When I had been a year and a half in England, the captain, who had made another voyage to India and back, thinking that time had alleviated a little the sorrow of Atkinson’s relations, prevailed upon my friends who had the care of me in England, to let him introduce me to Atkinson’s mother and sister.  Jenny was no more; she had died in the interval, and I never saw her.  Grief for his death had brought on a consumption, of which she lingered about a twelvemonth, and then expired.  But in the mother and the sisters of this excellent young man, I have found the most valuable friends which I possess on this side the great ocean.  They received me from the captain as the little protegee of Atkinson, and from them I have learned passages of his former life, and this in particular, that the illness of which he died was brought on by a wound of which he never quite recovered, which he got in the desperate attempt, when he was quite a boy, to defend his captain against a superior force of the enemy which had boarded him, and which, by his premature valour inspiriting the men, they finally succeeded in repulsing.  This was that Atkinson, who, from his pale and feminine appearance, was called Betsy.  This was he whose womanly care of me got him the name of a woman, who, with more than female attention, condescended to play the hand-maid to a little unaccompanied orphan, that fortune had cast upon the care of a rough sea captain, and his rougher crew.

THE KING AND QUEEN OF HEARTS

[Illustration]

Showing how notably the Queen made her tarts, and how scurvily the Knave stole them away, with other particulars belonging thereunto

Printed for Thomas Hodgkins Hanway Street November 18 1805.

[Illustration:  The Queen of Hearts]

  High on a Throne of state is seen
  She whom all Hearts own for their Queen. 
  Three Pages are in waiting by;
  He with the umbrella is her Spy,
  To spy out rogueries in the dark,
  And smell a rat as you shall mark.

[Illustration:  She made some Tarts]

  The Queen here by the King’s commands,
  Who does not like Cook’s dirty hands,
  Makes the court-pastry all herself. 
  Pambo the knave, that roguish elf,
  Watches each sugary sweet ingredient,
  And slily thinks of an expedient.

[Illustration:  All on a Summer’s day]

  Now first of May does summer bring,
  How bright and fine is every thing! 
  After their dam the chickens run,
  The green leaves glitter in the sun,
  While youths and maids in merry dance
  Round rustic maypoles do advance.

[Illustration:  The Knave of Hearts]

  When Kings and Queens ariding go,
  Great Lords ride with them for a show
  With grooms & courtiers, a great store;
  Some ride behind, & some before. 
  Pambo the first of these does pass,
  And for more state rides on an Ass.