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ton's swore, that that very individual instrument had been sold to the murdered Captain. The people in court, shewed some signs of pleasure at this having been brought home to the wretch; he however said, he had bought it from a person in South America, whose name he did not know. Boyce called, proved the conspiracy to murder me, and the reason why, which fixed the case on Dance. The papers found proved that Groves and Cross were in connection, and as to Cross himself, the jeweller swore and so did several of his shopmen, that he was the person who brought the diamonds for sale, and Major D. proved that these jewels were those which his deceased wife had on board the ship when taken by the pirates. Cross vehemently denied all connection with these men, and declared that he an honorable and extensive merchant, having correspondents in all parts of the new world and in Africa, and offered to prove that he was so by reference to them ; as to the diamonds, he deeply regretted the delusion, which miglit end so disastrously for himself, that made the Jeweller and bis assistants mistake him for another person. He solemnly assured the court that on the day alledged he was not in London, and produced two witnesses, who swore that they had seen him at Hounslow. This, however, would not serve his turn, for the postboys who drove his carriage that day, and whose evidence it had not been thought necessary to have, although in attendance, declared, that before they took him to Hounslow, where he really did
go, they first went to the Jewellers. The summing up took but a small time, for the Jury, before it was half over, expressed a wish to retire, and brought in a verdict of guilty against every one of the prisoners, and they were subsequently all hanged, my guardian having the honor of preceding them all in the part of exaltation. I did not go to see the execution for many and obvious reasons, but I believe, the curious reader may still see, if I mistake not, the bodies of the malefactors hanging in chains on the right bank of the Thames as he proceeds down the river.
Land the police officer, Boyce and myself got tolerably well paid for our exertions, by the rewards which had been offered for the apprehension of these men, and I got a hundred pounds additional, besides a place in Plymouth dock yard. As to the rest of my companions I have never heard of any tbing more of them in England, nor do I think it is likely they will set foot here in a hurry. Jackson, the evidence, is a one handed parish pauper in Warwickshire, and Boyce, whom I have set up, is now commander of a clipping little coaster, which has not been mended more than twice, while I am going on in life with a belaying sail filled with the breeze of good fortune-which I hope may happen to all readers of this.
Why should we search the world for thorns and briars,
Explore its darkest dens for hurtful things,
Whose furnace-heat a swift destruction brings ?
And with suspicion soil our spirits' wings?
When suns are shining, rivers sparkling clear,
To sprinkle hope with thoughts of doubt and fear ?
Where Spring's and Summer's wedded charms appear,
Whose blossoms we may gather, yet not wound
Are there not fruits delicious to be fonnd
Of summer-tide and autumn deck the ground
Its baby blossoms and its butterflies ;
For Nature's lovelinesses, vainly rise
A taste of bliss within her luxuries,
They do not in their beantihood surpass
Flung snowy white across the crimpëd grass ;
And her snow-bowers are fairer than pure glass,
From the prolific bosom of the earth-
Its sun-light and its showers—its heavens, at first
Cloudy and grey, then beaming brightly forth,-
When love and friendship ope their kindly arms;
And pleasure dresses every thing in charms :-
The tranquil moonlight, and its sweet ala-ms
Her ripe fruits falling from the loaded bough;-
And sometimes, too, her sudden blights, which throw Bleak famine on the earth, where late the trace
Of plenteousness was seen ; - whilst saddest woe Succeeds to joy :—this is onr manhood's type, Whose hopes meet blight when they are nearly ripe ! Last comes old Winter, with its genial frosts,
Its wholesome freshness, and its furrowed brow; And ah! its sleets, its surly blasts, its hosts
Of sullen storms, and winds that blustering blow,--
Of healthy vigour,-cold yet cheerful snow ;-
In every season, and o’er every scene,
And hang black banners where bright flags have been ?
On daisied lea, with hedgerows fresh and green ;And, Summer! thou art dear, with all thy wealth Of sunny skies, clear seas, and winds of health ! Hail to thee, Autumn !-in thy brow I trace
No frown to tell of canker or of care ; There is a happy flash mpon thy face,
And ears of yellow wheat are in thy hair ;
Its icebells pure, its glaciers grand and fair ;-
R. C. C. THE SUICIDE’S GRAVE.
I stood beside a public way,
Where men pass’d to and fro, And there was a mound of fresh-turn’d clay,
And I ask'd who slept below:
A wandering son of wo;
I gazed upon th' unhallow'd spot,
And thought what biting care,
Of him who rested there ;
And left him to despair:
'Twas his-that dark and chilling grief,
That winter of the mind,
And all that once had twined
And was there none to drop the tear,
And none to heave the sigh-
To look its last“ good bye ?"
Without ove moisten'd eye :
MOORE'S LIFE OF BYRON.
We have noticed in a former number of the Calcutta Magazine,* the first part of this highly interesting work, and the opi. nion we then expressed of Mr. Moore's merits as the Biographer of his brother poet, is confirmed by a perusal of the second volume. This publication, if taken as a whole, is incomparably superior to all other works on Lord Byron, inasmuch as it contains a greater abundance of original and authentic materials, interspersed with notes and observations always elegant or entertaining and often philosophical and profound. The chief defects of the work consist in the omission of any full or satisfactory account of the causes of Lord Byron's separation from his Ladythe extravagant and almost unqualified tone of eulogy adopted upon all occasions on which his Lordship's name is introduced -the petty spite and gross inconsistency evinced in the notices of Mr. Leigh Hunt—the injudicious admission of a number of very indecent letters and details--and the absence of any attempt at a critical analysis of the poetical character and accomplishments of the noble poet, which would have been so peculiarly valuable from the pen of Moore. With these exceptions the book has fully justified our hopes and we have no hesitation in expressing our opinion that it will continue to be read with eagerness and delight as long as the English language shall endure. Notwithstanding its various defects, it will probably remain, as it is at present, the most ample and authentic, if not the best arranged record of the peculiarities, personal and literary, of the most celebrated poet of these times. The materials alone would make it a favorite with the lovers of Biography for centuries to come. If Boswell's Life of Johnson is still read and long likely to be read, with undirninished gratification, notwithstanding the many ludicrous foibles of the Biographer, (a foolish man and a feeble writer,) the work before us, with the combined attractions of an equally interesting subject and far superior execution, it may be confidently predicted will form one of the most permanently popular publications of this fertile period of our literature.
Hayley's Life of Cowper and Mason's Life of Gray, seem to have suggested the plan of this Life of Byron, which by the Irequent introduction of his Lordship’s letters and extracts from his
* See Calcutta Magazine, vol. 1. page 422.