Yet I had something in me, by what secret influence I knew not, kept me from the other degrees of raking and vice, and, in short, from the general wickedness of the rest of my companions. For example, I never used any ill words, nobody ever heard me swear, nor was I given to drink, or to love strong drink; and I cannot omit a circumstance that very much served to prevent it. I had a strange original notion, as I have mentioned in its place, of my being a gentleman; and several things had casually happened in my way to increase this fancy of mine. It happened one day, that being in the Glass-house Yard, between Rosemary Lane and Ratcliff Highway, there came a man dressed very well, and with a coach attending him, and he came (as I suppose) to buy glass-bottles, or some other goods, as they sold; and in bargaining for his goods, he swore most horrid oaths at every two or three words. At length the master of the glass-house, an ancient, grave gentleman, took the liberty to reprove him, which at first made him swear the worse. After a while the gentleman was a little calmer, but still he swore very much, though not so bad as at first. After some time the master of the glass-house turned from him—“Really, sir,” says the good old gentleman, “you swear so, and take God’s name in vain so, that I cannot bear to stay with you. I would rather you would let my goods alone and go somewhere else. I hope you won’t take it ill, but I don’t desire to deal with anybody that does so. I am afraid my glass-house should fall on your head while you stay in it.” The gentleman grew good-humoured at the reproof, and said, “Well, come, don’t go away; I won’t swear any more,” says he, “if I can help it; for I own,” says he, “I should not do it.” With that the old gentleman looked up at him, and, returning, “Really, sir,” says he, “’tis pity you, that seem to be a fine gentleman, well-bred and good-humoured, should accustom yourself to such a hateful practice. Why, ’tis not like a gentleman to swear; ’tis enough for my black wretches that work there at the furnace, or for these ragged, naked, blackguard boys,” pointing at me, and some others of the dirty crew that lay in the ashes. “’Tis bad enough for them,” says he, “and they ought to be corrected for it, too; but for a man of breeding, sir,” says he, “a gentleman, it ought to be looked upon as below them. Gentlemen know better, and are taught better, and it is plain you know better. I beseech you, sir, when you are tempted to swear, always ask yourself, ‘Is this like a gentleman? Does this become me as a gentleman?’ Do but ask yourself that question, and your reason will prevail—you will soon leave it off.”