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The Wilmingtonian, and Delaware register. (Wilmington, Del.) 1824-1825, October 07, 1824, Image 1

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AND DELAWARE REGISTER.
Printed and Published, every Thursday by MENDENHALL WALTERS, No. 81, Market-st. (three doors above the Farmer's Bank,) at £2 SO per annum, payable half yearly in advance, or $3 at the end of the year..
W hole No. 52.
WILMINGTON, DEL. OCTOBER 7,1824.
YOL. IL— NO. 2.
TERMS .— Aiivektissments not exceeding
one square will be inserted four times for one
dollar, and 20 cents for each subsequent inser
tion. ...If continued for three months, $2 50— for
six months, $4 50; or for one year SB.
(rj- Subscribers are entitled to the privilege of
having their names, place of residence, and occu
ltation, inserted in the Register, mum.
Nn subscription will be discontinued until nil ar
T curages are paid, and two week's notice given.
all
the
[
[ gan
their
the
and
j So
the
first
the
cd
; ted
j the
SONG.
Dost thou idly ask to licnr
At what gentle seasons
K) mpbs relent, when lovers near
. Press the tenilerest reasons >
All, they give theil- Faith too oft
To the careless wooer,
Maidens hearts arc always soft,
Would that men's were truer!
Woo the fair one when around
Early birds are singing;
When o'er all the fragrant ground,
Early herbs are springing;
When the brookshlc, bank and grove
Arc with blossoms laden,
.Shine with beauty, breathe of love,—
Woo the timid maiden.
1Yoo her, when, with rosy blush,
Summer's eve is sinking,
When on rills that softly gush
Stars are softly winking;
When, through boughs that knit the bovver
Moonlight gleams nre stealing;
Woo her, till the gentle hour
Wakes a gentler feeling.
Woo her, when autumnal dyes
Tinge the woody mountain,
When the drooping foliage lies
In the half clioaked fountain;
Let the scene that tells how fast
Youth is passing over.
Warn her, ere her bloom is past,
To secure her lover.
Woo lier when the north winds call
At the lattice nightly,
When, within the cheerful hull
Blaze the faggots brightly;
While the wintry tempests round,
Sweeps the landscape hoary,
Sweeter in her ear shall sound
Lore's delightful story.
!
i
j
\ sat
I of
i
t
I
ed
of
From the Saturday Evening Post.
Tier following was induced by reading some lines
extracted from the Baltimore Morning Chronicle,
entitled, " Lu Euycttc in the Tent of Washing
ton."
LA FAYETTE AT THE TOMB OF WASH
INGTON.
I will bend o'er the tomb of the virtuous brave;
His deeds of the past I will silently number,
And think, while I pensively view his lone grave,
How blest is his couch, and how peaceful his
slumber.
1 will gaze on the sod of the Hero asleep,
Tho'dimly observ'd thro'the full gush offccl
ing—
J Rejoice in his fame and his glory—nor weep
That the last shades of life o'er my pathway arc
stealing.
I will visit the mound where the dew-drops ap
pear,
With first blush of morn, and the twilight of
even,
And the earth, ere it drinks in each glittering
tear,
Shall exhale the fond tear with the dew-drops
to Heaven.
I
EDGAR.
From the Emporium.
Am—" Hliy docs Asure deck the sky."
*'T\vas a joy that soon was g*onc,
9 Like the faint blush of rosy eve ;
|S 'Twas a sudden light that shone
Upon a spirit used to grieve.
Friendship's smile and warm embrace,
Made that bower a hallowed place.
Words there were, with kindness brought*
Tokens of love that can't deceive;
l|| Tears at parting, such as brought
^ Joys, even when l thought to grieve.
1 Sighs that told a feeling strain,
B Such as language cannot feign.
B Vet wc parted—but to meet
B Jn a new scene of purer love,
B Where a song* more melting sweet,
B Than our last hymn shall softly move.
■! Stronger love shall bind us there,
B Than what warmed our final prayer.
J
j
!
I
I
c:

SSnXOUS REFLECTIONS.
TIIE GARDEN OF HOPE.
An extract from Johnson's Rambler, shewing the
difference between the idle and diligent—
between visionary schemes and close calcula
tions.
i was in the garden of Hope, the daughter of I)e_
sire, and all those whom I saw thus tumultuous
ly bustling around me were incited by the prom
ises of Hope, and hastening to seize the gifts
which she held in her hand.
