a poem on Bacon's Rebellion,
by Mr. Green, at Annapolis, Maryland, in 1731. Mr. Green cautiously
reminds the reader that it was a description written twenty years
before, and "did not agree with the condition of Annapolis at the time
of its publication!"

The edition, now published, is taken from the London copy of 1708, as
"Printed and sold by B. Bragg, at the Raven, in Pater-Noster-row (price
6d.)"

In Stevens's _Bibliotheca Americana_, 1861, we find the following title:
"Sot-Weed Redivivus; or the Planters Looking-Glass. In Burlesque Verse,
Calculated for the Meridian of Maryland, by E. C. Gent: _Annapolis_;
_William Parks_, for the Author. 1730. viii and text 28 pp. 4 deg.." Mr.
Stevens describes the book as "alike curious as an early specimen of
printing in Maryland, and as an example of American poetry."

"E. C. _Gent_:" of 1730, at Annapolis, may be the

"Ebenezer Cook, Gent:" of London, 1708,--"_redivivus_,"--returned to
America and turned Author again at Annapolis, under the auspices of our
early Colonial printer, William Parks. But we have never seen this rare
book, published twenty-two years after the _Sot-Weed Factor_ was first
issued in England, and know nothing of its character or authorship.

BRANTZ MAYER.

Baltimore, October 20, 1865.

[Footnote 1: Sot-Weed, i. e. the sot making or inebriating weed; a name
for _tobacco_, used at that time. A Sot-weed Factor, was a tobacco agent
or supercargo.]

[Footnote 2: The "eastern shoar" of the Chesapeake bay: this portion of
Maryland is still familiarly called so in that state.]

THE
Sot-Weed Factor;
Or, a Voyage to
Maryland, &c.

Condemn'd by Fate to way-ward Curse,
Of Friends unkind, and empty Purse;
Plagues worse than fill'd _Pandora's_ Box,
I took my leave of _Albion's_ Rocks:
With heavy Heart, concerned that I
Was forc'd my Native Soil to fly,
And the _Old World_ must bid good-buy
But Heav'n ordain'd it should be so,
And to repine is vain we know:
Freighted with Fools from _Plymouth_ sound
To _Mary-Land_ our Ship was bound,
Where we arrived in dreadful Pain,
Shock'd by the Terrours of the Main;
For full three Months, our wavering Boat,
Did thro' the surley Ocean float,
And furious Storms and threat'ning Blasts,
Both tore our Sails and sprung our Masts;
Wearied, yet pleas'd we did escape
Such Ills, we anchor'd at the (a) _Cape_;
But weighing soon, we plough'd the Bay,