It is to be feared that honest and well-meaning men have not infrequently incurred the odium of posterity, not so much by reason of any enormities of which they have themselves been guilty, as because it has been their misfortune to be set to impossible tasks by employers or comrades, to whom they have been only too faithful. Few, if any, of such men have less deserved their fate than Captain Kidd, one of the unluckiest men that ever lived, who left this world on Friday the 23d of May, 1701, after woeful experiences at sea of the doings of an unruly crew, and on shore of the schemings of unscrupulous politicians and lawyers at Boston, Newgate, the Old Bailey, and the Execution Dock at Wapping. To most of those who woo her, reputation is a coy and fickle mistress. But she occasionally evinces a very embarrassing attachment to men and women, whose innate modesty and reticence have prompted them throughout their careers to give her as wide a berth as possible. She has clung most unfairly and pertinaciously for more than two centuries to poor Kidd, who in common with most men of his calling, had no desire whatever to obtrude himself on the public notice. This worthy, honest hearted, steadfast, much enduring sailor, a typical sea captain of his day, seems really to have done his best to serve his country and his employers according to his lights, in very difficult circumstances. His fatal mistake which brought all his sufferings on him was that he yielded to the solicitations, if not to the intimidations, of personages of higher rank than his own, who for their own ends induced him against his better judgment to embark on an impossible enterprise, which after the manner of his kind he doggedly tried to carry through to the utmost of his ability, and in which he came nearer attaining success than could reasonably have been anticipated. For his pains, after giving himself into custody in reliance on the word and honour of his chief employer, a Whig nobleman, he was ignominiously executed and hung in chains, after nearly two years’ close incarceration, and has ever since been held up to execration as the arch pirate, who left behind him untold hoards of treasure taken from the murdered crews of peaceable merchantmen, and buried God knows where, on the innumerable coasts and keys of the West Indies, where they are popularly supposed to await discovery to this day. It would be difficult to conceive any wilder misrepresentation of the poor man’s doings.