ashful. He made an acquaintance with my mother, who was delighted with
his condescension, and declared that he was one of the most pleasant
young men she had ever met with; and he would have been very intimate
with Virginia had she not repulsed him. As soon as the leaves dropped
off the trees the old bachelor declared that there were no more tints
worth remaining for, and he took his departure. About a month
afterwards his nephew came down, accompanied by a young man who was his
tutor, and hired the apartments, much to the joy of my mother, who now
had hopes, and much to the annoyance of my sister, who had fears of
being persecuted.

And now, having in this chapter brought up my history to the
commencement of the year 1805, I shall again enter into a more detailed
narrative.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

MORE CRY THAN WOOL--BRAMBLE WOULD DIG A PIT FOR ANOTHER AND TUMBLES IN
ALONG WITH HIM.

It was in the month of March, 1805, when the easterly winds prevailed,
and vessels were detained in the Chops of the Channel, that I agreed
with Bramble that we would return together and halve the pilotage.
About eight leagues from the Lizard Point we boarded a small ship which
had hoisted the signal, the weather at that time being fine and the wind
variable. When we went on board it was but just daylight, and the
captain was not yet on deck, but the mate received us: we were surprised
to find that she mounted twelve brass guns, remarkably well fitted, and
that everything was apparently ready for action, rammers and sponges,
shot and wadding being all up and at hand.

"A prime morning, shipmate," said Bramble; then casting his eye over the
deck, "A letter of marque, I presume?"

"Yes," replied the mate, "we have the papers, but still she has never
run without convoy since I have been in her; we lost our convoy three
days back, and the captain has been rather uneasy ever since."

"Uneasy! why, I should think that you could beat off a good stout
privateer with these guns of yours?"

"Well, I don't know but what we might, but our cargo is valuable, and we
might be overpowered."

"Very true, and the captain must be anxious. Where are you from?"

"Smyrna."

"What's your cargo?"

"Why, we have raw silk and drysalters' goods chiefly. D'ye think we
shall have a fair wind? I don't care how soon, for we've at least
twenty passengers on board, and our provisions and water are running
rather short. Here's the skipper."

Th