Song Birds and Water Fowl 
mountain top, an ancient mariner left strand- 
ed on the beach, courtly in thought, if not in 
bearing—such was my cook and waiter, host 
and hero; a regular hermit in his life and 
tastes, as genial and hearty as sailors commonly 
are, and not half as profane; although I felt 
that he had a smouldering, hot vocabulary of 
impiety kept in reserve for emergencies, even 
without a single exhibition of it. As I was 
very desirous of passing the night on the island, 
which was possible only with his permission, 
and at his house, and being a perfect stranger 
to him, I asked, with considerable trepidation, 
whether such a thing would be possible. To 
my surprise, he assented cordially; and when 
I asked him his price for supper, lodging, and 
breakfast, he replied, with a simplicity and 
unworldliness that I have looked for in vain 
in New York City: ‘‘Oh, pay what you please, 
and if my aocommodations are not worth any- 
thing, then don’t pay anything.’’ As he made 
his own fires, did all the cooking, and washed 
all the dishes, this answer amounted to a good 
deal more than merely a polite bit of euphony ; 
and his hospitality did not slumber for an in- 
stant throughout my stay. With many asser- 
tions of inability to serve my needs acceptably, 
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