I turned my sight upward, and saw a goddess,
in the bloom of youth, sitting on a throne : around
I her lay all the gifts of fortune, and all the blessings
l of life were spread abroad to view: she had a per
Ipetual gaiety of aspect, and every one imagined
Sthat her smile, which was impartial and general,
IlYas directed to himself, and triumped in his own
Superiority to others, who had conceived the
■fume confidence from the same mistake.
■ t then mounted an eminence, from which 1 had
Bmorc extensive view of the whole place, and
Would with less perplexity consider the different
Bpduct of the crowds that filled it. From this
|Btion I observed that the entrance into the gar
Bftn of Hope was by two gates, one of which was
^B>tby Reason and the other by Fancy. Keas
was surly and scrupulous, and seldom turned
kev without marry interrogations and long
and
hesitation : hut Fancy was a kind and gentle
portress, she held her gate wide open and wel
comed all equally to the district under her super
Intendency ; so that the passage was crouded by
all those who either feared the examination of
Reason or had been rejected by her.
From the gate of Reason there was a way to
the throne of Hope, by a craggy, slippery, and
winding path, called the Strciglit of Difficulty,
which those who entered with the permission of
the.guard endeavour to climb. Hut though they
surveyed the way very carefully before they bc
gan to rise, anil marked out the several stages of
their progress, they commonly found unexpected
obstacles, and were obliged frequently to stop on
the sudden, where they imagined the way plain
and even. A thousand intricacies embarrassed
them, a thousand pitfalls impeded their advance,
So formidable were the dangers, and so frequent
the miscarriages, that many returned from the
first attempt, and pinny fainted in the midst of the
way, and only a very small number were led up to
the summit of hope by the band oi Fortitude. Of
these few the greater part,
cd the gift which Hope had promised them, regret
; ted the labor which it cost, and felt in their success
j the regret of disappointment; the rest retired
his
he
of
of
!
I
ways have Hope in prospect, and to which they
pleased themselves with the hope that she intend
ed speedily to descend. These were indeed
scorned by all the rest ; but they seemed very
... i
little affected by contempt, ad « , I '. I
hut were resolved to expect at case the tavour ot
the goddess.
Among this gay race I was wandering, and
fonnd them ready to answer all my questions, and
willing to communicate their mirth: hut turning
, i u- i riiur the
round 1 saw two drciultul monsters entu g
vale, one of whom I knew to be Age and. the oilier
Want. Sport and reveling were now at an end,
andanuniversalshriekofaHrightanddistresshurst
mit and awoke me.
# * «
' * n • : i j .
There is no temper so generally indulged as
hope ; and it is well, for hope in necessary in every
condition' It is indeed very fallacious, and prom
■ U sol . lom rives; but its promises are
, nf fortune an d it
more valuable than «- * ■ ' '
seldom frustrates us without assuring us ot ic
compelling the delay by a greater bounty.
hen they had obtain
! with the prize, and were led by W isdom to the
i bowers of Content.
Turning then towards the gate of Fancy T could
ay to the seat of Hope; but though she
view, and held out her gifts with an air
j find no
\ sat full i
I of invitation, which Idled every heart with rupture,
i the mountain on that side was inaccessibly steep,
t but so channelled and shaded, that none perceiv
•ending it, but each im
rered a wav to which
I
ed the impossibility of
agined hiinslf to have disc
Many expedients were
of whom
which
the rest were strangers,
indeed tried by this industrious tribe,
making themselves win]
ere trying to actuate, by the perpetual
some were
others
motion. But with all their labour, and all their
artifices, they never rose above the ground, or
quickly fell hack, nor ever approached the throne
of Hope, but continued still to gaze at a distance,
and laugh at the slow progress of those whom
they saw toiling in the Strciglit of Difficulty.
Part of the fav orites of Fancy, when they had
entered the garden, without making, like the
rest, an attempt to climb the mountain, turned
immediately to the vale of Idleness, a calm and
undisturbed retirement, whence they could al
of
GARRETS.
Wc can never presume to enter a garret—a
place where Goldsmith flourished and Chatterton
died—without paying a tribute ot reverence to
the presiding deity of the place. IIow voncru
J hie does it appear, at least if it is a genuine
:ith its sinuglar projections, like the trac
j turcs in poor Goldsmith's face its tattered and
! thread-bare walla, like old Johnson's wig—and its
numberless " loop-holes of retreat," for the north
I wind to peep through, and cool the poet s ima
I "t'was a lonely garret, far removed from all
connexion with mortality, that Otway conceived
and planned his affecting tragedy of "\ enice
Preserved ;" and it was in a garret that he ate the
stolen roll which ultimately terminated in his
death. It was in a garret that poor Butler indi
ted his Hiulibrass, and convulsed the king and
-Uh laughter, while he u iself writhed in
the gnawing pangs of starvation.
