sarpents. No harm in what I've said, I hope?" added the master.

"Oh, no," said I, "not the least; it will make no difference in the long run. But where do you come from, and where are you bound?"

"Come from Smyrna, and bound to Boston, where I hope to be to-morrow morning, by the blessing of God, and a good conscience."

From this answer, I perceived that he was unacquainted with the war, and I therefore determined to play with him a little before I gave him the fatal news.

"And pray," said I, "what might your cargo consist of? you appear to be light."

"Not so light neither, I guess," said the man; "we have sweet oil, raisins, and what we calls notions."

"I have no notion," said I, " what they might be. Pray explain yourself."

"Why, you see, notions is what we call a little of all sorts like. Some likes one thing, you know, and some another: some likes sweet