Czytaj książkę: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 10, No. 285, December 1, 1827», strona 3
LETTER
Written in the Condemned Cells, Newgate, by Captain Lee, the night previous to his execution, being convicted of forging a bill of exchange for 15l. on the Ordnance Office.
Newgate, March 3, 1784.
My Dear Sir,—Before this reaches you, the head that dictates and the hand that traces these lines shall be no more. Earthly cares shall all be swallowed up, and the death of an unthinking man shall have atoned for the trespass he has committed against the laws of his country. But ere the curtain be for ever dropped, or remembrance leave this tortured breast, let me take this last and solemn leave of one with whom I have passed so many social and instructive hours, whose conversation I fondly cultivated, and whose friendship for me I hope will remain, even after the clay-cold hand of death has closed my eyes in everlasting darkness.
I cannot think you will view this letter with stoic coolness, or with listless indifference. Absorbed as the generality of men are in the pursuits of pleasure or the avocations of business, there are times when the mind looks inward upon itself, when a review of past follies induces us to future amendment, and when a consciousness of having acted wrong leads us to resolutions of doing right. In one of those fortunate moments may you receive these last admonitions! Shun but the rock on which I have struck, and you will be sure to avoid the shipwreck I have suffered. Initiated in the army at an early period of life, I soon anticipated not only the follies, but even the vices of my companions. Before, however, I could share with undisturbed repose in the wickedness of others, it was necessary to remove from myself what the infidel terms the prejudices of a Christian education. In this I unfortunately succeeded; and conceiving from my tenderest years a taste for reading, my sentiments were confirmed, not by the flimsy effusions of empty libertines, but by the specious sophistry of modern philosophers. It must be owned that at first I was rather pleased with the elegance of their language than the force of their reasoning; as, however, we are apt to believe what we eagerly wish to be true, in a short time I soon became a professed deist. My favourite author was the late celebrated David Hume. I constantly urged his exemplary behaviour in private as a strong argument in favour of his doctrines, forgetting that his literary life was uniformly employed in diffusing his pernicious tenets, and his utmost endeavours were constantly exerted in extending the baneful influence of his philosophical principles. Happy for me had I always been actuated by the considerations which fill my bosom at this moment, and which I hope will animate me in that awful part to-morrow's sun shall see me perform. But the die is cast, and I leave to the world this mournful memento, "that however much a man may be favoured by personal qualifications, or distinguished by mental endowments, genius will be useless, and abilities avail but little, unless accompanied by a sense of religion, and attended by the practice of virtue; destitute of these, he will only be mounted on the wings of folly, that he may fall with greater force into the dark abyss of endless despair."
On my returning to a belief of the truths of Christianity, I have been very much assisted by the pious exhortations of the ordinary, as well as by the book he has put into my hands; and I feel a comfort which I am unable to express by this his charitable and benevolent attention to me. I believe there is no passion more prevalent in the human breast than the wish that our memory should be held in remembrance. I shudder at the thought lest my name should be branded with infamy, when I lie mouldering in the dust, as I know well that the tongue of malice is ever loud against the failings of the unfortunate. When, however, my character is insulted, and my poor reputation attacked, extenuate, I beseech you, the enormity of my crime, by relating the hardships of my sufferings. Tell to the giddy and affluent, that, strangers to the severity of want, they know not the pain of withstanding the almost irresistible calls of nature. The poor will, I trust, commiserate my misfortunes, and shed a sympathetic tear at the mournful tale of my miserable fate. I can say no more. Heaven have mercy on us all!
Adieu for ever. J. LEE.
PARTING FOR THE POLE
He.—Now weep not Poll because I go,
There's no need, I declare,
For when among the Esquimaux,
I've too much blubber there.
Women mis-doubt a sailor's word,
We don't deserve the wipe;
For when they pipe us all aboard,
Aboard we all do pipe.
We've rocks, when all our tears are past,
The sailor's heart to shock,
She..—Why yes, Jack—when you're on the mast,
You're sure to have a rock.
He.—You'll find some fellow on dry ground,
You will prefer to me,
To him I see you will be bound,
While I'm bound to the sea.
But if I sail the world around,
I'll be a faithful rover,
She.—Poh! you'll forget me I'll be bound
When you are half seas over.
