now in that business for which he designed him,
viz., a coach-painter. But he did not live to see him put apprentice to
it, which his mother afterwards took care to do, and consequently he had
not the misfortune of seeing him live so scandalous a life, and die so
shameful a death.

His understanding was tolerable, but his behaviour so rude, boisterous
and shocking that he left no room even for that compassion to which all
men are naturally prone when they see persons under sentence of death.
The desire of appearing brave and making the figure of a hero in low
life was in all probability the occasion of his acting so odd a part,
and as he was generally looked upon as their chief by those unfortunate
creatures who were of his gang, possibly he put on this ferocity in his
manner in order to support his authority, and preserve that respect and
superiority of which these wretches are observed to be inexpressibly
fond.

Stephen Burnet, _alias_ Barnet, _alias_ Barnham, which was his true
name, was a child when he died, and a thief almost from his cradle. His
parents, who were people of worth, sent him to school with a design,
doubtless, that he should have acquired some good there; but Stephen
made use of that time to visit a master of his own choosing, the
celebrated Mr. Jonathan Wild, at whose levy he was a pretty constant
attendant and while an infant he was a most assiduous companion and
assistant to the famous Blueskin.

My readers may be perhaps inquisitive how an infant of eight years old
could in any way assist a person of Blueskin's profession. For their
information, then, perhaps for their security, I must inform them that
while Blueskin and one of his companions bought a pair of stockings, or
two or three pairs of gloves in a large Shop, Stephen used to creep on
all fours under the counter, and march off with goods perhaps to the
value of ten, twelve, or twenty pounds. But, alas, he was not the
youngest of Mr. Wild's scholars. I myself have seen a boy of six years
old tried at the Old Bailey for stealing the rings of an oyster women's
fingers as she sat asleep by her tub, and after his being acquitted by
the compassion of the jury, Jonathan took him from the bar, and carrying
him back upon the leads, lifted him up in his arms, and turning to the
spectators, said, _Here's a cock of the game for you, of my own breeding
up._

But to return to Barnham. His friends no sooner found out the villainy
of his inclination