DESCRIPTION OF A CONVICT SHIP.

THE appearance and regulation of a convict ship are as singular as the novel punishment of transportation, or as a regulated colony of very lawless convicts. Order and discipline, necessary to such an abandoned society, prevail in every part of the ship. The men are arranged in one long line, the women in a second; but the sexes are separated. The former dine upon their bedsteads, the latter sleep on a species of table, three longitudinally and two collaterally. To preserve subordination and regularity, a soldier in his regimentals is placed at the interval of ten convicts, as their guard. An adequate space is left in the lowest hall for the cockpit and surgery; a second space between decks for the stowage of stores; and a third on the quarter for the apartment of the free-settlers, and for the cabins or beds of the officers. All the convicts are compelled to wash once in the day their heads, their feet, and their faces; the men under the superintendance of a soldier; the women apart, under the eye of a matron. The males are marched in a body of six across the deck to the pump; the sailors draw up the water, and they are artfully compelled to labour for health at the pump, and rinse away the dirt. By this prudent precaution, in every variety of weather they obtain fresh air, and avoid the scurvy or cutaneous diseases. A surgeon every day inspects this human cargo, and reports its state. They are paid, per head, a sum for those who survive the voyage. Hence, it is the surgeon's interest to preserve the lives of those diseased wretches. To inure the assembly, disgorged from brothels, alehouses, and gaols, to the appearance, or to the idea of decorum, the men wash their bodies above decks, and the women between them. The sexes are forbid to mingle, even at their meals. So vigorous a discipline is only supported by severity of punishment. Chains, fastened round the body, and securely fettered around the ankles, confine and distress each male convict by the clanking sound, and by annoying the feet. This image of slavery is copied from the irons used in the slave ships in Guinea; as in these, bolts and locks also are at hand, in the sides and ribs of each transport, (for the vessels on this service, with peculiar propriety, are so named,) to prevent the escape, or preclude the movements of a convict. If he attempt to pass the sentry, he is liable to be stabbed; for the attempt, a convict was lately shot, and his executioner was applauded by his officer for a faithful, though severe, discharge of duty. If a felon kill his companion, a case very frequent in the quarrels of

these highwaymen and robbers, the murderer is hung at the yard-arm, and his body is slowly carried through the ship, and launched into the deep. For the theft of provisions, or of clothes from his neighbour, a case yet more common and more natural to footpads, the convicted depredator is shot. For inferior crimes, as riots or quarrels, a soldier is ordered to whip the offender with martial severity. On the slightest appearance of mutiny, the ringleader is cast headlong into the sea in his irons and in his clothes." We commit this body to the deep," the chaplain repeats; but the words of Shakspeare would, perhaps, be more applicable:

"O mutineer, if thou hast any hope of Heav'n's bliss,
Lift up thy hand; make signal of that hope.

He sinks, and makes no sign!"

BIBLIOMANIC RAGE.

A SINGULAR story is extant about the purchase of the late Duke of Roxburgh's copy of the first edition of Shakspeare. A friend was bidding for him in the sale-room, his grace had retired to one end of the room, coolly to view the result of the contest. The biddings rose quickly to twenty guineas-a great sum in former times, when collecting was not quite so fashionable as it has since become; but the duke was not to be daunted or defeated. A slip of paper was handed to him, upon which the impropriety of continuing the contest was suggested. His grace took out his pencil; and with a coolness which would have done credit to Prince Eugene, he wrote on the same slip of paper, by way of reply—

"Lay on Macduff!

And dd be he who first cries hold, enough!?"

Such a spirit was irresistible; it bore down all opposition, and was worthy of the cause in which it was engaged. The duke was of course declared victor, and he marched off triumphantly, with the volume under his arm!

BON MOT OF FOX.

DURING the poll at Westminster, in the year 1784, a dead cat being thrown on the hustings, one of Sir Cecil Wray's party observed that it stunk worse than a For; to which Mr. Fox replied, "there was nothing extraordinary in that, considering it was a poll-cat!"

POETRY.

ODE MEDITATED IN THE CLOISTERS OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL.

[By George Dyer.]

NOW cease, my song, the plaintive strain;
Now hush'd be Pity's tender sigh;
While MEM'RY wakes her fairy-train,

And young DELIGHT sits laughing by:

Return, each hour of rosy hue,

In smiles, and pranks, and garlands gay,

Playful of wing as when ye flew,

Ev'ry month then seeming May;

While, as Invention wak'd the mimic powers,

Genius, still wand'ring wild, sigh'd for enchanted bowers.

