The grocer also wished to plumb The current of her thoughts; She spoke the word that clove his heart, She'd reasons of all sorts. For he was grosser than she liked, And she refused him twice, A soldier wished her to obey He thought to put by storm at once, But she was formed too deep for him, Still tho' she was so hard to please, Bill Float he was a waterman, And being used to Wapping sculls, He took her in his wherry out, One day as they went out to sail, Bill swam ashore, (as sure as death,) For though 'tis true she'd got a duck, They took her out, when she was dead, A crowner's 'quest was held on Sue, was but accident, ess Suecide! stance there was, the people tell it: at had been gingham, wa ed to a well-wet! should give, lurch. he soon became an object of some notice-not more on account of his personal qualifications, which, notwithstanding Miss Catherine Crosby's opinion, were very considerable, than on account of a certain wild uncultivated freedom of manner-the result of his untamed spirit, and arising from the effect of sudden impulse, which he had not yet learnt to control. He was an object, therefore, of great amusement to the high-born and high-bred ladies and gentlemen, with whom he now associated, and his own good-nature led him to bear patiently with the bantering and quizzing with which he was usually assailed. The grocer also wished to plumb The current of her thoughts; She spoke the word that clove his heart, For he was grosser than she liked, And she refused him twice, A soldier wished her to obey He thought to put by storm at once, But she was formed too deep for him, Still tho' she was so hard to please, Bill Float he was a waterman, And being used to Wapping sculls, He took her in his wherry out, One day as they went out to sail, Bill swam ashore, (as sure as death,) For though 'tis true she'd got a duck, FIRST FRIENDSHIPS. When the heart hath been darken'd by sorrow or wrong, The soft tones of some voice that our childhood held dear! New friendships may bless us, and love may requite As we treasure the last flowers of summer's brief reign. REMINISCENCES OF HANNIBAL STRAW. Some years ago, a slave named Hannibal Straw, was imported into England from one of the West India Islands, for pugilistic purposes. His frame was Herculean, his agility, astonishing for a man of his muscle, and his disposition, dauntless. After having acquired considerable local celebrity as a boxer, he was, at length, regularly matched against a brawny, stout-hearted sailor, whom he put hors de combat with such ease, as to render him an object of speculation to a Bristol skipper, who witnessed the fight. This fellow, when in his native city (then the hot-bed of pugilism), generally associated with a set of persons who warmly patronized the ring; and it occurred to him, that a good deal of money might be made of Hannibal, if he could be got over to England-for it was evident to the skipper, that the champion himself would have no chance of success in a match with our hero. Morgan, (so the skipper was called) accordingly threw himself in Hannibal's way-and by glowing pictures of the glory he might gather in England, through the exercise of his fistic accomplishments, endeavoured to prevail upon the slave secretly to stow himself away in his, the skipper's, hold. Hannibal's owner, however, a free man of colour, had always used him so well, and was, moreover, so borne down by bodily ailments and a large family, that, nipping the bud of ambition in his bosom, Hannibal declined the skipper's offer. On returning to Bristol, Morgan gave such an account of the black's abilities, that he was commissioned by his gang to buy Hannibal, and to bring him over. Accordingly, when homeward bound from the next trip, the skipper included among his cargo, the thewes and sinews of Hannibal Straw. Wild with delight at obtaining his freedom, and eager to display his gratitude towards those who had conferred the precious boon upon him, Hannibal panted for a match. Those into whose hands he had fallen, meditated a deep scheme. They proposed, previously to pitting him against the champion for a heavy stake, that he should enter the ring for something trivial, with a man of minor reputation, and be beaten. Honest Hannibal took fire at this-he would not be conquered by any man living if he could help it—he did not see why he might not be permitted to fight fairly-and rather than not do so-with many thanks to the gentlemen-much as he loved liberty, he would rather go back to his own owner. Finding him proof against all their arguments and entreaties, they assumed a different tone, and swore he should rot in prison until he repaid his purchase-money and the expences of transport, which they had disbursed in his behalf. Poor Hannibal quailed at this so perceptibly, that his owners and importers-so they termed themselves-followed up their advantage, by depicting the terrors of an English gaol, in such fearful colours, that Hannibal, half frantic, made an attempt to escape. He was instantly surrounded, and nearly overpowered; but goaded to desperation by the efforts made to secure him, he began to put out his strength, and rapidly shook his importers off, as a mad bull would so many puppy dogs. His blood being up, he laid about him with such vigour, that it was not until he had given each of the most conspicuous, especially the skipper, a frightful threshing, that he recollected the purpose for which he got on his legs-namely, effecting an escape. He dashed into the street, and ran on he knew not whither-he had never been suffered to go out alone-in fact, since his arrival in England, he had been held in more complete bondage, than when a positive slave. A consciousness of this fact had faintly glimmered upon him more than once, and for the last few days, he had been by no means comfortable. It was night, but not so late but that the streets were still thronged, and Hannibal, when he had become tolerably calm, considered himself fortunate in having reached the outskirts of the city ;-but what course could he pursue? Where was he to go? What could he do? There was no bush, as he heard, to which he could retreat he was destitute of money-he had no friends-his enemies were in his rear, perhaps, on his track-and this thought induced him to proceed, with all possible speed, in as direct a line as the nature of the country would permit. At day-break, he found himself on an extensive heath or down: patches of green fern, drooping with dew, were scattered about him; into the nearest of these he threw him |