Alexandria Daily Gazette, Commercial & Political

Avast, there, Mr. Printer--You stow away such a parcel of long-legged palaver in your paper, that a body's upperworks are all confustrated-I want to have a little go-ashore jaw with you--You must know I've just arrived from Lisbon-Bo-naparte's people have been trying to play the devil in that country, but they've not been able to get to windward of the Bri-tish, so they told me the old cock swears he'll take a trick at the helm himself and drive that Wellington and his crew into the sea--Howsomever, the British don't value his swaggering--They told me a great many stories about them Monshurs, as how they tied women and children to trees in the sun, and left the poor souls there to die--Thinks I, if that's the course you steer, my hearties, the devil send his compliments to you say I-Well. Mr. Printer, I ax'd every body I come athwart, what Bonaparte was killing them people for, but nobody told me any thing like the clean thing-Some said one thing, and some another--Ben Bobstay, our Steward, one of your deep fellers, says that Boney and the King of Portingal had a quarrel, and that the king wouldnt fight, so Boney is kicking up all this bobbery by way of talliation, I think they call it- Well, says I, its a pity them people should suffer for other folks' misdoings-But you know every thing's ordered aloft- each bullet has got its commission, as the song says, so I spose we mustnt grumble -Howsomnever, that Portingal is a fine country-There is not much of the hard stuff, but plenty of wine, figs, almonds, oranges, and such like small ware--Ben Bobstay says the sea-breezes makes the country healthy, which you know follows of course--I hope Bonaparte wont kill all the people; but from all I can gather among my mess-mates, I'm afraid he will, and then you know: our flour would come down by the run, if so be as how he wouldnt allow us to trade with him-Some of the folks at Lisbon dont speak well of our government, Mr. Printer--I got into a scuffle with a land-lubber about it one night, so I soon darkened one of his peep-ers, and come off; and I warrant me he wont take the tompions from his muzzle while on that tack again.

I hear a great deal of jaw about fighting and such like, among the swabs--Now I wish you'd tell me. Mr. Printer, if we are to have a war with the British--I've heard so much about that there business for some years past, that Im in a kind of quandary what to think-It aynt as howe I'm afeard of 'em, but you see I should be sorry to thrash 'em unless they insulted us-And I think they've got trouble enough upon their hands already, and it seems to me it aynt fair to pick a quarrel with a feller that's got more than his match on him--But if so be that the British are such blasted fools as to want a war with us, why, let 'em come on, say I ----They'll soon get tired of it--A few thumbs from old Traxton and Rodgers will cool their copper, and they'll be glad to fall upon their marrow bones and cry for quarter as they've done before.

As I was a saying before, Mr. Printer, I don't like that Bonaparte--He's a chap, I take it. that veers with every gale, and blows his blasts from all points of the compass--one day he palavers as smooth as a southern breeze. and the next he blus-ters like a stiff north Wester-I say I don't like them sort of fellers-Up and down for me--He's got wind and tide in his favor now, and sends along with all sails set ; but you see a bull's eye squall may capsise him when be little thinks of it, and set him adrift upon his beam-ends-- He can't have fair weather always.

Yours till death,

TOM PIPES.