ng of writing the life of the said Abershaw, not doubting that
with his assistance, I could have produced a book at least as remarkable
as the life and adventures of that entirely imaginary personage Joseph
Sell; perhaps, however, I was mistaken; and whenever Abershaw's life
shall appear before the public--and my publisher credibly informs me that
it has not yet appeared--I beg and entreat the public to state which it
likes best, the life of Abershaw, or that of Sell, for which latter work
I am informed that during the last few months there has been a prodigious
demand. My old friend, however, after talking of Abershaw, would
frequently add, that, good rider as Abershaw certainly was, he was
decidedly inferior to Richard Ferguson, generally called Galloping Dick,
who was a pal of Abershaw's, and had enjoyed a career as long, and nearly
as remarkable as his own. I learned from him that both were capital
customers at the Hounslow inn, and that he had frequently drank with them
in the corn-room. He said that no man could desire more jolly or
entertaining companions over a glass of "summut;" but that upon the road
it was anything but desirable to meet them; there they were terrible,
cursing and swearing, and thrusting the muzzles of their pistols into
people's mouths; and at this part of his locution the old man winked, and
said, in a somewhat lower voice, that upon the whole they were right in
doing so, and that when a person had once made up his mind to become a
highwayman, his best policy was to go the whole hog, fearing nothing, but
making everybody afraid of him; that people never thought of resisting a
savage-faced, foul-mouthed highwayman, and if he were taken, were afraid
to bear witness against him, lest he should get off and cut their throats
some time or other upon the roads; whereas people would resist being
robbed by a sneaking, pale-visaged rascal, and would swear bodily against
him on the first opportunity,--adding, that Abershaw and Ferguson, two
most awful fellows, had enjoyed a long career, whereas two disbanded
officers of the army, who wished to rob a coach like gentlemen, had
begged the passengers' pardon, and talked of hard necessity, had been set
upon by the passengers themselves, amongst whom were three women, pulled
from their horses, conducted to Maidstone, and hanged with as little pity
as such contemptible fellows deserved. "There is nothing like going the
whole hog," he repeated, "and if ever I