his usual ingenuity, the art of stocking-weaving, which trade he afterwards followed in this County. But this employment, in its turn, he soon relinquished; and became a fisherman on the river Orwell. His little vessel (if vessel it might be called, for every part of it was his own handy work) presented a curious specimen of naval patchwork, as his extreme poverty did not afford him the means of procuring proper materials: yet in this leaky and crazy vessel it was his constant custom by day and by night, in calms and in storms, to toil on the river for fish. His figure was tall and thin; his countenance meagre, yet striking; and his eye sharp and piercing. Subject to violent chronic complaints; with a mind somewhat distempered, and faculties impaired; he was a firm believer in the evil agency of wizards and witchcraft. On this subject indeed he was by no means uninformed; and a frequent perusal of the "Dæmonology" of the British Solomon, K. James the I, operating on a gloomy and superstitious temper, soon confirmed his belief in these absurd opinions. He appeared also to have read "Glanvil's Saducismus Triumphans" with considerable attention; and while arguing on this his favorite topic, his quotations from this author were just and apposite. His mind was so haunted with the dreams of charms and enchantments, as to fancy that he was continually under the influence of these mischievous tormentors. His arms and legs, nay almost his whole body, was encircled with the bones of horses, rings, amulets and characts, verses, words, &c. as spells and charms to protect him against their evil machinations. On different parts of his boat was to be seen the "horse shoe nailed," that most effective antidote against the power of witches. When conversing with him, he would describe to you that he saw them hovering about his person, and endeavoring, by all their arts, to punish and torment him. Though a wretched martyr to the fancies of a disordered imagination, his manners were mild and harmless, and his character honest

and irreproachable. But however powerful and effective his charms might be to protect him from the agency of evil spirits, they did not prove sufficiently operative against the dangers of storm and tempest. For being unfortunately driven on the ooze by a violent storm on the 3rd of October 1811, he was seen and earnestly importuned to quit his crazy vessel; but, relying on the efficacy of his charms, he obstinately refused; and the ebb of the tide drawing his bark off into deep water, his charms, his spells, and his characts failed him; and poor Robinson sunk to rise no more!

The Editor of this Collection has in his possession the following CHARM in the hand-writing of Colson, which he subjoins literatim et verbatim.

"A CHARM

to make a young woman seem to be in love with a young man.

Take new wax and the pouder of a dead man, make an image with the face downward and in the likeness of the person you wish to have: make it in the ouers of mars and in the new of the mone: under the left armpoke place a Swaler's hart and a liver under the rite: you must have a new needal and a new thread: the Sprits name must be menchened, his Sine and his Character.

I take this oppertunity to inform my frinds that about 16 yeares ago this Charm was put in practice by sum willains of witches at Needham-markett, William Studd been one of them: and they have put me to much torment and lamed me many times, thay own to me that thay make use of part of the bones of Mrs. Wilkerson of Felixton, she that suffred at Rushmere sum yeares ago: this is sartainly true, and I am ready to give it upon oth if required.

THOS. COLSON.

Acts the 9 and 5 It is hard for the to kick against the pricks."

From rustic bow'r, by nature made,
Beneath the linden's leafy shade,

That crowns the cliff, whose craggy side
Ascends abrupt from Orwell's tide,
Beneath whose slopes and sinuous steeps,
The broad majestic river sweeps ;
Where strays the eye delighted o'er
The gently undulating shore,

To scenes thy skill would aptly chuse,
From rustic bow'r I call thee, Muse.

Nor yet the bee, to care alive,

On sounding wing hath left his hive;
The haunt of busier man is still;
The morn beam slants athwart the hill;
Unconscious draws the blackbird nigh,
Then starts, a stranger form to spy,
And swift, with glossy wing display'd,
Flits fearful through the shrubby glade.
Upon my verdant canopy

All unexal'd night's tear drops lie,
Or gently shook, with soothing sound,
In balmy dew-show'rs patter round.
Those tall acacias gliding bye,
The white sail steals upon my eye:
And ever, as the loitering breeze

Moves the light boughs, or waves the trees,
White cluster'd dwellings, scarcely seen,
And tow'r, and turret, peep between ;
And pennon'd mast, and gilded vane,
A moment shewn, then hid again,
All gaily in the morning ray,
Like youth's fantastic visions play:

While ev'ry graceful form I see,
Inspires the wish to live with thee.

Oft has thy voice, in childhood's hour,
Awoke me in the northern bow'r,
And shall the lyre I tun'd to thee
Hang silent on the southern tree?
Shall cares or pomps my heart controul,
And chase thy pleasures from my soul?
No: still thy voice shall soothe my ear;
Thy harp's wild descant still be dear ;
Nor long wilt thou my claim refuse,
When to my bow'r I call thee, Muse.

Come, let us wander thro' the glade,
Where willows throw, in lengthen'd shade,
Their tangling arches o'er the rill,
That steals its source from either hill,
And gently winds its covert way,
Scarce gleaming to the eye of day.
In sooth the wild sequester'd glen
Seems little trod by mortal men:
Its lowly bow'rs of deep'ning green,
So clos'd the woody heights between,
So hid, so still, form meet resort
For fays to hold their sylvan court:
Yet here I've mark'd the Artist* stray,
Here linger out the summer day,
And with enthusiast pencil trace,

Or storm or sunshine's varied grace :

The banks of this beautiful river were the frequent haunts of that admirable paniter Gainsborough, while resident at Ipswich; and afforded ample scope for the exercise of his inimitable pencil. Mr. George Frost, a most ingenious artist of 1pswich, and an ardent admirer of the productions of Gainsborough, and who deems" it distinction enough to catch the slightest of his perfec "tions," is the personage alluded to in the above stanzas.

But chief when golden lights relieve
The dark and giant shades of eve,
He feels his soul to transport warm,
And fixes ev'ry fleeting charm.
And sure, in playful mood, 'tis thine,
Dear Muse! to guide his varying line,
As breathe, in ev'ry form and tone,
Strange feelings scarce to painting known;
Effects sublime, and graces free
That speak the soul of poësy!

Come, rest upon the beetling cliff,
And mark that little rocking skiff:

Though measur'd true the oar's bright stroke,
Its plank is pierc'd, its gunwale broke:
Yet on it glides, and leaves behind
Yon anchor'd bark, where, to the wind,
Long trains of meshy folds display d,
Announce the Fisher's toilsome trade.
And who is this that plies the oar,
The skiff impelling to the shore,
With squalid garments round him flung,
And o'er his bending shoulders hung
A string of perforated stones,

With knots of elm and horses bones?
Say, Muse, may this a mortal be,
Or shape fantastic drawn by thee?
And why his look so wild, so wan?
It is the ancient Fisherman,

Who dreams that wizards, leagued with hell,
Have o'er him cast their deadly spell.

Tho' blanch'd his hair and bow'd his form,

Yet still he toils, in sun and storm;