The gleam of joy which this unhappy family derived from the circumstance which had been related

When ev'ry hour in joy and gladness pass'd,

And each new day shone brighter than the last;
When in society I lov'd to join;

When to enjoy and give delight was mine?—
Now-sad reverse!-in sorrow wakes each day,
And grief's sad tones inspire each plaintive lay:
Alas! too plain these mournful tears can tell
The pangs of wo my lab'ring bosom swell!
Thou best of brothers-friend, companion, guide,
Joy of my youth, my honour, and my pride!
Lost is all peace-all happiness to me,
And fled all comfort, since depriv'd of thee.
In vain, my Lycidas, thy loss I mourn-
In vain indulge a hope of thy return;
Still years roll on, and still I vainly sigh-
Still tears of anguish drown each gushing eye.
Ah, cruel Time! how slow thy ling'ring pace,
Which keeps me from his tender, lov'd embrace.
At home to see him, or to know him near,
How much I wish-and yet how much I fear!
Oh, fatal voyage! which robb'd my soul of peace
And wreck'd my happiness in stormy seas!
Why, my lov'd Lycidas, why didst thou stay,
Why waste thy life from friendship far away?
Though guiltless thou of mutiny or blame,

And free from aught which could disgrace thy name;
Though thy pure soul, in honour's footsteps train'd,
Was never yet by disobedience stain'd;

Yet is thy fame expos'd to slander's wound,

And fell suspicion whispering around.

In vain-to those who knew thy worth and truth,
Who watch'd each opening virtue of thy youth,
When noblest principles inform'd thy mind,
Where sense and sensibility were join'd;
Love to inspire, to charm, to win each heart,
And ev'ry tender sentiment impart ;

Thy outward form adorn'd with ev'ry grace;
With beauty's softest charms thy heavenly face,
Where sweet expression beaming ever prov'd
The index of that soul by all belov'd;
Thy wit so keen, thy genius form'd to soar,
By fancy wing'd, new science to explore;
Thy temper, ever gentle, good, and kind,
Where all but guilt an advocate could find:
To those who know this character was thine
(And in this truth assenting numbers join),
How vain th' attempt to fix a crime on thee
Which thou disdain'st-from which each thought is free!
No, my lov'd brother, ne'er will I believe

Thy seeming worth was meant but to deceive;

to them of young Heywood's swimming off to the Pandora, was dissipated by a letter from himself to his mother soon after his arrival in England, in which he says:-"The question, my dear mother, in one of your letters, concerning my swimming off to the Pandora, is one falsity among the too many in which I have often thought of undeceiving you, and as frequently forgot. The story was this:-On the morning she arrived, accompanied by two of my friends (natives), I was going up the mountains, and having got about a hundred yards from my own house, another of my friends (for I was a universal favourite among those Indians, and perfectly conversant in their language) came running after me, and informed me there was a ship coming. I immediately ascended a rising ground, and saw, with indescribable joy, a ship laying-to off Hapiano; it was just after daylight, and thinking Coleman might not be awake, and therefore ignorant of this pleasing news, I sent one of my servants to inform him of it, upon which he immediately went off in a single

Still will I think (each circumstance though strange)
That thy firm principles could never change;
That hopes of preservation urged thy stay,
Or force, which those resistless must obey.

If this is error, let me still remain

In error wrapp'd, nor wake to truth again!

Come then, sweet Hope, with all thy train of joy,
Nor let Despair each rapt'rous thought destroy;
Indulgent Heav'n, in pity to our tears,

At length will bless a parent's sinking years;
Again shall I behold thy lovely face,
By manhood form'd, and ripen'd ev'ry grace;
Again I'll press thee to my anxious breast,
And ev'ry sorrow shall be hush'd to rest.
Thy presence only can each comfort give.
Come then, my Lycidas, and let me live;
Life without thee is but a wretched load,
Thy love alone can smooth its thorny road;
But, blest with thee, how light were every wo;
How would my soul with joy and rapture glow!
Kind Heav'n! thou hast my happiness in store,
Restore him innocent-I ask no more!

"Isle of Man, Feb. 25th, 1792."

