Our dear Cat is but a poor illiterate country wench, who has come from cutting her husband's throat; and yet, see! she talks and looks like a tragedy princess, who is suffering in the most virtuous blank verse.

This is the proper end of fiction, and one of the greatest triumphs that a novelist can achieve: for to make people sympathise with virtue is a vulgar trick that any common fellow can do; but it is not everybody who can take a scoundrel, and cause us to weep and whimper over him as though he were a very saint.

Give a young lady of five years old a skein of silk and a brace of netting-needles, and she will in a short time turn you out a decent silk purse--anybody can; but try her with a sow's ear, and see whether she can make a silk purse out of THAT.

That is the work for your real great artist; and pleasant it is to see how many have succeeded in these latter days.
The subject is strictly historical, as anyone may see by referring to the Daily Post of March 3, 1726, which contains the following paragraph: "Yesterday morning, early, a man's head, that by the freshness of it seemed to have been newly cut off from the body, having its own hair on, was found by the river's side, near Millbank, Westminster, and was afterwards exposed to public view in St.Margaret's churchyard, where thousands of people have seen it; but none could tell who the unhappy person was, much less who committed such a horrid and barbarous action.
There are various conjectures relating to the deceased; but there being nothing certain, we omit them.

The head was much hacked and mangled in the cutting off." The head which caused such an impression upon Monsieur de Galgenstein was, indeed, once on the shoulders of Mr.John Hayes, who lost it under the following circumstances.