Cheltenham, Sept. 24, 1812.
I passed yesterday evening at Col. ——’s. Under the régime of Madame, he is far less ridiculous than when allowed to go alone. A map or survey of his Jamaica estate was ostentatiously displayed on a flower-stand. After having so lately read John Woolman,[47] I felt a little awkward in sharing a recherché supper, and seeing so plainly the source whence it flowed. ‘Negroes-land,’ ‘Sugar canes,’ were marked in different parts of this melancholy map. John Woolman, you know, was ‘not free to share in even the necessaries of life,’ when obtained by the labour of slaves. How would his mild spirit have been afflicted by seeing this ostentatious display of our shame! Yet I supped upon turkey piqué au lard, as if I never had read John Woolman.
ON A REPORT OF THE DEATH OF BUONAPARTE.
Nov., 1812.
Quenched is thy light
In endless night,
Thou flaming minister of wrath;
Struck from thy lofty and eccentric path;
Where, like a comet, through the troubled air,