tues; nor disdain the advice of a man, whose counsels age has rendered venerable, and whose remarks are stamped with the signature of experience.

The remainder of my story shall be contained in fewer words. In the former part, indeed, the hand of fate is discernable; in the latter it is much more conspicuous. After Maria's death, so weaned was I from the world, and so disgusted with all its enjoyments, that I threw up my commission in the army; and saw the troops embark for America, without a wish to accompany them. I next went to Amelia's relations, but I found that both her parents had died soon after her unhappy elopement. She, therefore, resolved to remain with us, rather than to hazard herself again amidst the snares of a precarious and deceitful world.

Henry sent a long and mournful account of the whole transaction to his friends; and we all agreed to pass the remnant of our lives in some country, far distant from this land of woe.

We accordingly took our passage in a merchantman bound for the East Indies, but we were only advanced a small portion of that tedious voyage, when coming up with an African pirate, after a short retistance we were all taken prisoners, and our ship sent to the bottom. Here we were stript of our clothes and money; and our owner hastened to dispose of us to a private dealer, who had authority to offer us for sale in the public market. From this terrible idea we were soon relieved by a still more terrible reality. Two days after the capture of our vessel, we were chased by an Algerine rover, and the pirate, knowing himself to be inferior in strength, crowded sail, with a hope to escape. Finding, however, that this was impossible, we made a desperate resistance, but being overpowered by numbers, we were at last overcome, and loaded with irons in our ship. Next day, the

E

haughty and licentious captain came on board to inspect the value of his prize. Pride sat enthroned on his forehead, and lust swelled in his eye. Could the distinguished beauty of Amelia escape his observation? No; she was destined to be the victim of his brutal appetites; and the rest of us were -condemned to the gallies. When he sent his slaves to convey her on board his magnificent barge, never was separation more awful or interesting. Our bosoms were too full to utter the distracting farewell! Speechless she took her leave, and speechlesss we beheld her depart.

I saw her foot the lofty bark ascend,

I saw her breast with every passion heave;
I saw her torn from every earthly friend,

Oh! my hard bosom that could bear to leave! We had, however, afterwards, the consolation to know that Providence interfered in her cause, that the justice of heaven had arrested the villain before he found means to execute his infamous designs; of which event, Amelia, taking the advantage, made her escape, and retired to a distant convent, where she past the remainder of her days in penitence and peace.

As for us, the hand of pity shrinks to pourtray our miserable condition. If you want a picture of the gallies let the emaciated frame, the haggard countenance, the wretched rags, the scanty fare, the heavy irons, the cold and dark lodging, be first delineated. Add to these the confused murmur, that arises from the sighs of the agonized, the groans of the dying; the prayers and tears of some who repine at Providence, and wish for death; and the turbulence of others, who quarrel about the very offals, to protract their existence; the sound of the whip, the clinking of the chains, the dashing of the oars, the whistle of the boisterous winds,

and the hollow cadence of the waves. Over all, let the scoff of pride, and the insolence of despotic power predominate, surrounded with every other species of misery which imagination can invent, aud you have but an incomplete picture. To our lot, however, some comfort was still attached, and, it was our fortune to be linked to the same galley, and thus we had it in our power to talk over past misfortunes, and to enjoy the sad luxury of mutual

tears.

Henry's mind was not long capable to endure such hardships: he, therefore, fell a sacrifice to external barbarity; and inward langour, a secrét sorrow, preyed upon his spirits, and in a short time exhausted the springs of life. He had always a taste for poetry, and the productions of his earlier and happier years, were celebrated for vivacity and wit: but all his performances were now imbued with a gloomy dye; plaintive numbers alone flowed from his tongue; and many an hour did he spend in company with the melancholy muse, the kind soother of his weary nights.

What he contrived to commit to paper, I received at his death, and have been so fortunate as ever since to preserve. To you, sir, I am afraid,, they will appear to possess little merit; but my attention they never fail to attract, for every image recalls a thousand circumstances to my mind, and officious recollection confers new beauties upon every sentiment. They do not, indeed, display that variety of thought, splendour of imagination, or pomp of epithets, which are the general characteristics of modern artificial poetry: for as the elegiast sweetly says—

"Grief unaffected, suits but ill with art,
Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart.”

I shall read one of the shortest of them, which he composed on seeing a Scotch vessel homeward bound, sailing from the Bay of Algiers, in a fine summer day.

SONNET.

1.

Soft swells the billows of the azure mair,
On the bright waves the solar glories play,
While yonder vessel plows the watery way,
And to its native shore returns again.
No traces of the furrowing keel remain,

On the smooth surface of the level deep;
Did man's soft breast-ah! fruitless wish, and vain!
No longer traces of misfortune keep!

As transient were chequer'd life's embittering woes, Did sharp affliction's painful wounds as gently close!

2.

In yon gay ship, perhaps some wretch is borne,
With happy speed, convey'd by gentle gales,
To scenes of infancy, and native vales,
From misery's rude embrace for ever torn.
Qh! how his panting throbbing bosom swells,
When waving prospects, long to memory known,
Gay childhood's sportive bowers, he gladly hails,

And home's sweet comforts deem'd for ever gone, When round him throng, with eager gaze, and starting tear,

The long lost relative, and old companions dear.

3.

Me far, alas! from Scotia's flow'ry plain,

Her balmy shades, and native wild wood green; Where many a happy day the muse hath seen The fates confine in misery and pain.

Yet when the clouds of eve the sphere o'ershade, And slumber mantles o'er the weary head,

Fancy alive, as boreal vapours light,

To well known vallies wings its eager flight; Still holds, entranc'd, sweet converse mid the gloomy groves,

4

Still cherishes old friendships, or awakes old loves.

4.

Fresh to my mind, the days of peace revive,
Methinks Maria bids me welcome there;
Clasping my hands, you gave my soul to live,
In strains divine, exclaims the happy fair.
Thrice happy thought! but, ah! what forms ap-
pear!

Oh! conscience, will thy ruthless hand bereave My soul of every joy ;-full many a tear,

Alas! how fallen-no more- -'tis mine to grieve. Parents with grief oppress'd, a maid forlorn, I see, Each slowly treads, and says-You ruin'd me.

After Henry's death I was left alone, and exposed to all the assaults of affliction, but I was a hoary veteran in the service of misery; and over my head care, not time, had long since shed " untimely snow.

As I had now no companion, who had been a sharer of my griefs, or to whom I could communicate them, my sensibility became quite dormant, and the softer feelings of my soul began to rust, if I may use the expression, for want of exercise. I enjoyed a kind of sullen quiet, equally remote from pleasure and from pain; and nothing but the dread of the cruel scourge, or the cravings of hunger, roused me from my apathy. After I had remained in this state for some years, my grey hairs and wrinkled forehead excited the compassion of a generous Scotch merchant, whose business led him often to traverse the quays, to which our gallies were moored.