se. In a wild fury of arrogance and
terror, of conflicting vice and virtue, he pressed on to Hockcliffe,
where he took refuge from the rain, and presently, fuddled with more
brandy, he fell asleep over the kitchen fire.

By this time the hue and cry was raised; and as the hero lay helpless in
the corner three troopers burst into the inn, levelled their pistols at
his head, and threatened death if he put his hand to his pocket. Half
asleep, and wholly drunk, he made not he smallest show of resistance; he
surrendered all his money, watches, and diamonds, save a little that
was sewn into his neckcloth, and sulkily crawled up to his bed-chamber.
Thither the troopers followed him, and having restored some nine pounds
at his urgent demand, they watched his heavy slumbers. For all his
brandy Simms slept but uneasily, and awoke in the night sick with the
remorse which is bred of ruined plans and a splitting head. He got up
wearily, and sat over the fire 'a good deal chagrined,' to quote his own
simple phrase, at his miserable capture. Escape seemed hopeless indeed;
there crouched the vigilant troopers, scowling on their prey. A thousand
plans chased each other through the hero's fuddled brain, and at last
he resolved to tempt the cupidity of his guardians, and to make himself
master of their fire-arms. There were still left him a couple of seals,
one gold, the other silver, and watching his opportunity, Simms flung
them with a flourish in the fire. It fell out as he expected; the hungry
troopers made a dash to save the trinkets; the prisoner seized a brace
of pistols and leapt to the door. But, alas, the pistols missed fire,
Harry was immediately overpowered, and on the morrow was carried, sick
and sorry, before the Justice. From Dunstable he travelled his last
journey to Newgate, and, being condemned at the Old Bailey, he was
hanged till he was dead, and his body thereafter was carried for
dissection to a surgeon's in that same Covent Garden where he first
deserted his hackney cab for the pleasures of the town.

'Gentleman Harry' was neither a brilliant thief nor a courteous
highwayman. There was no touch of the grand manner even in his prettiest
achievement. His predecessors had made a pistol and a vizard an
overwhelming terror, and he did but profit by their tradition when
he bade the cowed traveller stand and deliver. His profession, as he
practised it, neither demanded skill nor incurred danger. Though he
threatened death