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And now through right and left, across they go,
The DOCTOR too no better fate obtain'd, Soon as in dance his giant limbs he strain'd, His step, subverted by an almond shell, Upheav'd his central poise, and down he fell ! Like some huge whale when dash'd against a rock, So groan'd the Doctor! and so loud the shock, Then bursts of universal laughter rise, Shake the high dome, and fill the starry skies. The nymph assists her partner from the ground, Again the laughter and the jest resound! Scarce could the Chief, when rais'd amidst the throng, Drag his slow length of ponderous limbs along; Groaning he moves ! supported by a staff, Like Polypheme ! --what Stoic would not laugh? A croud of slaves, with solemn mien, draw near, And slowly through the dome the body bear. Then on a bed they softly lay the sage, And strive the dorsal torrent to assuage ; Loud from his room, the man of mighty bone, All dancing curs'd, and heav'd a piteous groan; And now, lest any say, this noble throng, Have danc'd too heavily, or danc'd too long ; Here shall the Muse her mournful story close, And let the DOCTOR and the PRIEST repose.
Mr. Spierin will forgive my insertion of this Poem. No person respects him more than I; and nothing but real esteem for a man, would induce me to make serious mention of him in this volume.-That Traveller has little quaintance with the policy of literature, and estimates but lightly the power of his page,
who speaks indiscriminately of every individual with whom he has eaten a meal, or caroused over a bowl. I have been feasted and caressed by many of my friends, both at New-York, and Philadelphia, and Baltimore, and Washington; who, knowing that I contemplated to publish a narrative, did me the honour to desire a niche in
work. But of such characters what could I record ? It surely could give the reader no satisfaction to be told, that, Mr. —-, having imported a turtle from Jamaica, guttled down for nearly three hours the callipash and callipee; or that the constant practice of Mr. was to smoke his pipe every day after dinner. The epitaphmaker will do all that can be done for such characters; for it can only be recorded of them that they were born, and that they died,
During my visit at George-town, the melancholy tidings were brought of the death of General Washington. The inhabitants of the town were crouding to the ball-room, at the moment the courier arrived with the dispatch. But the death of so great a man converted their hilarity into sorrow; the eye of many a female, which,
but a moment before had sparkled with pleasure, was now brimful of tears; and they all cast off their garments of gladness, and clothed themselves with sackcloth.
The following Sunday, the men, women, and children, testified their veneration for the Father of their Country, by walking in procession to the church, where Mr. Spierin delivered a funeral oration, Never was there a discourse more moving. Tears flowed from every eye ; and lamentations hurst from every lip.
Nor were the orators of America silent at the death of their hero. They called all their tropes and metaphors together; collected all the soldiers and statesmen of history, and made them cast their garlands at the feet of his statue.
I look back both with pleasure and satisfaction on the time I passed with my friend, at the confluence of the rivers Waccamaw and Il’inyaw. Our conversation was commonly on the writers of the Augustan age, and I corrected many errors I had imbibed by solitary study. The taste of Mr. George had been formed on the polished models of antiquity ; to these he always recurred as to the standards of elegant composition. It is recorded, I believe, of Euler, that he could repeat the whole of the Æneid by heart; but the memory of Mr. George had not only digested the Eneid, but also the Georgics and Eclogues.
But the moment was approaching that called me to another climate. I found a schooner lying
at the wharfs of George-Town, that was bound to New-York, and thither I had formed the resolution of going. To this resolution I was particularly determined by the projects of Mr. George ; who, disgusted with the society at George-town,the eternal discourse of the inhabitants about their negroes and cotton-fields; and the innovations of the Trustees on his mode of tuition, had come to the determination of seeking another people, and opening a school of his own.
When I, therefore, waved my hand on board the vessel to my friend, who stood on the wharf with the calm inhabitants of Wuccamaw, my heart was rather elated with joy at the expectation of soon meeting him at New-York, than depressed with sorrowful emotions to separate from him at George-town.
Heaven prosper you, my dear fellow, said Mr. George. But your impending gales of wind, and rolling of the vessel, will excite little sympathy, because I shall reflect you are again in your own element. Yet shall I never cease exclaiming, Sic te diva potens Cypri, &c. till you give me a missive that acquaints me with your
safe landing. Adieu! I will soon shake you by the hand again in a region less unhealthy, less inhospitable, and less unclassical.
The sails of the vessel were now distended by a breeze that was both favourable and fresh. We shaped our course out of the harbour ; the waves roared around the bark; and in half an hour she
appeared to the eye of the beholder from land a white speck only on the ocean.
Our passengers were composed of a Georgian saddle-maker, a Quaker, and three vagrants from New England. Of these the Georgian was an original character. His very figure was the titlepage of a joke, for never before did I behold such a bed-presser, such a horseback-breaker, such a huge bill of flesh. He exulted in his bulk, and informed us, that on first coming on board he weighed two hundred and seventy-five pounds.
The wind changed off Cape Hatterass to the North East, from which quarter it blew a tremendous gale. We lay-to in a most miserable condition, wet, sick, and unable to cook food. I now sighed for Coosobatchie, the company of my pupils, and my walks in the woods; but my ambition of travel struggled over my weakness, and I sought refuge in jollity with my portly companion.
What, Sir, said he, is your opinion of this wind? It is only, answered I, a top-gallant breeze. Only a top-gallant breeze ! exclaimed the Captain, it is enough to blow the devil's horns off !—A few minutes after a sea struck the vessel in the stern, and, staving in the dead lights, nearly overwhelmed the sadler, who was reposing in the aftermost birth; but, however incommoded by his trunk of humours, he carried himself most nimbly towards the cabin-door ; running and