crated by such a deposit. This conduct excited a sentiment of indignation in the officers of the corps, and the whole Regiment was ordered to honour and attend her reinterment near the St. George Ferry; and the Paymaster of the Regiment dying soon after, requested to be laid along side black Mary, which was complied with.

Molly had a soul within,

Lovely, noble, and divine;

Not eclipsed by her skin,

Diamonds in the dark may shine.

But she sick'ned and she died; Princes must resign their breath! And her end exemplified,

How the saint is blest in death.

Like a summer's evening sky, i
All serene the christian was!
Till her spirit mounts on high,
Leaves the gross encumb'ring mass.

Let the drums be muffled all!
Let the music solemn play!

Lift the bier and bear the pall!
Molly near her children lay!

Earth to earth, and dust to dust!
Now the tomb receives her own,
Till the trump awakes the just;
To ascend a brilliant throne.

No, the rage of cruel men,
With the fell byenna's spite;
Tore her from the earth again,
Robb'd her of sepulchral rite,

Grudg'd her body of a tomb,
Tore the brown turf from her head,

E'er the grass began to bloom

O'er the consecrated dead.

What, deny her dust a place
On its genuine mother's breast!
O ye slave-oppressing race!
She is now the Saviour's guest.

Yes, the consecrated spot, Africans shall ne'er invade; Where the whites corrupt and rot, Not a negro shall be laid.

Is the wide distinction nought,
"Twixt a white man and a slave?
Who can bear the horrid thought,
To have blacks beside his grave?

O ye hypocritic drones!

Curst with hearts that cannot feel,
Callous to the negro's groans;
As a rock or bar of steel!

If the judge of all mankindne

As ye measure mete to you;
What compassion will ye find?
Only rigour is your due!

Bright the golden precept shines, But ye spurn the rights of men! Nature's claims, and scripture lines, Plead with you, but plead in vain.

Tho' ye now a grave deny,
Can ye shut the gates of light?
Lo, her spirit mounts on high;
Wonders at your impious spite.

Let the slave oppressor dread!
Lest a just and angry God
Pour upon his impious head

Woe for woe! and rod for rod!

Yes, the final hour appears,

Vengeance will not always spare, Negroes' sighs, and groans, and tears, Are not lost in empty air.

They are bottled up on high,
By and by the bolt shall fall;
Sevenfold vengeance from the sky,
Shall o'erwhelm and crush you all.