A Gentleman found Dryden m his old age ex
posed to the attacks of poverty, and pining in a
i>arret in an obscure corner of London, "von
•p for my situation," exclaimed the venerable
poet, on selling him, " but never mind, my young
man, the pang will be over soon. * He died a
few days afterwards. Poor Chatterton! "the
sleepless boy who perished in his pride" over
come by poverty, and stung to the quick by the
heartless neglect of a bigoted aristocrat, com
menced his immortality in a garret m Shoreditch.
_p (1 r two days previous to his death he had eaten
nothing ; his'landlady, pitying his desolate con
dition,'invited him to sup with her : he .spurned
the invitation with contempt,and putapenod to
his existence by poison.— Colenan.

ret,
the
I)e_
per
own
the
had
and
this
gar
was
long
court
u
CH ARLES THE FIRST'S BODY.
The night after King Charles the First was be
headed, Lord Southampton and a friend got leave
to sit up by the body in the banquetting-house at
Whitehall. As they were sitting very melancho
ly there, about two o'clock in the morning they
heard the tread of somebody coming vci^ slovily
up stairs. By-and-by the door opened, and a
man entered very much muffled up m his cloak,
and his face quite hid in it. He approached the
body, considered it very attentively for some time,
•iml then shook his head and sighed out the words
« / <_«,,./ necessity _He then departed in the
slow S coilccalcd manner he had come in,
same
but
from
ler's
and
that
ing
the
with
ed
tears
their
tude
day
out
I.ord Southampton used to say that lie could not
distinguish any of his face, but that, by his voice
and gait, lie took him to be Oliver Cromwell.
Spencer.
BURKS.
From the London Magazine.
» . !
The last time I saw Burns in life was on
his return from the Brow-well of Solway ;
he had been aillngall spring, and summer had
come without bringing health with it ; he had
gone away very ill and he returned worse.
He was brought back, I think, in a covered
spring cart, and when lie alighted at the
foot of the street in which lie lived, he
could scarce stand upright. He reached
his own door with difficulty. He stooped
much, and there was a visible change in his
looks. He w as at that time dressed in a
blue coat with the under nankeen pantaloons
of the volunteers, and his neck, which was
inclining to be short, caused his hat to turn
up behind, in the manner of the shovel lints
of the Episcopal clergy. He was nut fas
tidious about his dress ; and an officer, curi
ous in the personal appearance and equip
ments of his company, might have question
ed the military nicety of the poet's clothes
and arms.
From the day of his return home till the
hour of his untimely death, Dumfries was
like a besieged place. It was known lie was
dying, and the anxictv, not of the rich and
learned onlv, but of the mechanics and peu- 1 }ff
sauts, exceeded all belief. Wherever to or j ' '
, . i . .t ,.i ; , ....... I W
three people stood togethei, their talk was
ot Burns, and of him alone . they spoke of
his history—of his person-ot bis works-ot
his fame, and of ins untimely and approach
ing fate, with a warmth and an enthusiasm
which will ever endear Dumfries to mv re
membrance. ' .
His good humour was unruffled, and his!
wit never forsook him. He looked to one of 1
his fellow volunteers with a smile, as he
stood by the bed-side with his eyes wet, and
said, " John, don't let the awkward squad fire
over me."—He was aware that death was
dealing with him : he asked a lady who yisit
! cd him, more in sincerity than in mirth,
what commands she had for the other world,
lie repressed with a smile the hopes ot his
friends, and told them lie had lived long
enough. As his life drew near a close, the
eager, yet decorous solicitude of his fellow
townsmen increased. He was an excise
man, it is true—a name odious, from many
associations, to his countrymen ; but he did
his duty meekly and kindly, and repressed
rather than encouraged the desire of some
of his companions to push the law with se
I verity ; he was therefore much beloved, and
^ p !lss ; on 0 f t i ie Scotch for poetry made
them rc gard him as little lower than a spirit
inspired. It is the practice ot the young
men of Dumfries to meet in the strectsdur
i mg the hours of remission from laboui.and
'. I by these means I had an opportunity of wit
ness j„gthe general solicitude of all ranks
and of all ages. His differences with them
- m some important points of human specula
tion and religious hope were forgotten and
forgiven : they thought only of the gvnius-of
the delight lus compositions had diffused—
awl they talked of him with the same awe
^ somc departing spirit, whose voice
to g] ilt Ri cn them no more. —
meats have never been described: lie had
laid his head quietly on the pillow, awaiting
dissolution, when his attendant reminded
. him of his medicine, and held the cup to his
as ^ started suddenly up, drained the
CU p j^t ^ gulp, thre w his hands betöre him
like a man about to swim, and sprung from
head to foot of the bed—fell with his face
it down, and expired with a groan.
