7

Charles, as the awful moment approaches, I feel myself “more, and more, and more compofed, and calm, and reLigned.

It always, you know, was my opinion, that man could bear a great load of affliction better than a fmall one. I thought fo then-now I am fure of it. This day fe'nnight I was mad, perfectly mad. This afternoon I am all mildnefs.

This day fe'nnight! To look back is death, is hell. 'Tis almost worse than to look forward.

Let me endeavour to get out of myself.

In proof of that opinion which you always ridiculedgo to the gaming table-obferve that adventurer, who is come with the laft fifty he can fcrape together. See-how he gnashes his teeth, bites his fifts, and works all his limbs ! He has loft the first throw-his 50 are reduced to 40. Obferve him now-with what compofure his arms are wrapped about him! What a fmooth calm has fuddenly fucceeded to that dreadful ftorm which fo lately tore up his whole countenance! Whence the reafon think you? Has fortune smiled on him?-Directly the contrary. His 40 are now dwindled to five. His all, nay more, his very existence, his refolution to live or die, depend upon this throw. Mark himhow calmly, how carelessly he eyes the box. I am not sure he does not almoft wish to lofe, that he may defy ill-luck, and tell her she has done her worst.

See

-On a moment's point, th' important dye

Of life and death spins doubtful ere it falls,
And turns up-death.

I'll furrender my opinion for untenable, if a

common

obferver, from his countenance, would not rather point him out as the winner, than the agitated perfon yonder who really has won.

-Since I wrote what you last read, I caught myself marching up and down my cell with the ftep of haughti nefs; hugging myfelf in my two arms; and muttering be tween my grating teeth, "What a compleat wretch I am!"

But is there not a God! Did not that God create me? Does not that God know my heart, my whole heart? Oh! yes, yes, yes!

To-morrow then-And let to-morrow come-I am prepared.

God (who knows my heart, and will judge me, I trust, by that heart) knows it is not with a view to diminish my own guilt, the magnitude and enormity whereof I acknowledge-but-let not thofe, who furvive me, flatter themfelves that all the guilt of mankind goes to the grave, to the gallows (gracious heaven!) with H.

I fhall leave behind me culprits of the fame kind as myself -culprits who will not make my trifling atonement of an ignominious death. Oh may they fee their crimes, and weep over them before they are confronted with the injured parties at the footstool of the throne of the God of heaven!

These are crimes (as indeed are all the crimes of meu, however noiseless or inaudible) with which the listening angel flies up to heaven's chancery-but these are not they upon which the recording angel drops a tear as he notes them down. The pencil of eternity engraves fuch crimes as thefe on adamantine tablets, which fhall endure to the end of time. Mine, mine, perhaps, may head the lift. Be merciful, O God! be merciful!

Reflexion in this world is almoft worfe than the worst which offended Omnipotence can inflict upon me in the next. muft fly from it.

And are there not crimes as bad as mine? It is little my intention to argue away the badness of my crime-but there furely are, and worse.

Let that gallant, gay, young gentleman yonder hold up his hand. Yes, fir-you I first arraign. Not for breach of friendship, not for false oaths to credulous virgins, not for ́ innocence betrayed-these are no longer crimes; these are the accomplishments of our age. Sir, you are indicted for flow and deliberate murder.-Put not on that confident air, that arrogant smile of contempt and defiance. Demand not with a fneer to have the witneffes produced who were present when you ftruck the ftroke of death. Call not aloud for the blood-ftained dagger, the dry-drawn bowl, the brain-splashed pistol. Are thefse the only inftruments of death? You know they are not. Murder is never at a lofs for weapons.

Sir, produce your wife. See, fee!—what indignation flashes in his eyes! A murderer, and the murderer of his wife! May the calumniator-!-Sir, no imprecations,

no

no oaths; thofe are what betrayed that wife. You did not plant a dagger in her breast; but you planted there grief, difeafe, death. She, fir, who gave you all, was deftroyed, was murdered by your ill ufage. And not fuddenly, not without giving her time to know what was to happen. She faw the lingering ftroke, fhe perceived the impoffibility to avoid it; fhe felt it tenfold from the hands of a muchloved husband.

T

Were these scraps of paper to be seen by any other eye than your's, common people would wonder that, in proportion as the moment drew nearer, I got further and fur'ther from myself. It may be contrary to the rules of criticks, but fo it is. To think, or to write about myself, is death, is hell. My feelings will not fuffer me to date these different papers any more.

Let me pay a small tribute of praife-How often have you and I complained of familiarity's blunting the edge of every fense on which she lays her hand? At her bidding, beauty fades even in the eye of love; and the fon of pity fmiles at forrow's bleeding breaft. In her prefence, who is he that ftill continues to behold the fcene of delight, or that still hears the voice of mourning? What then is the praise of that gaoler, who in the midft of mifery, and crimes, and death, fets familiarity at defiance, and still preferves the feelings of

a man? The author of the life of Savage gives celebrity to the Bristol gaoler, by whofe humanity the latter part of that ftrange man's life was rendered more comfortable. Shall no one give celebrity to the present keeper of Newgate? Mr. Akerman marks every day of his existence, by more than one fuch deed as this.-Know, ye rich and powerful, ye who might fave hundreds of your fellow creatures, from ftarving, by the fweepings of your tables-Know, that, among the various feelings of almost every wretch who quits Newgate for Tyburn, a concern neither last nor least is that which he feels upon leaving the gaol of which this man is the keeper.

But I can now no longer Ay from myself. In a few short hours the hand which is now writing to you, the hand which

I will not distress either you or myfelf. My life I owe to the laws of my country, and I will pay the debt. How I felt for poor Dodd! Well-you fhall hear that I died like a man and a chriftian. I cannot have a better truft than in the mercy of an all-juft God. And, in your letters, when you shall these unhappy deeds relate, tell of me as I am. I * forget the paffage, 'tis in Othello.

You must fuffer me to mention the tenderness and greatnefs of mind of my dear B. The last moments of my life cannot be better spent than in recording this complicated act of friendship and humanity. When we parted, a task too much for us both, he asked me if there was any thing for which I wished to live. Upon his preffing me, I ac

know.