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V ' 
v..' 
T O 
gin jFri^uir anir CnuBiii, 
SAMUEL MORDECAI, 
OF MOBILE. 
Dying like Adonis in the flush of early manhood, you hardly 
knew, my Cousin, how well I loved, you. With your joyous humor, 
your flashing intellect, and your noble heart. Death has stolen half its 
charm from our native land. 
Was he then envious of those evenings on the Eoanoke, when, 
after a November day’s chase, we should have shouted together with 
delight over Toussenel, whose work I would not send you sooner, that 
we might enjoy it together over our birds and wine ? 
Wherever thou art, I know thou dost preserve a zest for all that is 
rich and rare, so I send this to greet thee in the Spirit Hunting 
Grounds. ' 
® 0rli is 
BY THE TRANSLATOR, 
» 
THE MEMORY OF 
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