Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

ments black,-not a spot sullies the sleekness of his skin-every thing shews that his master is not better valetized than he has been groomed. The cabriolet is of a deep olive-green, relieved by the polished black of the knee-board, and the dead-black of the calash.

No mark of impatience or of expectation is evinced by the driver as he approaches the house,-a slight pressure of the right hand upon the white-web reins, and an elegant turn of the wrist, which conveys the lash of his whip to the flanks of his horse, puts him a little more upon his mettle as he passes the door; but there is no other sign of recognition, save a knowing glance of the impudent fresh-coloured boy who hangs on behind, and who, by a look of impertinence thrown up at the windows, shews that he is but too well aware of his master's secrets.

It is this look which has induced her to shrink behind the drapery of the window, and almost into herself;yet she cannot resist taking one glance at the wellappointed equipage,-and I can almost read in her eye, the comparison which her mind has drawn between that and the dislocated tilbury of her humbler friend.

She now seizes her scarf, and throws it carelessly over her shoulder,-she ties her bonnet in a knot, loose, perhaps, as that which is likely to attach her to her lover, she makes no appeal to the glass, whether from the full consciousness of beauty, or from that total abstraction from self, which some of that generous sex experience in their attachments, I cannot tell ;-she rushes to the door, but suddenly stops as the clock strikes the half hour after the appointed time. Female pride seems to struggle a moment for mastery in her mind, while she mentally exclaims, "I will not betray my impatience." A few minutes, however, sees her in the street

another brings her to the carriage, drawn close up to the kirb, with the step carefully thrown over the pavement; the ponderous knee-board opens, not unlike the jaw of a shark into which shoals of poor maids, soles, and other flat fish are carried by the stream,-she mounts,-the knee-board is closed. The groom takes his station behind, the steed, obedient to the rein, starts in a majestic trot, and they are out of sight in an instant.

As I linger out of my window at night, I have heard the cutting and slashing of the whip, impelling the jaded horse of the tilbury to perform his last trot for the day, as it reaches the door. Not all the energy of the driver can get it out of a walk from thence to the stable,-and in the absence of his mistress, he is not so solicitous about his coachmanship. I have heard the hearty farewells of the glass and hackney-coach travellers, and have marked papa watch the safe entry of the white beaver hat and rose-coloured spencer.

Lights in the long windows proclaim that all are seeking their pillows, and the short time that they remain appears to indicate that candles are portioned out as they are in some sales at Garraway's, by the inch.

The cabriolet drives up on the opposite side,-I looked to see the lover spring lightly out of the carriage to assist his mistress,-but, no,-she is driven home by the servant!

I can imagine her silently seeking her bed, in the midst of her more joyous companions,-and she has sought it in the dark, for no light appears in the dormitory, though I can distinguish her white figure, as she seems to seek a last look of the carriage from the window.

The gaiety of her companions is painful to her,—for she has nothing she dares communicate in return for the accounts which are pressed upon her of their adventures. At length they talk and laugh themselves to forgetfulness, while she sighs or weeps herself into a dream, which may never be realized.

Apprentices now redouble their haste to get home within the appointed time--I see lovers and friends bidding hasty adieux, as they arrive at that point where the paths to their different destinations separate,-a drunken song here and there bursts upon the night, but is quickly silenced by the guardians of the peace,-every footstep becomes more palpable to the ear,-St. James's clock strikes twelve on one side, and is re-echoed by St. Martin's on the other, I close my window and my speculations together.

AN ACCOUNT OF A CELEBRATED EXECUTION.

In the month of March 1817, I was suffering under a nervous disorder, with which I had been afflicted for some weeks. It used to cause me extreme irritation of the spirits, and, in particular, affected my rest. For many nights I got scarcely any sleep at all-and would lay in that state of tossing restlessness which is, perhaps, more wearing than any other kind or degree of suffering. There is hardly any thing which affects the mind so much as this. I am naturally of a buoyant and elastic temper, and yet there was no species of horrors which I did not then conjure up to myself. I used to lie and think, and think, till thought quite became a pain; and I need not say how impossible it is at such

times to shake the mind free, and bring it to that state of vacuum, into which at other moments it falls without any seeming cause, and from which it is then difficult to rouse it. I tried all the means usually resorted to, to procure sleep. I took opium, but that only excited, instead of lulling me ;-I went through those tedious and mechanical processes of the mind, which are commonly practised on such occasions,-calculation, namely, verbal repetition, or forced exclusiveness to one point of thought, I read dull books, and had them read to mebut even Mr.'s poetry failed in its usual effect.

I passed several nights in this way, with scarcely any sleep; I should say with none-if the lapse of time had not occasionally proved to me that I must have slept,— though at the time I did not feel it to be sleep. One night, that I had been even more than usually restless, -when my nerves were excited to a painful degree,and I was lying without motion, to try if perfect stillness of body would produce sleep-I heard (I lived at that time in the neighbourhood of Portman-square,) the bugle at the King-street barracks sound the reveillé. It was raw, very cold weather, and the wind was high and gusty. It swept in long and melancholy howlings past my window, and on one of these heavy swellings of the night-wind the sound of the bugle was borne to me. I thought I never heard so melancholy a sound. The reveillé is, I conclude, meant to be inspiring, but I must say, if I am to judge from its tone that night, it would convey any thing but an enlivening or stirring feeling to my heart. It had no briskness, or, if I may so say, crispness of sound, but the tantarantara notes seemed long drawn, and breathed, as it were, in slow succession, one rising just as that which went before was becoming extinct. I struck my watch-it was two o'clock. I could

not conceive what should make the Life-Guards turn out at such an hour,-and I lay revolving in my mind the probable causes, till, in about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, the bugle sounded again. It then at once flashed across me that Cashman was to be executed that morning, and that the Life-Guards were going to attend his execution. London was at that time in a very disturbed state, and Cashman's fate had excited much popular interest. He was to be executed in Skinner-street, opposite Mr. Beckwith's shop,-and it was apprehended that there would be much disorder on the occasion, and even that a rescue might be attempted. There had therefore been a considerable military force, both of cavalry and foot, ordered to attend the execution. As I heard the bugle the second time, I remembered all this at once-and my thoughts reverted to the unfortunate man who was so soon to suffer death. I thought of what the night previous to execution must be of the effect of the clock striking hour after hour, till at last none intervenes before that of death;-I thought of the sensations with which the unfortunate being must behold the dawning of the last day whose light he is ever to see. There is no doubt that all the circumstances of horror which precede the infliction of death, as awarded by our law, add, in an extreme degree, to the bitterness of that dreadful hour. The cell, differing from all human dwellings,-with its bare massive walls, -its small heavily-barred window, admitting just light enough to shew the terrors and wretchedness of the place-its lack of all furniture, beyond that barely sufficient for the miserable one who inhabits it-telling of the absence of all intercourse and sympathy of our fellows the harsh grating of the bolts-the heavy clang of the keys-and the look of hardened indifference which

« ПредишнаНапред »