these instructions, I think they can hardly miss their way. If there should be any danger of it—as it would be a pity that such charitable intentions should reap nothing but shame and confusion—by way of consummating their noble and manly purpose, let them boldly assert that I have written none of this book. Let them be so ungratefully severe as to say it is not I who have given them this friendly advice, but some outcast from society; and, as novelty in slander is as catching as in any thing else—having gone every other length—suppose this time, by way of variety, it were to be attributed to some murderer. I think, as Mr. Bayes has it, the circumstance would elevate and surprise. But this,

after all, I leave to themselves; for it is impossible I should be an adept in an employ the motives of which I scorn, and the malignity of which I detest.
If, by officiously pointing out their readiest road, it should appear to them that I have, by anticipation, betrayed the cloven foot, and they should be therefore induced to forego their intentions, from an apprehension of detection—for assassins are always cowards—let it be remembered that I shall set it down for a sulky perverseness; and, even though no single word of abuse shall be breathed against me, I shall take very comfortably to myself the same portion of fame as if such advantageous circumstance had really happened, and set it down, with all the composure in the world, as a large figure to go towards that aggregate of slander which I have so plainly shewn is necessary to constitute the fame of a writer, and which, upon that ground of argument, I am so ambitious to merit.
Having gone through the painful part of my duty—for there is nothing so painful as that which

is unavailing, and there is nothing so unavailing as giving advice to the incorrigible—a few words will bring me to the end of this preface. A few very pleasing words! They are these: that in this, as in every other instance where I have offered any production to the public, having portrayed vice in its ugliest form and filthiest colours; having hunted craft and art to the toils; having invited the broad laugh against vain and insuperable folly; having excited the admiration, and commended the practice, of virtue and honour, I fearlessly trust my book to its fortune, safe in the criticism of the candid, and secure in the indulgence of the liberal; for the moral I inculcate is the folly of wickedness, and the wisdom of rectitude: a doctrine which shews, that while irritated vice multiplies