ed by Gold; and sometimes even negotiations
were carried so far as for the convicted persons to give Drafts of
Exchange, to be honoured by their Agents in London, so soon as word came
from the Plantations that they had been placed in Tolerable Servitude,
instead of Agonising Slavery. For although there was then, as there is
now, a convenient Fiction that a Felon's goods became at once forfeit to
the Crown, I never yet knew a Felon (and I have known many) that felt
ever so little difficulty in keeping his property, if he had any, and
disposing of it according to his own Good Will and Pleasure.

The Head Gaoler of the Borough Clink--I know not how his Proper official
title ran--was a colonel in the Foot Guards, who lived in Jermyn Street,
St. James's, and transacted most of his High and Mighty business either
at Poingdestre's Ordinary in St. Alban's Place, or at White's Chocolate
House, to say naught of the Rose, or the Key in Chandos Street. Much,
truly, did he concern himself about his unhappy Captives. His place was
a Patent one, and was worth to him about Fifteen Hundred a year, at
which sum it was farmed by Sir Basil Hopwood; who, in his turn, on the
principle that "'tis scurvy money that won't stick to your fingers,"
underlet the place to a Company of Four Rogues, who gave him Two
Thousand for that, which they managed to swell into at least Three for
themselves by squeezing of Poor Prisoners, and the like crying
Injustices. 'Twas Aylesbury Gaol over again, with the newest
improvements and the Humours of the Town added to it. So, when Sir
Basil Hopwood took up a cargo of cast persons for Transportation, his
underlings of the Borough Clink were only too glad to harbour them for a
night or two, making a pretty profit out of the poor creatures. For all
which, I doubt it not, Sir Basil Hopwood and his scoundrelly Myrmidons
are, at this instant moment, Howling.

This place was a prison for Debtors as well as Criminals, and was to the
full as Foul as the Tophet-pit at Aylesbury yonder. I had not been there
half an hour before a Lively companion of a Gentleman Cutpurse, with a
wrench at my kerchief, a twist at my arm (which nearly Broke it in
twain), and a smart Blow under my Lower Jaw, robs me of the packet of
comforts (clothing, pressed beef, sugar, comfits, and the like) which my
kind friends at Aylesbury had given me. The Rascal comes to me a few
minutes afterwards with a packet of Soap and a Testament, which he had
ta