When Burns died I was then voting, but
J " i( . not inscnsib i c that a mind 'of no com
m01l strength had passed from amongst us.
He had caught my fancy and touched my
heart with his songs and his poems. I went
him laid out for the grave: several
elder people were with me. He lav in a
plaii: unadorned coffin, with a linen sheet
drawn over his face, and on the bed, and a-j
round the body, herbs and flowers were
thickly strewn according to the usage of the
country.—He was wasted somewhat by long
illness ; but death had not increased the
swarthy hueof his face,which was uncommon
lv dark and deeply marked—the dying pang
was visible in the lower part, but his broad
and open brow was pale and serene, and a
round it bis sable hair lay in masses, slightly
touched with gray, and inclining more to a
wave than a curl. The room where lie lay
was plain and neat, and the simplicity of the
poet's bumble dwelling pressed the pro
sence of death more closely on the heart than
if bis bier had been embellished by vanity
and covered with the blazonry of high an
cestry and rank. We stood and gazed on
him in silence for several minutes—we went
and others succeeded us—there was no jost
lino* and crushing, though the crowd was
great—man followed man as patiently and
orderly as if all had been a matter of mutual j
understanding—not a question was asked— |
nut a whisper was heard. This was several :
days after his death.
•L. , . , * , „
to T the graved eut" with*the j
twelve^housand!—Not a "word wTs" heard" j
and though all could not be near, and many
could not see, when tlie earth closed on their
darling poet forever, there was no rudeim
patience shown, no fierce disappointment
expressed. It was an impressive and mourn
ful sight to sec men of all ranks and persua
sions and opinions mingling as brothers and
stepping side by side down the streets ot
Dumfries, with the remains olhim who had
sang of their loves and joys and domestic en
dearnieats with a truth and a tenderness
wlfich none perhaps have since equalled. 1
could indeed, have wished the military part
of the procession away—for he was; Juried
H 1
rs
v, ; I &
Iiis last mo
to
to
its
all
the
his
and
in
ex
a
a
the
to
at
a
the
, , .
the with military honours. ,
in, Hts fate has been a reproach to Scotland,
the
ly
a
ting
who
ed
and
and
der
of
ed
it
but the reproach comes with an ill grace
from England. When we can forget But
ler's fate—Otway's loaf— Dryden's old age ;
and Chatterton's poison-cup, we may think
that we stand alone in the iniquity of neglect
ing pre-eminent genius. I found myself at
the brink of the poet's grave, in which he
about to descend forever—there was a
pause among the mourners as if loath to part
with his remains ; and when he was at last
lowered, and the first shovel of earth sound
ed on his coffin-lid, 1 looked up and saw
tears on many checks where tears were not
usual. The volunteers justified the fears of
their comrade by three ragged and straggling
volleys. The earth was heaped up, the
green sod was laid over him, and the multi
tude stood gazing on the grave some minute's
space, and then melted silently away. The
day was a fine one, the sun was almost with
out a cloud, and not a drop of rain fell from
dawn to twilight.
» . ! S
. ,
}ff . ves > that dome udm
' ' f'f" >'> 'h«e who scarcely bread
W hen living*iruvc thee*—-not a shed
T<j hidc ^ want
Hllt nmv W mild o'er thv mouldering
,, uild mouulIlcnls .
The little spot is thine. And who
Shall turn thee from thy tenure now "
IV U-ase is long, thy landlord true,
1 ".' troubles cease,
1 1« tf™t possess no more than thou,
Horn Heaven s lease,
I passed two davs in that anxious and un
set tlc-(l state of mind which the prospect of
going to sea generally produces, and went
despoudingly to bed the second night, after
having ascertained that the wind was unfa
vourabie to the prosecution ot my intended
voyage. A loud knocking at my chamber
door awakened me trom a profound sleep,
about an hour before dawn. I was on the
a point of demanding who occasioned the dis
tnrbance, when a voice called out, i lie
a-j schooner is ready to sail—-they are heaving
up the anchor—Captain Burder sent me to
warn you to come on board without a mo
meat's delay." .
