ABSTRACT
‘It was near dark one Saturday evening, when, after a severe day’s work, as I was walking up Fleet Street, near Temple Bar, a man passed me, and dropt a bundle in his flight, just under the archway. I innocently took it up, and ran after him, with a view of giving it to him, if the owner, or of assisting, if not, to apprehend him and secure the property: but I had it scarcely in my hands before I was overtaken by the pursuers, who seeing me running with the parcel, immediately apprehended me as the thief. It was in vain that I stated my case, and pleaded for mercy. After a thousand injuries and insults, and the usual formalities of examination, the circumstances and my appearance were so strong against me, that I was thrust for the night, into one / of those gloomy receptacles provided for atrocious felons. “Good God!” said I to myself, “is thy providence itself directed to my destruction? Have I and my wretched family been already victims to our frankness and gratitude; and am I now to suffer the punishment and infamy of violence and robbery, from an innocent design to serve?” I know not how it was, but this last reflection on my innocence shed a gleam of comfort through my soul. After resigning myself to the divine will, I passed the rest of the night in broken slumbers, from which I was roused by the clanking of the chains and blasphemous vociferations of the felons in the neighbouring wards.
