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Then fare thee well! and to thy constant mind

Still be my memory dear, tho' I am gone; Still be each thought, each tender wish confin'd

To me whose heart is full of thee alone: Fond Hope the while shall cheer my drooping soul,

In sweet impatience shall the time employ, Shall chide the lazy moments as they roll,

And soothe my grief with thoughts of future joy.



BY THE LATE BRYAN EDWARDS, ESQ. STRANGER! whoe'er thou art, with reverence tread; Lo! these, the silent mansions of the dead! His life of labour o'er, the wearied slave Here finds, at length, soft quiet in the grave. View not, with proud disdain, the unsculptur'd heap, Where injur'd innocence forgets lo weep, Nor idly deem, although not here are found The solemn aisle and consecrated ground, The spot less sacred:~-o'er the turf-built shrine, Where Virtue sleeps, presides the Power Divine.

* On a plantation in Jamaica, belonging to the late Mr. Bryan Edwards, that gentleman's negroes had chosen for their burialground, a retired spot, in a grove of piemento or all-spice. It was a place extremely solemn and singularly beautiful; and Mr. Edwards directed, that, in case of his death in Jamaica, he should be buried in the midst of them. As the ground was exposed to the intrusions of cattle, he caused a fence to be raised round it, and inscribed these lines on the little wicket at the entrance.




MITISSA, well-bred Puss, descended
From cats of Cyprus, much commended;
In whom more fondling arts are seen,
Than had that wheedling Cyprian Queen ;
Thy beauteous coat unrivald shines
With various hues in waving lines :
More soft and yielding than the vest
That warms the turtle's downy breast :
More delicate than virgin's face,
O’erspread with tender blooming grace,
A much more cunning thievish elf,
Than the sly pilf’ring fox himself,
A perfect monkey in disguise,
With tricks as droll, and looks as wise;
Nor less alert than squirrel found,
To skip and frisk with nimble bound.

When through my garden walks I stray,
How pleas'd art thou to lead the way!
How prompt to hint, by gestures courting,
Thy longings for a little sporting !
And when, in playful circles quick,
Around thy head I twirl my stick,
Close couching first, with wąv'ring view,
Thy eyes alone its track pursue;
Then eager springing from the ground,
With greedy grasp thou hug’st it round.

* Perhaps MOLINEUX.

Again, before thy sparkling eyes,
The flourish'd stick enticing flies :
And now with twisting, doubling pace,
Thou urgest true the giddy chase,
Till caught once more, 'twixt tooth and nail,
The prize is held, with waggling tail.

I home return; close, side by side,
Thou trottest on with social pride.
Then to my study we repair;
But scarce I'm fixt in elbow chair,
To read or write one line scarce able,
Ere thou art perch'd upon the table;
As if, an owl since Pallas chuses,
A cat must needs attend the Muses.
And now, what purrings to express,
And sooth thy cherish'd love's excess!
What hasty struttings to and fro,
Thy joy's ecstatic height to show!
What urgent fits of fond caressing,
With nustling nose my face close pressing!
What pride display'd with back infected,
And swelling tail in state erected !
I stroke thee now, sweet Puss, and prove
Myself infected with thy love:
Submitting with compliance bland,
Thou glidest smooth beneath my

Returning quick, I stroke again,
But strive to satisfy in vain ;
For thou-again, these coaxings o'er,
Wilt still solicit more and more.

Finding thyself, at length, neglected,
And my thoughts fixt where first directed;
Demure and grave thou canst retreat,
And, near my elbow, take thy seat.

But though on folded paws tuck'd in,
And knuckled close beneath thy chin,
Yet still thy eyes, whate'er I do,
With active glance my.


pursue, And hark! my scribbling pen, with scratches, Thy quick, attentive ear now catches. Impatient quite, yet slowly rising, Because intent upon surprising, With gentle siep, and cautious fear, Thou creepest on-till station'd near, With eager wrigglings to express Thy purpose and secure success, Quick as at mouse in rustling straw, Thou dartest underneath thy paw; Then rais'd erect, up goes my paper, With gamesome cuff, and noddling caper. But this rude trick, though far from pleasing, Is yet so comically teazing, That, quite unable to resent, I laugh, and take it as 'twas meant, And having plac'd all matters right, Calmly proceed again to write. And now each letter that I trace Thou dost inspect with serious face; Musing, as if at loss to know What such marks mean, and whence they flow : But still perplext, and longing much To feel, if palpable to touch, Thy curious foot, to clear the doubt, Whips in, and blots my writing out. More teazing this; but love prevailing, I overlook this second failing. But thou more bold, the more excus'd, (And kindness thus is oft abus'd)

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Some fresh assault hast soon devis'd,
And ere of thy intent appris'd,
Snatch'd from my hand, with flippant paw,
My mumbled pen I see thee gnaw.
Rous'd at a frolic so provoking,
And much too angry grown for joking,
I snatch my pen, and loudly scold,
Mynx, Hussy, Slut, let go thy hold!
What tug? Take heed, for, if I catch thee
Once more at this, I vow I'll match thee.
These threats despis’d, I then repress,
With flip on nose, thy sauciness.
At this rebuff, thy neck close shrinking,
Thy whiskers flat, and eyelids blinking,
Thuu sneakest back, with sad dismay,
And looks that conscious guilt betray;
Looks sweetly aw'd, such looks as prove
Thy pertness lost, but not thy love.
And now, as griev'd for insults past,
On me thy pleading eyes are cast:
But, soon dispellid each gloomy fear,
Fair gleams of hope thy aspect cheer.
And well, sweet puss, mayst thou believe
That, like thyself, I can forgive;
For 'tis a doubt which most repents,
Or which most willingly relents.

And yet, methinks, I wish thee gone;
I'm busy ; we'll be friends anon.
Come, Puss, march down, and if this blow
Should fret and vex thee, when below
Then show it, or on rat, or mouse,
Our common foes, within this house :
Thus may thy vented spleen be eas’d,
And thus my anger best appeas'd.

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