He.—And when alas, your Jack is gone,
You'll think of naught but jigging,
And you will sport your rigging on,
While Jack is on the rigging.
Where winter's ice around us grows,
And storms upon us roll,
She.—Ah, that's the time I do suppose
They look out for the pole.
He.—But if I should be sunk d'ye see,
She.—Bring up a coral wreath,
He.—Why if I were beneath the sea,
I could not see beneath.
She.—Yet if you should be cast away,
Without a cloak, or victual,
Remember me, a little, pray,
You'd better pray a little.
But tho' you wish us now to splice,
Our hands—your love won't hold,
For when you get among the ice,
I'm sure you will grow cold.
I have your money—here's a kiss,
I will be true to you,
But one word more, "adieu" it is,
Cries Jack, it is a do.MAY.
BARDS, OR POETS OF THE ANCIENT BRITONS
(For the Mirror.)
Hail! to the Bards, who sweetly sung
The praises of dead peers
In lofty strains, thus to prolong
Their fame for many years.
LUCAN.
This sect appears to have descended from Bardus, son of Druis, king of Britain; he was much esteemed by the people for inventing songs and music, in praise of meritorious actions; and established an order, in which such of the people were admitted as excelled in his art, distinguishing them by the name of bards, after his own name. Julius Caesar reports, that on his arrival he found some of them. Their business was to record the noble exploits of their warriors in songs and ditties, which they sung to their instruments at the solemn feasts of their chiefs; and in such high estimation were they held, that, when two armies were ready to engage, if a bard stept in between them, both sides delayed the attack till he was out of danger.
As these bards were neither repugnant to the Roman authority nor the Christian religion, they alone, above all other sects, were suffered to continue long after the birth of Christ; and it is said that some of them are still to be found in the isle of Bardsey, (so named from them). Wisbech. T.C.
THE SCOTTISH PEASANT'S LAMENT
BY THE AUTHOR OF AHAB
(For the Mirror.)
Oh! had I my home by the side of the glen,
In a spot far remote from the dwellings of men,
Wi' my ain bonnie Jeannie to sit by my side,
I'd nae envy auld Reekie her splendor and pride.
The song of the mavis should wake me at morn,
And the grey breasted lintie reply from the thorn;
While the clear brook should run in the sun's yellow beam,
And my days glide as calmly along as its stream.
But here, in the city's dull streets, I must live,
Nae Jeannie her arms for my pillow to give;
Nae mavis, nae lintie, to sing from the tree,
Nae streamlet to murmur its music to me.
O better, by far, had I never been born,
Or my head laid in rest in the glen 'neath the thorn;
Since the songs of my birds I no longer can hear,
Nor in slumber recline by the side of my dear.
Now, all that makes life still endured, is the dream,
That comes o'er my soul, of the bird and the stream;
And the love of my Jean—when that vision shall close,
In the silence of death let my ashes repose.
Yet then, even then, my sad spirit will be,
By the side of the brook, 'neath the shade of the tree;
In the arms of my Jeannie, for ne'er can it stay,
From those who in life had endeared it away.
Nov. 25. 1827. S.P.J.
ON A SQUINTING POETESS
To no one muse does she her glance confine,
But has an eye at once, to all the nine!
MANNERS & CUSTOMS OF ALL NATIONS
No. XVI.
FISHING IN THE RIVER YEOU
The fishery of the Yeou, in Bornou, is a very considerable source of commerce to the inhabitants of its banks; and the manner of fishing (as represented in the above engraving) is ingenious though simple. The Bornouese make very good nets of a twine spun from a perennial plant called kalimboa: the implements for fishing are two large gourds nicely balanced, and fixed on a large stem of bamboo, at the extreme ends; the fisherman launches this on the river, and places himself astride between the two gourds, and thus he floats with the stream, and throws his net. He has also floats of cane, and weights, of small leathern bags of sand: he beats up against the stream, paddling with his hands and feet, previous to his drawing the net, which, as it rises from the water, he lays before him as he sits; and with a sort of mace, which he carries for the purpose, the fish are stunned by a single blow. His drag, finished, the fish are taken out, and thrown into the gourds, which are open at the top, to receive the produce of his labour. These wells being filled, he steers for the shore, unloads, and again returns to the sport.—Denhani's Travels in Africa.
