And now to sum up _my_ opinion of the animal. I believe that notwithstanding these astounding tales, he is rather peaceful and well-disposed, when properly trained, but hath very strangely fixed upon him an idea, not entirely original with him, that the world owes him a living; that he makes drafts that way to an advanced age; that he is non-committal, except upon such matters as he can commit to his private keeping; that his stomach in that respect has great capacity; that he is not over-nice in his diet; is plain and unassuming; is not puffed up, seeing that his hide will not much admit of it; and if he resemble himself to a log adrift, he considereth not what foolish creatures may alight upon his back, or swim within his jaws; he barks no invitation, nor does he flourish with his tail to excite their curiosity; and if they happen in his way when he has done yawning, it is _their_ business, not his.
Lastly, what do I say to the prevalent notion that the waters of the St. Johns, which resemble brandy and water, half-and-half, are colored by the blood of his victims? Answer--_it is not so_. I have drank of those waters for weeks together (stopping occasionally) and even deepened the color, in a manner peculiar to those who travel in those parts, without feeling half as sanguinary as I do at this moment, from the bare thought of that foul and malicious slander.
These are the matters of faith; the facts, I give you are but two, and perhaps only true of his younger days; that he eateth fiddlers in secret, and dies in a temperature of twenty-six Fahrenheit.
This shell of stone within it keepeth One who died not, but sleepeth; And in her quiet slumber seemeth As if of heaven alone she dreameth. Her form it was so fair in seeming, Her eyes so heavenly in their beaming, So pure her heart in every feeling, So high her mind in each revealing, A band of angels thought that she Was one of their bright company; And on some homeward errand driven, Hurried her too away to Heaven.
That old church bell is dear to me, When from its ancient tower Its silvery tones sound solemnly, To tell the service-hour; It seems as if it almost spoke The words of trustful prayer, And promised to the spirit broke With sin, a pardon there.