eir
heaviest metal. This is the unfortunate story that gave rise to my
printed poem, "The Lament." This was a most melancholy affair, which I
cannot yet bear to reflect on, and had very nearly given me one or two
of the principal qualifications for a place among those who have lost
the chart, and mistaken the reckoning of rationality. I gave up my
part of the farm to my brother; in truth it was only nominally mine;
and made what little preparation was in my power for Jamaica. But,
before leaving my native country for ever, I resolved to publish my
poems. I weighed my productions as impartially as was in my power; I
thought they had merit; and it was a delicious idea that I should be
called a clever fellow, even though it should never reach my ears--a
poor negro-driver--or perhaps a victim to that inhospitable clime, and
gone to the world of spirits! I can truly say, that _pauvre inconnu_
as I then was, I had pretty nearly as high an idea of myself and of my
works as I have at this moment, when the public has decided in their
favour. It ever was my opinion that the mistakes and blunders, both in
a rational and religious point of view, of which we see thousands
daily guilty, are owing to their ignorance of themselves.--To know
myself had been all along my constant study. I weighed myself alone; I
balanced myself with others; I watched every means of information, to
see how much ground I occupied as a man and as a poet; I studied
assiduously Nature's design in my formation--where the lights and
shades in my character were intended. I was pretty confident my poems
would meet with some applause; but, at the worst, the roar of the
Atlantic would deafen the voice of censure, and the novelty of West
Indian scenes make me forget neglect. I threw off six hundred copies,
of which I had got subscriptions for about three hundred and
fifty.--My vanity was highly gratified by the reception I met with
from the public; and besides I pocketed, all expenses deducted, nearly
twenty pounds. This sum came very seasonably, as I was thinking of
indenting myself, for want of money to procure my passage. As soon as
I was master of nine guineas, the price of wafting me to the torrid
zone, I took a steerage passage in the first ship that was to sail
from the Clyde, for

"Hungry ruin had me in the wind."

I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, under all the
terrors of a jail; as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the
merc