Then, too, in antic vestment drest,
Pastime would lightly trip along,
Throwing around the ready jest,
Satire and sting, or simple song;

And merry Mischief oft would weave
The wanton trick for little hearts;
Nor Love a tender vot❜ry grieve;

Soft were his hands, nor keen his darts:

While FRIENDSHIP, with a gay enthusiast glow,
Gave her full half of bliss, and took her share of wo.

And, what tho' round a youthful spring
A lowering storm may sometimes rise?
Hope her soul-soothing strain can sing,
Quickly can brighten up the skies.
How sweetly pass'd my youth's gay prime!
For not untuneful was my tongue:
And, as I tried the classic rhyme,

The critic schoolboy prais'd my song:
Nor did mine eye not catch the orient ray,
That promis'd fair to gild Ambition's distant day.

Ah! pleasing, gloomy cloister-shade,

Still, still this wavering breast inspire!
Here, lost in rapt'rous trance, I stray'd,
Here saw with horror spectres dire!
For, soon as day dark-veil'd its head,
With hollow cheek and haggard eye,
Pale ghosts would flit from yon death-bed,
And stalk with step terrific by!

Till the young heart would freeze with wild affright,

And store the dismal tale to cheer a winter's night!

How like the spirit of the place,

Good Edward's form here seem'd to move!

As lingering still its growth to trace,

With all a Founder's Guardian's love!

How of his name each syllable
Repeated oft, on youthful ears
Like no unholy charm would dwell,

And mingle fondness with the prayers!
While still the day, made sacred by his birth,

Brought with the rolling year memorials of his worth.

Yet, what avails the schoolboy's praise,
Tho' taking Gratitude's sweet name,
The stately monument to raise

Of royal Edward's lasting fame?

Tho' never on thy youthful brow

Flaunted the helmet's towering crest;
Tho' ne'er as martial Glory led,

The corslet sparkled on thy breast;

Yet, blameless youth, to worth so true as thine,
Virtue herself might weave her purest virgin line.

But ah! what means the silent tear?

Why e'en mid joy my bosom heave?
Ye long lost scenes, enchantments dear!
Lo! now I linger o'er your grave!
-Fly, then, ye hours of rosy hue,

And bear away the bloom of years!

And quick succeed, ye sickly crew

Of doubts and sorrows, pains and fears!

Still will I ponder Fate's unalter'd plan,

Nor tracing back the CHILD forget that I am MẠN.

THE WHEELBARRÓW.

[By Henry Bunbury, Esq.]

WITH a big bottle-nose, and an acre of chin
His whole physiognomy frightful as sin,
With a huge frizzled wig, and triangular hat,
And a snuff-besmear'd handkerchief tied over that;
Doctor Bos, riding out on his fierce Rosinante,
(In hair very rich, but of flesh very scanty,)
Was a little alarm'd, through a zeal for his bones,
Seeing Hodge cross the road with a barrow of stones.
Hip! friend, roar'd the doctor, with no little force,

Prithee set down your barrow, 'twill frighten my horse.
Hodge as quickly replied, as an Erskine or Garrow,

"You're a dd deal more likely to frighten my barrow."

EPIGRAM,

On a monument being erected to the memory of Butler, author of Hudibras

[By the Rev. Samuel Wesley.]*

WHILE Butler (ucedy wretch!) was yet alive,
No generous patron would a dinner give.
Behold him, starved to death, and turn'd to dust,
Presented with a monumental bust!

The Poet's fate in emblem here is shown

He asked for bread-and he received a stone.

De la Littérature considérée dans ses Rapports avec les Institutions Sociales. Par Mad. de Staël-Holstein. Avec un Précis de la Vie et les Ecrits de l'Auteur, 2 tomes, 12mo.

THIS is not a new book-as seems to be imagined by most of its present readers in this country ;-but a book published at least ten years ago, with no very brilliant success-and lately brought back into notice by the happier fortune of the novels with which its distinguished author has since condescended to favour this frivolous generation. Its true date, indeed, is sufficiently marked by a great part of its contents; since it is full of reflections on the effects of ten years of revolution-and of conjectures as to the changes which European literature is likely to undergo from the establishment of an august Republic in France. These proud VOL. II. New Series.

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