No. III.

“I’d be a Parody.”—BAILEY.

WE met—’twas in a mob—and I thought he had done me—

I felt—I could not feel—for no watch was upon me;

He ran—the night was cold—and his pace was unalter’d,

I too longed much to pelt—but my small-boned legs falter’d.

I wore my bran new boots—and unrivall’d their brightness,

They fit me to a hair—how I hated their tightness!

I call’d, but no one came, and my stride had a tether;

Oh thou hast been the cause of this anguish, my leather!

And once again we met—and an old pal was near him,

He swore a something low—but ’twas no use to fear him;

I seized upon his arm, he was mine and mine only,

And stept—as he deserv’d—to cells wretched and lonely:

And there he will be tried—but I shall ne’er receive her,

The watch that went too sure for an artful deceiver;

The world may think me gay—heart and feet ache together,

Oh thou hast been the cause of this anguish, my leather.

STOP HIM!

THE SOURCE OF THE NIGER.

LETTER
FROM A PARISH CLERK IN BARBADOES TO ONE IN HAMPSHIRE, WITH AN ENCLOSURE.

“Thou mayest conceive, O reader, with what concern I perceived the eyes of the congregation fixed upon me.”—MEMOIRS OF P. P.

MY DEAR JEDIDIAH,

Here I am safe and sound—well in body, and in fine voice for my calling—though thousands and thousands of miles, I may say, from the old living Threap-Cum-Toddle. Little did I think to be ever giving out the Psalms across the Atlantic, or to be walking in the streets of Barbadoes, surrounded by Blackamoors, big and little; some crying after me, “There him go—look at Massa Amen!” Poor African wretches! I do hope, by my Lord Bishop’s assistance, to instruct many of them, and to teach them to have more respect for ecclesiastic dignitaries.

Through a ludicrous clerical mischance, not fit for me to mention, we have preached but once since our arrival. Oh! Jedidiah, how different from the row of comely, sleek, and ruddy plain English faces, that used to confront me in the Churchwarden’s pew, at the old service in Hants,—Mr. Perryman’s clean, shining, bald head; Mr. Truman’s respectable powdered, and Mr. Cutlet’s comely and well-combed caxon!—Here, such a set of grinning sooty faces, that if I had been in any other place, I might have fancied myself at a meeting of Master Chimney-sweeps on May-Day. You know, Jedidiah, how strange thoughts and things will haunt the mind, in spite of one’s self, at times the least appropriate:—the line that follows “The rose is red, the violet’s blue,” in the old Valentine, I am ashamed to say, came across me I know not how often. Then after service, no sitting on a tombstone for a cheerful bit of chat with a neighbour—no invitation to dinner from the worshipful Churchwardens. The jabber of these Niggers is so outlandish or unintelligible, I can hardly say I am on speaking terms with any of our parishioners, except Mr. Pompey, the Governor’s black, whose trips to England have made his English not quite so full of Greek as the others. There is one thing, however, that is so great a disappointment of my hopes and enjoyments, that I think, if I had foreseen it, I should not have come out even at the Bishop’s request. The song in the play-book says, you know, “While all Barbadoes bells do ring!”—but alas, Jedidiah, there is not a ring of bells in the whole island!—You who remember my fondness for that melodious pastime, indeed I may say my passion, for a Grandsire Peel of Triple Bob-Majors truly pulled, and the changes called by myself, as when I belonged to the Great Tom Society of Hampshire Youths,—may conceive my regret that, instead of coming here, I did not go out to Swan River—I am told they have a Peel there.

BLACK BARBERISM.

I shall write a longer letter by the Nestor, Bird, which is the next ship. This comes by the Lively, Kidd,—only to inform you that I arrived here safe and well. Pray communicate the same, with my love and duty, to my dear parents and relations, not forgetting Deborah and Darius at Porkington, and Uriah at Pigstead. The same to Mrs. Pugh, the opener,—Mr. Sexton, and the rest of my clerical friends. I have no commissions at present, except to beg that you will deliver the enclosed, which I have written at Mr. Pompey’s dictation, to his old black fellow servant, at Number 45, Portland Place. Ask for Agamemnon down the area. If an opportunity should likewise offer of mentioning in any quarter that might reach administration, the destitute state of our Barbarian steeples, and belfries, pray don’t omit; and if, in the mean time, you could send out even a set of small handbells, it might prove a parochial acquisition as well as to me,

Dear Jedidiah,
Your faithful Friend and fellow Clerk,
HABAKKUK CRUMPE.

P.S.—I send Pompey’s letter open, for you to read—You will see what a strange herd of black cattle I am among

[THE ENCLOSURE.]

I say, Aggy!—

You remember me?—Very well.—Runaway Pompey, somebody else. Me Governor’s Pompey. You remember? Me carry out Governor’s piccaninny a walk. Very well. Massa Amen and me write this to say the news. Barbadoes all bustle. Nigger-mans do nothing but talkee talkee. [Pompey’s right, Jedidiah.] The Bishop is come. Missis Bishop. Miss Bishop—all the Bishops. Very well. The Bishop come in one ship, and him wigs come out in other ship. Bishop come one, two, three, weeks first. [It’s too true, Jedidiah.] Him say no wig, no Bishop. Massa Amen, you remember, say so too. Very well. Massa Amen ask me everything about nigger-man, where him baptises in a water. [So I did.] Me tell him in the sea, in the river, any wheres abouts. You remember. Massa Amen ask at me again, who ’ficiates. Me tell him de Cayman. [What man, Jedidiah, could he mean?] Very well. The day before the other day Bishop come to dinner with Governor and Governess, up at the Big House. You remember,—Missis Bishop too. Missis Bishop set him turban afire at a candle, and me put him out. [With a kettle of scalding water, Jedidiah.] Pompey get nothing for that. Very well.

“BY GUM HIM TURBAN AFIRE.”

I say, Aggy,—You know your Catechism? Massa Amen ask him at me and my wife, Black Juno, sometimes You remember. Massa Amen say, you give up a Devil? very well. Then him say, you give up all work? very well. Then him say again, Black Juno, you give up your Pompeys and vanities? Black Juno shake her head, and say no. Massa Amen say you must, and then my wife cry ever so much. [It’s a fact, Jedidiah, the black female made this ridiculous mistake.]

Very well. Governor come to you in three months to see the King. Pompey too. You remember. Come for me to Blackwall. Me bring you some of Governor’s rum. Black Juno say, tell Massa Agamemnon, he must send some fashions, sometimes. You remember? Black Juno very smart. Him wish for a Bell Assembly. [Jedidiah, so do I.] You send him out, you remember? Very well.

Massa Amen say write no more now. I say, O pray one little word more for Agamemnon’s wife. Give him good kiss from Pompey. [Jedidiah, what a heathenish message!] Black Diana a kiss too. You remember? Very well. No more.

SHIP LETTERS.