1 started from bed, and having messed
myself as quickly as possible, accompanied
the messenger to the wharf, and embarked
in a boat which waited there tor us, and soon
a- reached the schooner. .
busily engaged m giving orders to the sea
a men scarcely to notice my arrival, flow
ever 1 addressed lnm, and made some re
mark about the suddenness of lus departure
—" That doesn't concern you, replied lie
abruptly ; " I suppose your biitli is teady
below.' 1 But instead of taking this hint, and
going down the cabin, I remained upon deck
until we cleared the mouth of the liarboui,
which we at last accomplished with much
difficulty, for the wind was as di. cctly ahead
as it could blow. . , r
I felt at a loss to conceive the cause of our
j putting to sea in such untav ourablc w father
| —but judged front the specimen of the cap
: tam s manner winch 1 had ahead) had, that
it would be useless to address to him any in
mimes uTion the subject. I therefore went
j ^ ^ "** ni0r "'"' e
j On entering the cabin I was astonished to
find a lady and a gentleman there, whom I
had not previously known to be on boaul.
They were introduced to me as follow- pas
sengers; and after expressing mv gr.iti <
tion at the prospect of enjoy ing then >
during the voyage, I began to con c
them, and soon found that ' f', the
ot vvould in a great measure counterbalance the
disagreeables arising from „ P Thev were
surly and ""tractable temper. ney we. c
named Mr. and Mrs. Monti, and .vcie both
1 v oting and had Ws^ekture •
was a pretty, lively, interesting C1
and having fortunately been at see before
she did not suffer from sickness, o ?»el at
all incommoded or depressed by the r ojn
THE GRAVE OF BURNS.
Written in sight of the Monumental Temple
erected to the memory of Robert Rums, at Dum
fries.
rs yonder little snowy dome
red shrine—that silent tomb,
thinking strangers lo\c to come,
Wliei
Where Genius mourns,
The last—the solitary home
Of thee, poor Burns?
thy bed,
of the Kith! thy wing has light,
Swr
Thy plumes were whitest of the white,
But wild and wayward was thy flight,
From wave to wave.
One course was thine, headstrong and bright,
IVcn to thy grave.
Svvan of the Kith! if aught in thee
Sullied thy whiteness, none could sec
The blemish: Men should view like me,
Thv life's short dream,
And let thy faults, like Swan's feet, be
Sunk in the stream.f
* Burns was ejected from his farm by an unfeel
ing landlord.
\ It is said that the Swan thinks her feet a blem
ish and therefore seldom shows them.
Erom Blackwood's Magazine.
THE
HOCTURNAXi SEPARATION.
One summer, while at Baltimore on a
pleasure excursion, peculiar circumstances
suddenly rendered it necessary that I should
set sail for St. Thomas's. Î immediately
proceeded to make inquiry about a vessel
to convey me there, and found that there
none bound to that quarter, except a
small schooner, which had very inferior ac
commodations, and was commanded bv a
person, of rude manners and a disobliging
However, as my business admitted
•as
&
temper.
of no delay, I engaged a passage in her, and
put my luggage on board, aud desired the
captain to send me notice, whenever he was
ready to sail, that I might immediately join
him.
Her captain was so
,
parative uncomforts of her situation ; and
therefore the sociality of our little circle was
never interrupted by her absence, or her in
capacity to jjoin it. But the charm of her
manners seemed to exert no influence upon
the stubborn nafure of Captain Burder, who
always maintained a cold reserve, and rare
ly took any part in our conversation.
His appearance and deportment were sin
gularly unprepossessing. A short muscular
figure, a stein countenance, burnt almost to
a copper colour.by exposure to tropical cli
mates, black bushy hair, and small scintilla
ting eyes, formed the exterior of our com
mander ; and his actions and external be
havior proved that the traits of his mind
were as revolting as those of his person.
