ing,—and then, goes to work, running his ideas—as the sailors would say—"right off the reel:" his great object being to express himself sufficiently correctly, and intelligibly, so that "all who run may read;" and that HE, running a race against time, may have no part of his establishment for a moment at a stand still. The very close, careful, pointing of sentences—or portions of them—he does not, and cannot attend to, as the least delay may occasion confusion. He cares very little about it in fact, because he has—or ought to have—sense enough to know, that in a very few hours—comparatively speaking—all his labours will be scattered to the winds, as old gossip, old stories, or old information.
This may be wrong; I do not say the contrary, but, merely offer an opinion; and that the book writer goes to his work very differently, because he may be permitted to hope the labours of his mind will live a few years, even if it be only in a first edition. With this feeling, so gratifying to the author, he will be careful as to what he puts before the world, knowing how many there are in it who cannot praise, but, on the contrary, delight to censure.
I allude to these matters, because it may be said by some of the readers of this narrative, that many of the sentences are crude, and unnecessarily short: that they might have been made more interesting by adopting a different style of relation. I beg those who may think this, to understand, that the Hero of these adventures can neither read nor write, and, that consequently, I
