American Watchman And Delaware Advertiser

FOR THE WATCHMAN.

Mr. Editor.—Permit me to congratulate you, that your laughter loving phiz, has not been transmogrified into the stupid stare, and addle headed grin of your brother Editor, sapient Sammy, who has really frightened himself, and put many of his readers into a horrid sweat, by the works of fiction he has published, respecting the terrible mobbing we have lately had in our borough. But wonderful, notwithstanding all these Hydras fierce, and chimeras dire, we have all slept in a sound skin, without disturbance, while all these rude doings have been going on even without knowing any thing about them, and while our neighbors, with true brotherly love, have been sympathizing in our happy escape—and publishing to the world, that, alas, poor Wilmington had fallen on evil times indeed, when her argus eyed Collector, had been obliged to keep a guard over a parcel of musty books and papers, and to send one of the boats to New Castle for safe keeping, out of the way of the furious mob, who were resolved to have given the boat a coat of tar and feathers, only, that the said boat, had escaped to New Castle some weeks beforehand, having got the Scotch gift of second sight, infused through the oak planks, that she, poor boat was to be thus decorated, and this plainly shews, Mr. Editor, what a fine thing it is to be able to look into futurity, and how nicely the Philadelphians have been humbugged by these tales of legerdemain, and lapses of the tongue of some old fellow, who in running away, has conjured all the imps of darkness at his heels, and the stables vomiting flames, which existed, only in his own disturbed imagination. Now do, Mr. Editor, do pray, for the love of God, quiet down all these alarms, and assure our kind neighbors that when we do want to learn how to mob, secundem artem, we will send a few strapping lazy fellows, to find out how these things were managed at Vauxhall, and St. Mary's Church, in Philadelphia, and that then, they may be assured, that Tom Thumb, and Hurlothumbo will be quite ninnies to us Wilmingtonians in that mystical art, but as we are, and have been in love with our roast beef and plumb puddings, we beg you will let them know that we dont love to play a bout at broken pates, for nothing, but are quite peaceably inclined, and we desire this, lest sapient Sammy should again get to his tricks, and tell them we are such confounded fellows, that we have set the Christiana on fire, purposely to plague the Collector, lest he should get too rich by the numerous vessels that have lately arrived from—the Moon,—laden with green cheese!

MUM.