquered
that virtue which his mistress had hitherto preserved, and after they
had fooled away a month or two together, at the expense of all he had,
Tim found himself at last obliged to confess the truth of his
circumstances, and by that confession brought a flood of grief upon his
fair one, who had hitherto been unaccustomed to misfortunes.

When they first came together it was agreed between them to quit that
part of the town where they were both known, and they afterwards lodged