He treated his crew in a capricious and
tyrannical manner ; but at the same time,
behaved towards them with an air of famili
arity very unusual for ship masters to assume
when among common seamen.— But a negro
who attended to the cabin, daily experienc
ed the most inhuman usage from his hands,
and afforded such a spectacle of degradation,
and misery as was painful to look upon. Al
most every night after dark. Captain Bur
der had a long conversation with his mate
during which both seemed particularly anx
ious to avoid being overheard ; and 1 once or
twice observed them studying charts of parts
of the ocean that lay quite out of our due and
proper course. Their whole conduct was
equally suspicious and inexplicable, and I
often felt uneasy and apprehensive, though
there was no defined evil to fear, nor any dan
ger to anticipate.
Our personal comfort was but little attend
ed to on board the schooner : and our table,
which had never been a well furnitured one,
soon became so mean and uninviting, that
Mr. Monti complained to Capt Burder about
it : however, without avail, for the latter
told him he must just take things as he found
them. On comparing the equality of stores
we had respectively brought on board, we
thought we could manage to live independent
of our commander; and Mrs.Monti's woman
servant was therefore, desired to prepare our
meals, and spread a table for us every day.
Captain Burder grew furious with passion
when he learned this arrangement, and mut
tered some threats which we did not under
stand. However, next day his rage against
us was farther increased, in consequence of
Mr. Monti having taxed him with cruelty
and injustice, while in the act of beating the
negro man already mentioned. This offence
was not to be forgiven, and he accordingly
broke«ofif all intercourse with the individuals
of our party.
of
lie
to
lie
in
e
to
I
>
c

at
Delightful weather attended us during the
first week of the voyage, and we usually spent
the evenings upon deck, under an awning.
While thus seated, one calm and beautiful
moonlight night, Mrs. Monti said, "If the
weather and ocean were ever in this placid
state, I believe I would prefer ajsea life to any
other. The most susceptible mind could not
discover any cause for terror or anxiety in the
scene around us— I would rather meet a.
speedy death among these little billows, than
linger life away upon a sickbed, racked with
pain, and surrounded with weeping friends."
" I have less abjections, Harriet," said her
husband, "to your mode ofdyingthan to your
mode of living. I should not care to spend much
time at sea, for I am sure it would pass very
heavily. I love variety, and nothing of that
is to be met with on board a ship."—"I agree
with you," said Mrs. Monti ; " but variety is
not necessary to happiness—a regular, well
planned, uninterrupted routine, would suit
my disposition exactly, and would be more
easily attainable at sea than any were else.
It makes us the slaves of accidents of every
kind, and when we are happy we never can
feel secure that our happiness will continue.
Now, wc-rc I mistress of a large ship, and had
the power of sailing continually upon a calm
and safe oceart*, I would collect my dearest
friends on board of her, and get out of sight
of land as fast as possible carrying with me,
of course, various means of amusement and
recreation. We would regulate our time
and our pleasure as we chose—no disagree;
aille person could intrude upon us—no spec
tacles of misery would meet our eyes, and no
lamentations assail our ears ; and we would
enjoy each other's society without the fear
of ever being separated or disunited, except
by death : and when any one was removed,
the remaining persons would console them
selves with the reflection, that a link, had
been withdrawn from the chain which bound
their hearts to this delusive and transitory
world ; and that in proportion as their friends
dropped away, they would feel more ready
and willing to die than they had done while
the former were in existence " " This
seems a very plausible scheme of yours my
love," replied Mr. Monti ; " however, I am
glad you cannot put it in execution. I don't
know' any part of the ocean that is exempt
from tempests, which I see you are resolved
entirely to avoid, and with reason, fori sus
pect that a good gale ot wind would discom
pose you and your select party, even more
than Capt. Burder himself, were he to find
of admittance into your projected
floating Elysium."
Whilst we were engaged in conversation
of this kind, I several times -observed Samno,
the negro man, beckoning to me, and then
putting his finger upon his lips. At length I
went to the bow of the vessel where he stood,
and asked whether he had any tiling to com
municate. ' Yes, yes, master." said he, in a
whisper, " something very strange, and of
great consequence—but will no one overhear
us ?" " Donot fear that," answered I ; " Capt.
Burder is asleep in his birth, and the watch
are all near the stern." "Then I will speak,'!
answered Samno. " You and that other gen
tleman have been kind to me, and often tried
to save me from the rage of my wicked mas
ter—I mean now to serve you in my turn.
Your lives are in danger. The captain in
tends to cast away the vessel."—" What do
you mean ?" cried I ; " I am at a loss to under
stand von."—" Oh, m soon explain it all,"
a
a
a
so
means

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