BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES. 345
several well-written sermons are among his manuscripts. As illustrative of his
talent for the pulpit, it is told of Mr. Ronaldson, that on one occasion he invited
an acquaintance, a clergyman, to take a drive with him in his carriage on a short
official journey. The day being the last of the week, his friend declined on the
ground that he had ‘‘ a sermon to study for to-morrow.” “ 0 never mind,” said
Ronaldson; “if that’s all, step in-I’ll assist you with it,” The clergyman
afterwards acknowledged the aid he had received; and expressed his astonishment
at the extent of information and the fluency of language displayed by the
Post-Office Surveyor.
When the duties of the day were over, Francis delighted to hurry home to
his literary labour. There you were certain to find .him-his coat off and “in
his slippers ”-busily engaged with scissors and paste-brush, while armfuls of
dissected papers, spread out on the table before him, sufficiently attested to his
rapacity as a gleaner.
We have glanced over several sheets of his sermons, and have seen his scrapbooks,
which are indeed curious. Several of the volumes are in manuscript,
and contain original as well as selected pieces, both in prose and verse. As a
specimen of the poetical department, the following may be taken :-
“ LINES ON SEEING, IN A LIST OF NEW MUSIC, A PIECE ENTITLED
THE WATERLOO WALTZ.’
“ A moment pause, ye British fair,
While pleasure’s phantoms ye pursue,
And say if sprightly dance or air,
Suit with the name of Waterloo !
Awful was the victory-
Chasten’d should the triumph be :
’Midst the laurels she has won,
Britain mourns for many a son.
“ Veil’d in clouds the morning rose ;
Nature seem’d to mourn the day,
Which consign’d, before its close,
Thousands to their kindred clay.
How unfit for courtly ball,
Or the giddy festival,
Was the grim and ghastly view,
Ere ev’ning clos’d on Waterloo !
“ See the Highland warrior rushing,
Firm in danger on the foe,
Till the life-hlood warmly gushing,
Lays the plaided hero low.
His native pipe’s accustom’d sound,
’Mid war’s infernal concert drowdd
Cannot soothe his last adieu,
Or wake his sleep on Waterloo !
,‘ Chasing o’er the cuirassier,
See the foaming charger flying ;
Trampling in his wild career,
All alike the dead and dying.
See the bullet, through his side,
Answer’d by the spouting tide ;
Helmet, horse, and rider too,
Roll on bloody Waterloo !
“ Shall scenes like these the dance inspire ?
Or wake enlivening notes of mirth ?
0 ! shiver’d be the recreant lyre
That gave the base idea birth !
Other sounds I ween were there-
Other music rent the air-
Other waltz the warriors knew,
When they clos’d on Waterloo !
‘I Forbear !-till time with lenient hand
Has sooth’d the pang of recent sorrow ;
And let the picture distant stand,
The softening hue of years to borrow.
When our race has pass’d away,
Hands unborn may wake the lay ;
And give to joy alone the view,
Of Britain’s fame on Waterloo !
,‘Apd 23, 1817.”
