I first pitch't and begun to build and plant at Secunk, now Rehoboth, but I received a letter from my antient friend Mr. Winslow, then Governour of Plymmouth, professing his oune and others love and respect to me, yet lovingly advising me, since I was fallen into the edge of their bounds and they were loth to displease the Bay, to remove but to the other side of the water, and then he said I had the country free before me, and might be as free as themselves, and wee should be loving neighbour's togeather.

And in every way that mattered his life story proved that we were wrong to listen to him, because at the end of the long slide lay only a degraded, priapic senility, or the desperate gaiety of Prince Prospero’s court with the Red Death at the door.

The preposterous altruism too![…]Resist not evil. It is an insane immolation of self—as bad intrinsically as fakirs stabbing themselves or anchorites warping their spines in caves scarcely large enough for a fair-sized dog.

On Wednesday, the 27th, we arrived at a place called Tʻien-chin. Here we were not on the high road to Pekin, hence the excitement created by our arrival was greater than I had ever before witnessed.