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 partizan 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 a 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.