"NESSY HEYWOOD

canoe. There was a fresh breeze, and the ship working into the bay; he no sooner got alongside than the rippling capsized the canoe, and he being obliged to let go the tow-rope to get her righted, went astern and was picked up the next tack and taken on board the Pandora, he being the first person. I, along with my messmate Stewart, was then standing upon the beach with a double canoe manned with twelve paddles ready for launching; and just as she made her last tack into her berth (for we did not think it requisite to go off sooner) we put off and got alongside just as they streamed the buoy; and being dressed in the country manner, tanned as brown as themselves, and I tattooed like them in the most curious manner, I do not in the least wonder at their taking us for natives. I was tattooed, not to gratify my own desire, but theirs; for it was my constant endeavour to acquiesce in any little custom which I thought would be agreeable to them, though painful in the process, provided I gained by it their friendship and esteem, which you may suppose is no inconsiderable object in an island where the natives are so numerous. The more a man or woman there is tattooed, the more they are respected; and a person having none of these marks is looked upon as bearing an unworthy badge of disgrace, and considered as a mere outcast of society."

Among the many anxious friends and family connexions of the Heywoods was Commodore Pasley, to whom this affectionate young lady addressed herself on the melancholy occasion; and the following is the reply she received from this officer:

"Sheerness, June 8th, 1792. "Would to God, my dearest Nessy, that I could rejoice with you on the early prospect of your brother's arrival in England. One division of the Pandora's people has arrived, and now on board the Vengeance (my ship). Captain Edwards, with the

remainder, and all the prisoners late of the Bounty, in number ten (four having been drowned on the loss of that ship), are daily expected. They have been most rigorously and closely confined since taken, and will continue so, no doubt, till Bligh's arrival. You have no chance of seeing him, for no bail can be offered. Your intelligence of his swimming off on the Pandora's arrival is not founded: a man of the name of Coleman swam off ere she anchored,your brother and Mr. Stewart the next day. This last youth, when the Pandora was lost, refused to allow his irons to be taken off to save his life.

"I cannot conceal it from you, my dearest Nessy, neither is it proper I should,-your brother appears by all accounts to be the greatest culprit of all, Christian alone excepted. Every exertion, you may rest assured, I shall use to save his life; but on trial I have no hope of his not being condemned. Three of the ten who are expected are mentioned in Bligh's narrative as men detained against their inclination. Would to God your brother had been one of that number! I will not distress you more by enlarging on this subject; as intelligence arises on their arrival, you shall be made acquainted. Adieu, my dearest Nessy. Present my affectionate remembrances to your mother and sisters, and believe me always, with the warmest affection,

"Your uncle,

"THOS. PASLEY."

How unlike is this from the letter of Bligh! while it frankly apprizes this amiable lady of the real truth of the case, without disguise, as it was then understood to be from Mr. Bligh's representations, it assures her of his best exertions to save her brother's life. Every reader of sensibility will sympathize in the feeling displayed in her reply.

"Isle of Man, 22d June, 1792. "Harassed by the most torturing suspense, and

miserably wretched as I have been, my dearest uncle, since the receipt of your last, conceive, if it is possible, the heartfelt joy and satisfaction we experienced yesterday morning, when, on the arrival of the packet, the dear delightful letter from our beloved Peter (a copy of which I send you enclosed) was brought to us. Surely, my excellent friend, you will agree with me in thinking there could not be a stronger proof of his innocence and worth, and that it must prejudice every person who reads it most powerfully in his favour. Such a letter in less distressful circumstances than those in which he writes would, I am persuaded, reflect honour on the pen of a person much older than my poor brother. But when we consider his extreme youth (only sixteen at the time of the mutiny, and now but nineteen), his fortitude, patience, and manly resignation under the pressure of sufferings and misfortunes almost unheard of, and scarcely to be supported at any age, without the assistance of that which seems to be my dear brother's greatest comfort, a quiet conscience, and a thorough conviction of his own innocence,when I add, at the same time, with real pleasure and satisfaction, that his relation corresponds in many particulars with the accounts we have hitherto heard of the fatal mutiny,-and when I also add, with inconceivable pride and delight, that my beloved Peter never was known to breathe a syllable inconsistent with truth and honour;-when these circumstances, my dear uncle, are all united, what man on earth can doubt of the innocence which could dictate such a letter? In short, let it speak for him. The perusal of his artless and pathetic story will, I am persuaded, be a stronger recommendation in his favour than any thing I can urge.*

"I need not tire your patience, my ever-loved uncle, by dwelling longer on this subject (the dear*This interesting letter is given in the following chapter, to which it appropriately belongs.

M