t have borne my thirteen stone weight. Perchance
the giant wings of the Albatross would have been more practicable, if
less poetical, and with these appendages I might have been tempted to
have a peep at my friends in England, despite the supremely ridiculous
figure I should have cut in the air, and the chance I should have stood
of being shot as a very _rara avis_. Fancy me lighting down on our old
thatched-roof house, and frightening everyone out of their seven senses,
including my darling Priscilla, who, if she were not too frightened,
would certainly bring me down with a charge of No. 4 (chilled) shot.

The next verse is nearly true of my state in its entirety:

"Religion! what treasure untold
Resides in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford;

But the sound of the church-going bell
These valleys and rocks never heard;
Never sighed at the sound of a knell,
Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared."

It is scarcely true to say that the rocks _never_ hear the sound of the
church-going bell, for with a westerly breeze the bells can be heard
quite plainly, and I have even heard a dog bark at that distance, which
shows how distinctly, and to what a great distance sound will travel
over water.

If rocks have ears they must occasionally have been ravished by my
rendering of Sankey and Moody's hymns. If they have a memory they must
have learnt several of them by heart; in fact, have been so familiar
with them as to desire a change for something secular. They never
applauded me, but when the Heavens spoke with thunder they clapped their
granite hands till they cracked again.

The last verse hits me again--quite a bull's eye:

"But the sea fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place,
And mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot."

Yes, I nightly had to repair to my cabin, and in the wet season had my
cabin to repair; but I made it so cosy, that like the last line, "it
reconciled me to my lot."

Oh, Crusoe! how I would have loved to have shared Juan Fernandez with
thee! What a Friday I would have been, and what enjoyment I should have
discovered in everything--except black man killing! But even that I
should have taken my pa