s out of which to write the man's life. It is probable, indeed,
that Mr. Petulengro would be able to supply me with further materials if
I should apply to him, but I was in a hurry, and could not afford the
time which it would be necessary to spend in passing to and from Mr.
Petulengro, and consulting him. Moreover, my pride revolted at the idea
of being beholden to Mr. Petulengro for the materials of the history. No,
I would not write the history of Abershaw. Whose then--Harry Simms?
Alas, the life of Harry Simms had been already much better written by
himself than I could hope to do it; and, after all, Harry Simms, like
Jemmy Abershaw, was merely a robber. Both, though bold and extraordinary
men, were merely highwaymen. I questioned whether I could compose a tale
likely to excite any particular interest out of the exploits of a mere
robber. I want a character for my hero, thought I, something higher than
a mere robber; some one like--like Colonel B---. By the way, why should
I not write the life and adventures of Colonel B--- of Londonderry, in
Ireland?

A truly singular man was this same Colonel B--- of Londonderry, in
Ireland; a personage of most strange and incredible feats and daring, who
had been a partisan soldier, a bravo--who, assisted by certain
discontented troopers, nearly succeeded in stealing the crown and regalia
from the Tower of London; who attempted to hang the Duke of Ormond, at
Tyburn; and whose strange eventful career did not terminate even with his
life, his dead body, on the circulation of an unfounded report that he
did not come to his death by fair means, having been exhumed by the mob
of his native place, where he had retired to die, and carried in the
coffin through the streets.

Of his life I had inserted an account in the _Newgate Lives and Trials_;
it was bare and meagre, and written in the stiff, awkward style of the
seventeenth century; it had, however, strongly captivated my imagination
and I now thought that out of it something better could be made; that, if
I added to the adventures, and purified the style, I might fashion out of
it a very decent tale or novel. On a sudden, however, the proverb of
mending old garments with new cloth occurred to me. "I am afraid," said
I, "any new adventures which I can invent will not fadge well with the
old tale; one will but spoil the other." I had better have nothing to do
with Colonel B---, thought I, but boldly and independently sit do